My Taboo Harem!-Chapter 340: Responsive Amber, Yuki’s Role

"Fine. I suppose that’s... acceptable."

"Acceptable?"

"Don’t push your luck, Mr. Maxton."

She kissed him—quick, teasing—tongue flicking against his once before she slid off his lap.

Her legs wobbled the second her feet hit the floor. Her core still throbbed—pussy swollen, gaping slightly, entrance fluttering with aftershocks, cream still leaking down her inner thighs in slow, sticky trails.

She’ll be feeling him—his tongue, his fingers, the ghost of that promise—for days.

And he hadn’t even fucked her yet.

Yet.

Phei watched her dress—watched her try to reassemble the composed, untouchable professional. She mostly succeeded. Cardigan buttoned. Skirt smoothed. Hair tucked behind one ear.

But the flush on her cheeks betrayed her. The slight tremor in her fingers. The way she couldn’t quite meet his eyes without her breath hitching, without her thighs pressing together like she was already aching for round ten.

That was fine.

He’d see her tonight.

And then there’d be no more pretending.

No more boundaries.

Just him—finally—claiming his Chemistry teacher the way they’d both been craving since the moment she first spread for him.

He stood. Stepped close. Tipped her chin up with one finger.

"Rest that pretty cunt, Ms. Bloom," he murmured, voice low and wrecked with want. "Because when I get you alone later..."

He brushed his thumb across her swollen lower lip.

"...I’m going to ruin you so thoroughly you’ll forget every other cock that ever existed."

She shivered—visibly.

"Promises, promises, model student."

He smirked—dark, possessive.

"Count on it."

And with one last slow, devouring kiss—tongue stroking deep, tasting the remnants of her own release on her lips—he stepped back.

"See you tonight, teacher."

She watched him go—watched the door close behind him—and pressed her thighs together hard.

Her pussy clenched.

Empty.

Aching.

Already counting the hours until he filled her properly.

Ten heavens down.

The rest were coming.

Phei found Amber exactly where he’d left her.

Pressed against the wall beside the chemistry classroom door, one knee still bent, thighs still clamped together in that desperate, trembling way that screamed she’d been edging herself against her own hand while he was inside.

Her chest rose and fell in shallow, controlled breaths—like she was trying to convince her lungs this was still a normal Tuesday. Her cheeks were flushed. A thin sheen of sweat glistened at her hairline like she’d just run a marathon or come so hard she forgot how gravity worked.

She looks at him.

Didn’t speak.

Just pushed off the wall and fell into step beside him as he walked down the empty corridor—her stride careful, measured, like a woman trying very hard not to let her trembling legs betray the fact that her panties were soaked through, her clit still throbbing, and every step rubbed the evidence of her own orgasm against sensitive skin.

They walked in silence.

Through the science wing. Past the empty labs where beakers still sat like they’d witnessed nothing. Down the stairwell where their footsteps echoed off concrete walls like accusations nobody wanted to answer.

Neither of them acknowledged what had just happened. Neither of them needed to.

She’d heard everything.

He’d made sure of it.

Every wet sound. Every choked moan.

Amber had stood there, ear to the door, fingers working frantically between her legs while her own teacher got ruined on the other side. And now she was walking beside him anyway—smart, patient, still playing the long game even with her thighs slick and her pride in tatters.

At the junction where the main corridor split toward the Legacy common rooms and the gymnasium, Amber stopped.

"Good luck with your game," she said. Flat.

Not a hint of the desperation that had been wracking her body minutes ago. Not a tremor or blush. Just cool, practiced indifference—like she hadn’t just come against a hallway wall listening to her teacher beg him.

Phei smiled.

"Thanks, Amber."

She turned left. Disappeared around the corner. Gone.

Smart woman. He smiled and turned to another hallway.

Elena Ashford was waiting in the hallway.

Which should have been impossible.

Elena didn’t do hallways. Didn’t linger in public spaces where ordinary students might approach her, might speak to her, might breathe the same air as Paradise’s most untouchable princess without written permission and a blood oath.

She usually moved through the Academy like a ghost—there one moment, gone the next, always surrounded by handlers and bodyguards and the invisible barrier of her family name that said "approach and be destroyed."

But here she was.

Standing in the middle of the corridor like she’d been waiting for exactly this moment, platinum hair catching the afternoon light from the windows like it was personally sponsored by the sun, uniform perfectly pressed, expression serene.

Students floated in the vicinity like satellites caught in her gravitational pull—close enough to witness, far enough to maintain plausible deniability about their staring. They pretended to check their phones, to tie their shoes, to have urgent conversations with friends.

But every eye was on her.

Elena Ashford in public.

It was like a rare bird sighting. A celebrity spotted without their entourage. The sort of thing that would be discussed in hushed, reverent tones for days afterward.

Did you see? She was just standing there. In the hallway. Like a normal person. I almost died.

Phei approached.

She didn’t move. Didn’t retreat. Just watched him come with those sharp blue eyes that saw everything and revealed nothing.

They stopped three feet apart.

For a moment, neither spoke.

Then Elena’s lips curved—small, knowing, almost playful.

"Phei."

Just his name. Nothing else. An acknowledgment. A greeting between equals.

He smiled at her.

"Elena."

And then they walked past each other.

No drama. No confrontation. No loaded subtext or whispered threats. Just two people who recognized each other, named each other, and continued on their separate paths.

Elena had no idea that her summon to her estate nearly ended him but also gave him something big as a reward for survival.

Behind them, the watching students collectively forgot how to breathe.

Today the end of classes were afternoon.

The Challenge was coming.

The Academy was transforming.

Other gates that normally remained sealed to outsiders swung open under the watchful eyes of security teams who looked like they’d rather be anywhere else.

Ticket booths materialized at every entrance—sleek digital kiosks manned by student volunteers in matching "PHEICRUSH SIMPS" t-shirts that Emily had apparently commissioned at some point between her shyness of yesterday’s sight of Phei and existential dread.

Scanners beeped. Wristbands were distributed. The whole operation ran with the efficiency of a professional sporting event run by teenagers who’d mainlined too much caffeine and fanfiction.

Because that’s what this had become.

People streamed through the gates in steady waves—Paradise residents first, then Downtown residents, then the curious masses from beyond the community’s gilded borders who’d heard about the drama through three different group chats and wanted front-row seats to watch a charity case either dunk on royalty or get publicly curb-stomped while sipping overpriced kombucha.

Camera crews from the Academy’s media department positioned themselves at strategic angles, their feeds running directly to the streaming channels that Yuki Tanaka had locked down tighter than a government database during tax season.

Speaking of Yuki—

She stood in the control booth above the stadium floor, surrounded by screens displaying every camera angle, every streaming platform, every metric that mattered. Delilah was beside her, giving orders into a headset while simultaneously reviewing the ticket revenue on a tablet like a warlord counting spoils.

The PheiCrush Simps—a small hundreds army of devoted fans—swarmed around them, each one assigned a specific task in the operation they’d built from nothing and sheer unhinged thirst.

"Stream one is live," Yuki announced, voice calm despite the chaos. "Stream two coming online in thirty seconds. All unauthorized broadcasts are being blocked in real-time."

"Online ticket sales?" Delilah demanded.

"Exceeding projections by forty-seven percent. We’re at capacity for in-person attendance. Waitlist has three thousands names and that’s just online purchases."

Delilah smiled—sharp, satisfied, the smile of a Legacy princess who’d just proved she could run an empire if she wanted to, and right now she was running a cult with better lighting.

"Perfect."

Emily ran...