**Day: 5**
**Time: 01:30 AM → 04:20 AM**
The moon hung fat and low, turning the lake into a sheet of hammered silver. Ezekiel sat alone on the bottom step of the boys' cabin, methodically brushing dried mud from the tread of his work boots. His [Supernatural Senses] had been quietly humming for the last twenty minutes.
Perfume first—something expensive, floral but not sweet, the kind of scent that cost more per milliliter than most people's weekly grocery budget. Then the nervous sweat beneath it. Human. Female. Accelerating heartbeat. Courtney.
The girls' cabin door opened with a careful creak.
She appeared wrapped in a charcoal silk robe that was definitely not camp-issued. The hem brushed her thighs; the belt was tied loosely enough that the deep V revealed the shadowed valley between her breasts. Her hair was down—unusual for her—and the moonlight caught the faint tremor in her fingers as she closed the door behind her.
She didn't speak until she was standing directly in front of him.
"Inside. Communal lounge. Now."
It wasn't a request.
Zeke set the boot down, rose slowly, and followed.
The lounge was dark except for the single string of fairy lights someone had strung above the couch weeks ago. Courtney shut the door with more force than necessary. The lock clicked.
She turned, and the mask cracked almost immediately.
"I saw you with her." Her voice was low, dangerous, but there was a fracture in it. "I saw the sweater. I saw the way you looked at her when she walked away. You're building something with a Gopher, Ezekiel. Behind. My. Back."
Zeke opened his mouth.
Courtney closed the distance in two strides and shoved him against the door—hard enough that the wood rattled in the frame. Her palms flattened on his chest, pinning him.
"Don't," she hissed. "Don't you dare give me the 'it was just respect' speech. I'm not stupid. I have 180 Intelligence. I read people like balance sheets."
Her breathing was shallow. Angry. But something else was bleeding through the fury—something raw.
Zeke stayed still, letting her feel his heartbeat under her hands. Steady. Unhurried.
Courtney's eyes flicked up to meet his. For one heartbeat the CIT mask slipped completely.
"I won't lose to her," she whispered. "I won't let some black-lipstick witch take what's mine just because she's… different."
The word came out almost like a confession.
And then—before Zeke could respond—Courtney surged forward and kissed him.
It wasn't gentle. It was teeth and desperation and weeks of tightly coiled tension finally snapping. Her fingers curled into his shirt, yanking him down so she could reach better. She tasted like mint and adrenaline and something faintly metallic, like she'd bitten the inside of her cheek earlier.
Zeke let her lead for perhaps ten seconds.
Then he caught her wrists—gently—and lifted them above her head, pressing them against the door. Courtney made a small, startled sound into his mouth.
He broke the kiss just enough to speak against her lips.
"You're not losing anything tonight, Courtney."
Her pupils were blown wide. She searched his face like she was trying to find the lie and couldn't.
"Then prove it," she breathed.
He released her wrists.
Courtney didn't move them. She kept her arms raised, trembling slightly, as though waiting for permission to lower them.
The shift was so sudden, so complete, that Zeke almost didn't trust it.
Almost.
He cupped her jaw with one hand, thumb brushing the corner of her mouth.
"Tell me what you want."
Courtney swallowed. Her throat worked visibly.
"I want…" She faltered, then tried again. "I want to be the first. I want to be the one who matters most. I want—" Her voice cracked. "I want you to take me. Please."
The *please* was so quiet it barely reached him.
But it reached.
Zeke kissed her again—this time slower. Deeper. Less war and more claiming. Courtney melted against him, soft sounds escaping her throat as his free hand slid down her side, tracing the silk over her hip.
When he finally pulled back, her lips were swollen and her cheeks flushed.
"Bedroom?" she whispered.
"No." Zeke shook his head. "Here. I want to see you in the fairy lights."
Courtney's breath hitched.
She let him guide her backward until the backs of her knees hit the wide arm of the old couch. He eased her down so she was half-reclining, robe falling open along the front. Pale skin, black lace underneath, goosebumps rising in the cool air.
Zeke knelt between her legs.
He didn't rush.
He kissed her throat. Her collarbone. The upper swell of her breast. Every time she tensed, he paused until she relaxed again—until her fingers found his hair and tugged gently, urging him on.
When he finally peeled the robe completely off her shoulders, Courtney shivered hard.
"I've never…" she started, then stopped.
"Me neither," Zeke said simply.
Her eyes widened.
"You're…?"
"Twenty. Farm boy. No time. No opportunity." He gave her a small, crooked smile. "First time's yours too, eh?"
Courtney stared at him for a long second.
Then she laughed—a soft, surprised, almost disbelieving sound.
"We're both idiots," she whispered.
"Maybe."
He kissed her again, slower this time, letting her feel every inch of the shift from frantic to deliberate.
Courtney's hands shook as she reached for his shirt. She pulled it over his head with more care than he expected. When her fingertips brushed the hard planes of his stomach, she made a quiet, appreciative noise.
"You're… bigger than I thought," she murmured, half to herself.
Zeke huffed a laugh against her neck.
"Flattery will get you everywhere."
"I'm not flattering. I'm *assessing*."
Of course she was.
He kissed down her sternum, over the black lace, then tugged the straps down with his teeth. Courtney arched when his mouth closed over one nipple—gentle suction, slow circles with his tongue. Her fingers tightened in his hair.
"Zeke…"
He moved to the other side, giving it the same patient attention until she was squirming, thighs pressing together.
When he finally hooked his fingers in the waistband of her panties, he paused.
"Still yes?"
Courtney nodded quickly. Too quickly.
"Words, sweetheart."
"Yes." Her voice cracked. "Please. Yes."
He slid the lace down her legs, tossing it aside. Then he just… looked.
Courtney started to close her thighs on instinct.
Zeke caught her knees, keeping them parted.
"Don't hide."
She bit her lip so hard he thought it might bleed.
"You're beautiful," he said, and meant it.
Courtney's eyes shimmered. Not tears—not quite—but close.
"Then touch me," she whispered.
He did.
Slow strokes at first. Exploring. Learning what made her breath catch, what made her hips lift. When he finally pressed one finger inside her, Courtney's whole body clenched.
"Easy," he murmured. "Breathe."
She tried. Failed. Tried again.
He added a second finger, curling them the way instinct told him to. Courtney's head fell back against the couch arm, mouth open in a silent gasp.
When she was trembling, slick and ready, he pulled back long enough to shed the rest of his clothes.
Courtney watched—eyes wide, hungry, a little afraid.
He settled between her thighs again, the blunt head of him brushing her entrance.
"Look at me," he said softly.
She did.
"I'll go slow."
Courtney nodded, nails digging into his shoulders.
The first push was the hardest.
She whimpered—sharp, surprised pain.
Zeke froze.
"Talk to me."
"It's… a lot." Her voice shook. "Just… don't stop."
He didn't.
He rocked forward in the tiniest increments, kissing her through every inch, swallowing her small, broken sounds. When he was finally seated fully inside her, both of them were shaking.
Courtney's legs wrapped around his waist like she was afraid he'd disappear.
"Move," she breathed. "Please move."
He did.
Slow. Gentle. Deep. Every withdrawal and return measured, careful. Courtney's hands roamed his back, nails leaving faint crescents. Her breathing turned ragged.
"Harder?" he asked against her ear.
"Not yet… just… like this… like this…"
So he kept the rhythm—steady, loving, almost reverent.
Courtney's hips began to rise to meet him. Small, hesitant at first, then surer. She found the angle that made her gasp every time he bottomed out.
"Zeke—Zeke—"
He slid a hand between them, thumb circling her clit with the same patient rhythm.
That broke her.
Her whole body seized. A choked cry tore out of her throat as she came—hard, sudden, clenching around him so tightly he almost lost control.
He kissed her through it, swallowing every sound, riding the waves until she went limp and trembling beneath him.
Only then did he let himself chase his own edge.
Courtney's arms tightened around his neck.
"Inside," she whispered frantically. "Please—inside—"
The permission undid him.
He thrust once, twice, then buried himself deep and came with a low, guttural groan, pulsing inside her. Courtney whimpered again—soft, overwhelmed—as she felt him fill her.
They stayed locked together for long seconds, breathing hard.
Finally Zeke eased out carefully, wincing when Courtney hissed at the sensitivity. He gathered her against his chest, pulling the silk robe over both of them like a blanket.
Courtney curled into him, face pressed to his throat.
Neither spoke for a while.
Then, very quietly:
"I meant what I said earlier."
Zeke raised a brow.
"About Gwen?"
Courtney nodded against his skin.
"I still hate her. A little. But… I get it. She's strong. She'd fight for you. That matters." She swallowed. "If this… if *we* become something bigger… I want to be the one who keeps it organized. I want to be the one you trust with the strategy. Even if there are others."
Zeke pressed a kiss to her temple.
"You already are."
Courtney exhaled shakily.
[System Notification!]
[Relationship Milestone Reached]
Courtney (Lvl 10) has formed [Primary Bond – Ambitious Consort]
→ Affection +60 (Deep Loyalty / Possessive Lust)
→ New Trait Unlocked: [Queen of the Board]
→ Courtney will now actively support polygamous arrangements provided she retains #1 emotional & strategic position
→ Hidden Condition: Courtney's jealousy toward Gwen has transformed into competitive respect (+15% when working together)
[Current Time: 04:20 AM]
[Gold Balance: 326,010 → 326,510 (Passive Farm Income overnight)]
Courtney lifted her head just enough to meet his eyes.
"You still owe me the morning plan," she murmured, voice hoarse.
Zeke smiled—slow, lazy, satisfied.
"Sleep first. Then we talk about how to turn this camp into our kingdom."
Courtney gave a tiny, possessive smile.
"Good answer."
She nestled back against his chest.
And for the first time since the regression began, Ezekiel felt something dangerously close to contentment.
The night was far from over.
But tonight—at least for a few hours—the Sovereign had claimed his first true reward.