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The night hums with the weight of summer's approach, the air thick and warm, laced with the distant chorus of cicadas drifting through Suzune's open dorm window. She sits on her bed, her notes abandoned, her mind a tangle of restless energy. The soft knock at her door jolts her, her heart recognizing the visitor before her mind catches up. She opens it to find Kiyotaka, his eyes shadowed with a hunger that mirrors her own, his usual composure fraying at the edges. The tension between them, fed by days of fleeting touches and smoldering glances, is a coiled spring ready to release.
"You shouldn't be here," Suzune says, but her voice is soft, almost a whisper, and she steps aside, letting him in. The door clicks shut, sealing them in a space where the outside world ceases to exist. He doesn't respond with words; instead, he closes the distance, his hand cupping her face, his thumb tracing the curve of her lower lip. The touch is a spark, igniting a fire deep within her, and she feels it spread, a molten ache that's been building since their last encounter.
"Then tell me to leave," he says, his voice low, rough with need, a challenge she can't meet. Her silence is answer enough, and he kisses her, hard and possessive, his lips claiming hers with a ferocity that steals her breath. She matches his intensity, her hands fisting in his shirt, pulling him closer until their bodies are flush. The kiss is a storm—tongues tangling, teeth grazing, her soft moan swallowed by his mouth as their hunger consumes them.
His hands move with purpose, slipping beneath her blouse, fingers splaying across the bare skin of her back. Her skin burns where he touches, and she arches into him, craving more, her body alive with need. He breaks the kiss, his lips trailing down her neck, sucking lightly at her pulse point, and she gasps, her fingers digging into his shoulders.
"Kiyotaka," she breathes, his name a plea, and he growls, the sound low and primal, vibrating through her core.
He lifts her blouse over her head, tossing it aside, and his eyes rake over her, dark with unrestrained desire. Her bra is simple, white lace, but under his gaze, she feels exposed, worshipped. His hands cup her breasts, thumbs brushing over the fabric, teasing her nipples into tight peaks, and she shudders, the sensation sharp and electric. He unhooks the clasp with deft fingers, freeing her, and the cool air against her bare skin makes her gasp. His mouth is there instantly, warm and deliberate, closing over one nipple. His tongue flicks, then swirls, and she cries out, her hands tangling in his hair, pulling him closer as waves of pleasure ripple through her.
Her body is a live wire, every touch amplifying the throbbing ache between her thighs. She tugs at his shirt, impatient, and he helps her, yanking it off to reveal the lean muscle she's come to crave. Her fingers trace his chest, his abdomen, lingering at the waistband of his pants, and he stills, his breath hitching. "Suzune," he says, her name a warning, a prayer, and she meets his gaze, bold despite the flush creeping up her chest.
"I want you," she says, the words raw, unfiltered, and they shatter his restraint. He kisses her again, deeper, hungrier, as his hands work the button of her skirt, letting it pool at her feet. Her panties follow, and she steps out of them, standing bare before him, vulnerable but unafraid. His eyes drink her in—her flushed skin, the curve of her hips, the soft dark hair at the apex of her thighs—and she feels powerful, desired in a way that sets her alight.
He guides her to the bed, laying her down, and she watches, heart pounding, as he sheds the rest of his clothes. The sight of him—hard, thick, the undeniable evidence of his want for her—sends a rush of heat through her, pooling low in her belly. He joins her, his body covering hers, and the weight of him, the heat of his skin, is overwhelming. His lips find hers as his hand slides between her thighs, fingers brushing her slick folds, and she gasps into his mouth, her hips bucking instinctively. He teases her, slow and deliberate, circling her clit with a gentleness that contrasts the fire in his eyes, and she moans, her nails digging into his back.
"Kiyotaka," she whispers, her voice trembling with need, and he responds by deepening his touch, slipping a finger inside her, then another, curling them in a way that makes her arch off the bed, a cry escaping her lips. The sensation is intense, almost too much, but she craves it, craves him. His mouth trails down her body, kissing her collarbone, her stomach, until he's between her thighs, his breath hot against her core. When his tongue replaces his fingers, lapping at her with slow, deliberate strokes, she's lost, her hands fisting the sheets, her moans growing louder, unrestrained.
He brings her to the edge, her body trembling, and when she comes, it's with a shuddering gasp, her vision sparking white, her thighs clamping around him. He doesn't stop, drawing out her pleasure until she's boneless, gasping his name. When he finally rises, his lips glistening, his eyes dark with want, she pulls him to her, kissing him fiercely, tasting herself on his tongue.
She reaches for him, her hand wrapping around his length, and he groans, his hips jerking at her touch. She strokes him, tentative at first, then bolder, marveling at the heat, the hardness, the way he responds to her. "Suzune," he growls, and it's a warning, but she doesn't stop, guiding him to her entrance, her eyes locked on his.
He enters her slowly, inch by inch, and the stretch, the fullness, makes her gasp, her nails biting into his shoulders. He pauses, letting her adjust, his breath ragged, his eyes searching hers for any sign of hesitation. But she's sure, her hips lifting to meet him, urging him deeper. He moves, slow at first, each thrust deliberate, and she wraps her legs around him, pulling him closer, needing more. The rhythm builds, faster, harder, their bodies finding a primal sync, and she's lost in the sensation—the heat of him, the friction, the way he fills her completely.
Their moans mingle, the room filled with the sounds of their union—skin against skin, ragged breaths, whispered names. When she comes again, it's with a cry, her body clenching around him, and he follows, his release a low groan against her neck, his hips stuttering as he spills inside her. They collapse together, breathless, sweat-slicked, their bodies still entwined.
For a moment, they simply lie there, his weight a comforting anchor, her fingers tracing lazy patterns on his back. The world feels distant, irrelevant, and all that matters is this—them, here, now. But as their breathing slows, reality creeps in, and she wonders what this means, how they navigate the aftermath of such raw, unguarded intimacy.
He lifts his head, meeting her gaze, and there's a softness there, a vulnerability that mirrors her own. "We're not done," he says, his voice quiet but firm, and she nods, knowing it's true. This hunger, this connection, it's only growing stronger, pulling them deeper into each other's orbit.