꩜

The heat between your legs is something you can't deny. What better way to relieve some stress? You sit up, intending to head to your room to grab your favorite purple vibrator, when suddenly a very familiar smell hits you—musky and fresh. Instinctively, you take a deeper breath, craving more of that intoxicating scent, your eyes darting around. And there it is, his shirt, tossed carelessly on the back of a chair. Had he been in a rush to leave?

You walk over and pick it up, greedily bringing the soft fabric to your face for a deeper whiff. Gods, it's heaven it smells just like him. His cologne, something you always loved and he rarely wore, mixed with his own natural musk. It's doing something to you, amplifying the ache, making you yearn for something thick and hard between your wet thighs.

Still clutching the shirt in your fist, you begin to walk toward your room, needing to relieve this building pressure, needing something, anything. But you pause halfway, your gaze catching on his bedroom door propped open. You almost can't believe the dirty thoughts racing through your mind. him splayed out on that bed, fisting his cock with rough, urgent strokes. You nearly whimper at the image. And as if your feet have a mind of their own, you start walking toward his room.

You don't come in here often. usually, you just linger in the doorway to chat. But this is the first time you've ever been in here alone. The room is perfectly him, simple, a bit messy in that endearing way, with posters on the walls and his scent lingering everywhere. And the bed... it seems to be screaming your name. That same filthy image dances through your mind as you crawl onto the mattress, the sheets cool against your heated skin.

Immediately, the smell of him is nearly overwhelming. You're grateful in this moment that he probably hasn't washed these sheets in weeks, because gods, you're soaked, and the shirt is still in your hands. You bring it back to your face, inhaling deeply, letting his essence flood your senses.

Your hands slowly move down to your panties, and they're drenched. All this thinking of him, what he does in here, has you worked up like nothing else. Now you're in his bed, where he touches himself in ways so similar to what you're about to do.

You slide them off, tossing your panties to the side, and begin to tease yourself. Your fingers rub your clit once, testing the slick heat, then dip two inside your pussy. You gasp, imagining it's Choso doing this, his thick fingers stretching you open, working your soaking cunt with that quiet intensity he always has.

Almost immediately, a warm coil tightens in your stomach, matching the rhythm of your pumping fingers. Your mind fills with images of Choso. Him stepping out of the shower, water dripping down his toned chest; Choso after a workout, sweat glistening on his skin; Choso just waking up, hair tousled, voice husky. Combined with being surrounded by his scent in his bed, it has you moaning his name softly at first, then louder.

You work yourself faster, lewd wet sounds filling the room as your fingers plunge deeper. You try to reach that sweet spot inside you, wishing you'd grabbed your vibrator. Your hand moves harder, pumping in and out, until you graze it just right—and you moan out an embarrassingly loud “Choso!”

A grunt sounds at the door.

You freeze, your eyes snapping up to meet Choso's stare. In this moment, you want nothing more than to shrivel up and die under his intense gaze. He stands there, frozen in the doorway, his dark eyes wide, cheeks flushed a deep crimson. But as you slowly meet his eyes, you see something unfamiliar painting his beautiful features—something that looks like raw want, his pupils blown wide.

“Choso, I—“ you stammer, your voice barely a whisper, your fingers still buried inside yourself, slick and trembling. Heat floods your face, but you can't look away. His shirt is clutched in your other hand, pressed against your chest.

He doesn't move at first, just stares, his broad shoulders heaving with quick breaths. You notice the way his sweats tent slightly at the front, the outline of his hardening cock pressing against the fabric. He's shy—god, he's always been so reserved, so careful with his words—but the hunger in his eyes betrays him. “I... forgot my wallet,” he mutters, his voice low and rough, like he's fighting to keep it steady. But he doesn't turn away. Instead, he steps inside, closing the door softly behind him.

Your heart pounds, a mix of mortification and thrill twisting in your gut. “I'm sorry, I shouldn't—your shirt, I just... it smells like you, and I got carried away.” The words tumble out, awkward and breathless, but you don't pull your fingers free. If anything, the sight of him, blushing so fiercely makes your pussy clench around them.

Choso swallows hard, his Adam's apple bobbing, and runs a hand through his dark hair, messing it up further. “You... were thinking of me?” His voice is quiet, almost disbelieving, but there's an edge to it, a need that's cracking through his shyness. He takes another step closer, his eyes dropping to where your hand disappears between your thighs. “Moaning my name like that... fuck.”

The curse from his lips sends a jolt straight to your core. You nod, biting your lip, your free hand still gripping his shirt. “You're always on my mind, Choso...”

He groans softly, palming himself through his jeans, the friction making him hiss. “I look at you all the time. Try not to. But you're so... beautiful. And now, seeing you in my bed, touching yourself because of me...” His cheeks burn hotter, but he doesn't stop, his hand rubbing slow circles over his bulge. The shyness is there in the way he averts his eyes for a second, then forces them back, like he can't help himself.

Emboldened by his confession, you pull your fingers out slowly, glistening with your arousal, and hold them up. “Taste?” you whisper, your own shyness making your voice tremble, but the heat between you is undeniable.

Choso's eyes darken, and he crosses the room in two strides, kneeling on the bed. His large hand wraps around your wrist gently, bringing your fingers to his mouth. He sucks them in, tongue swirling around each one, tasting you with a low hum that vibrates through you. “So amazing,” he murmurs against your skin, his free hand sliding up your thigh, calluses rough and teasing.

You whimper, the sound breaking the tension, and he releases your fingers with a pop, his lips shiny. “Is this okay?” he asks, voice husky but laced with that sweet uncertainty, his thumb stroking your inner thigh.

“Yes,” you breathe, reaching for him, your hands tugging at his shirt. “Please, Choso. I need you.”

He hesitates for just a second, then yanks his shirt over his head, revealing the hard planes of his chest, the faint scars from whatever mysterious past he has. He's built like a dream, lean muscle everywhere, abs flexing as he moves. You trace them with your fingers, and he shivers, blushing again. “You're making me crazy,” he admits, leaning down to capture your lips in a tentative kiss that quickly turns hungry.

His mouth is soft at first, shy explorations of your lips, but when you open for him, his tongue slides in, tasting of mint and desire. You moan into the kiss, your hands roaming his back, pulling him closer. He settles between your legs, his clothed cock grinding against your bare pussy, the friction making you both gasp.

“Fuck, you're so wet,” he groans, breaking the kiss to look at the wet spot on his pants. He trails his lips down your neck, nipping gently. His hands big hands cup your breasts, thumbs circling your nipples until they're hard peaks. He sucks one into his mouth, tongue flicking, while his other hand dips lower, fingers tracing your folds.

“Choso,” you arch into him, your shyness melting under the fire he's igniting. “Don't stop.”

He doesn't. Two fingers push inside you, thicker than yours, curling right to that spot that makes stars burst behind your eyes. He pumps them slowly at first, learning your rhythm, his thumb pressing your clit in firm circles. “Like this? Tell me what feels good,” he whispers, his face buried in your shoulder, voice muffled and embarrassed, but so earnest it makes your heart flutter.

“Yes, just like that—faster,” you guide him, your hips bucking. He obeys, fingers thrusting deeper, the wet sounds obscene in the quiet room. His cock strains against his jeans, rubbing against your thigh with every movement, and you reach down to palm him, feeling how thick and hard he is.

Choso hisses, his hips jerking. “Wait—“He pulls back slightly, eyes wide . “I want to... can I...?” He gestures vaguely, too shy to say it outright.

You nod eagerly, helping him shove his jeans and boxers down. His cock springs free—heavy, veined, the tip already leaking pre-cum. It's bigger than you imagined, and the sight makes your mouth water. “Condom?” you ask, though the thought of him raw inside you is tempting.

He shakes his head, grabbing one from his nightstand with trembling hands. “Yeah.” He rolls it on quickly, his blush deepening at your watchful eyes. Then he's back, lining up, the head of his cock nudging your entrance.

“Slow, Cho-“you murmur, and he nods, pushing in inch by inch. You're so wet it glides, but he's thick, stretching you deliciously. You both moan, his face contorting in pleasure-pain, forehead pressed to yours.

“So Tight... so good,”he breathes, bottoming out, his balls against your ass. He stills, letting you adjust, his hands gripping your hips like anchors.

You wrap your legs around him, urging him on. “Move, Choso. Fuck me.” The words snap something in him. He starts thrusting. slow at first, he pulls back and pushes in, but building speed as your moans encourage him. His cock drags against your walls, hitting deep, the angle perfect. You claw at his back, nails digging in, and he groans, pace quickening.

“Harder,” you beg, and he complies, hips snapping forward, the bed creaking under you. His shyness fades into raw need, but he checks in with soft whispers. “This okay?” even as he fucks you relentlessly, cock pounding your pussy, balls slapping your skin.

You clench around him, feeling that warm feeling build in you. chasing your peak, and he feels it, thumb finding your clit again. “Come for me,” he pants, voice breaking. “Wanna feel you squeeze my cock.” It hits you like a wave your orgasm crashes over you, pussy fluttering, gushing around him as you cry his name. Choso follows seconds later unexpectedly, thrusting erratically, spilling into the condom with a guttural moan, his body shuddering.

He collapses gently on top of you, both panting, sweat-slicked. After a moment, he pulls out carefully, disposing of the condom, then curls around you, pulling the sheets over your bodies. His arms wrap around your waist, face nuzzled in your neck, still blushing faintly.

You two had been going at it for what felt like hours. You were both slick with sweat but after his fifth orgasm you were now on top riding your slick pussy over him.

“Fuck ngh oh fuck” Choso murmurs fucked out beneath you his face flushed red. He had just cum for the fifth time and you were now truly testing his limits. He’s writhing beneath you as you move back and forth his hard cock hitting deep inside you.

“Give me one more baby can you do that for me?” You ask sliding off of him watching his cock twitch in the air, still rock hard and glistening with your combined fluids. It throbs visibly, the head swollen and leaking a thin trail of precum that mixes with the mess from his last release.

Choso's chest heaves, his abs clenching as he stares up at you with wide, glassy eyes. His hands grip the sheets, knuckles white, body trembling from the overload. “P-please,” he gasps, voice cracking raw. “I can’t... it’s too much. Fuck, it hurts so good, but I need to cum again. Let me fill you up, please.”

You smirk, hovering your dripping pussy just above his tip, letting the heat of your folds brush against him without sinking down. He bucks his hips instinctively, chasing the contact, but you pull back, denying him. His cock slaps against his stomach with a wet smack, and he whines, a deep, animalistic sound that vibrates through his throat.

“Beg for it properly,” you demand, your fingers trailing down to circle your clit lazily, teasing yourself while he watches helplessly. Sweat beads on his forehead, trickling down his temple as his body jerks with the overstimulation. Every nerve feels fried, his balls tight and aching, cock pulsing with a mix of pain and unbearable need.

“God, yes—fuck, I’m begging you,” Choso pleads, his voice breaking into a desperate growl. He reaches for you, hands shaking as they grasp your thighs, trying to pull you down. “Ride me hard, make me explode inside. I’ll do anything, just let me cum. It’s burning, I can’t hold it... please, I’m losing my mind.” His hips thrust up wildly now, feral and uncoordinated, chasing the ghost of your heat.

You lower just enough to let his tip nudge your entrance, the stretch teasing him with what's to come. He sobs out a moan, body arching off the bed, muscles straining as pre-cum spurts from his slit. But you lift away again, watching his cock bob desperately, veins bulging along the shaft. “Not yet,” you whisper, leaning down to nip at his earlobe. “I want you feral for this one. Show me how bad you need it.”

Choso's control frays further. He snarls, his fingers digging into your hips hard enough to bruise as he yanks you closer, but you resist, grinding your wetness along his length without letting him penetrate. His cock slides through your folds, the friction sending jolts through his oversensitive skin, making him hiss and buck erratically. “Stop teasing—fuck, it’s torture,” he groans, his voice thick with frustration. Tears prick at the corners of his eyes from the intensity, his body a live wire of sensation.

You laugh softly, and finally sink down halfway onto him, your pussy clenching around the upper half of his shaft. He cries out, head thrown back, as the sudden tightness rips a gasp from his lungs. “Yes, deeper, please, I need all of it,” he begs, his hands sliding up to cup your breasts, thumbs flicking over your hardened nipples in a bid for mercy. But you hold still, rolling your hips in shallow circles that keep him trapped on the edge, his cock twitching inside you, threatening to spill too soon.

“Hold back for me baby,” you murmur, lifting up again until only the tip remains inside, then dropping down fully in one smooth motion. He shouts, his entire body seizing as you bottom out, your ass slapping against his thighs. The overstimulation hits him in a wave, every ridge and vein of his cock dragged against your walls feels amplified. He starts thrusting up into you desperately, but you pin his shoulders down, controlling the rhythm, slowing to a torturous grind that has him mewling.

“Shit, I’m so close—don’t stop, but I can’t... it’s too much,” Choso whimpers, his face contorted in agony and ecstasy. Sweat pours down his chest, pooling in the dips of his muscles. You lean forward, capturing his lips in a bruising kiss, tongues tangling as you ride him harder, your clit grinding against him with each descent. His cock swells inside you, the head battering your cervix, and you feel the telltale pulse of his impending release.

But you pull off completely again, his cock springing free with a obscene pop, slick and angry red from the denial. He roars in protest, flipping you onto your back in a blur of motion, his exhaustion forgotten in the haze of feral need. “No more— I have to fuck you now,” he growls, pinning your wrists above your head with one hand while the other guides his throbbing length back to your entrance. He thrusts in savagely, burying himself to the hilt in one go, your pussy stretching around him as he sets a punishing pace.

Each slam of his hips drives him deeper, his balls slapping against your ass, the wet sounds of your joining filling the room. Overstimulation makes every movement a torment, his cock feels like it's on fire, nerves screaming with each drag out and plunge in. “It hurts—fuck, but you feel so good,” he pants, releasing your wrists to grip your thighs, spreading you wider as he pounds relentlessly. You wrap your legs around him, heels digging into his lower back, urging him on while clenching your inner muscles to heighten his torment.

“Beg me to let you cum,” you gasp, your own pleasure building as his frantic thrusts hit that perfect spot inside you over and over. Choso's eyes lock onto yours, wild and pleading, his hair matted to his forehead. “Please—god, I’m begging, let me cum in your pussy. It’s throbbing so bad, I’m gonna burst. Fill you up, mark you—anything, just say yes.” His voice cracks on the last word, body shuddering as you edge him again, slowing your hips to match his faltering rhythm.

He whines pathetically, thrusts turning erratic, his cock leaking steadily inside you now, pre-cum mixing with your arousal. You flip the positions once more, straddling him and sinking down slowly, torturously, watching his face twist in relief and renewed agony. “You’re mine to break,” you whisper, bouncing on him with deliberate slowness, drawing out every inch. His hands roam your body frantically—squeezing your breasts, pinching your nipples, sliding down to rub your clit in desperate circles, anything to push you both closer.

The room reeks of sex, the air thick and humid from your exertions. Choso's breaths come in ragged bursts, his abs contracting visibly with each roll of your hips. “I’m dying—please, I need to cum so fucking bad,” he sobs, tears finally spilling over as the overstimulation peaks, his cock impossibly hard and sensitive inside your gripping heat. You speed up, riding him with abandon, your own orgasm cresting as you feel him teeter on the brink.

“Cum for me Choso,” you command, grinding down hard and fast, your pussy fluttering around him. Choso's response is immediate and shattering. His body goes rigid, back arching off the bed as a guttural, animalistic scream tears from his throat. His cock pulses violently inside you, the first rope of cum erupting with such force it splashes against your cervix, hot and thick. He convulses, hips jerking uncontrollably as wave after wave surges out, spurt after heavy spurt flooding your pussy, overflowing and leaking down his shaft to coat his balls.

Every muscle in his body locks and releases in spasms, his hands clawing at your back, nails leaving red trails as he rides the insane peak. The overstimulation amplifies it all, each contraction feels like lightning, ripping through him, making his vision blur and toes curl. “Fuck—cumming, oh god,” he babbles incoherently, voice hoarse and broken, tears streaming down his flushed cheeks. His cock throbs endlessly, milking out every last drop until he's dry-heaving with the intensity, body trembling in aftershocks that wrack him for long minutes.

AN/ I know this is an overused trope but I wanted to do my take so enjoy!

He was staring, and that alone turned you on in ways you didn’t expect. You had purposefully worn a low-cut tank top to this particular study session with Gojo. He, as always, tried to help you in any way he could, patiently explaining every problem, pushing his glasses up his nose, pretending he wasn’t distracted by the way you leaned across the table. Today you wanted to test those limits. So while you watched him very obviously try not to stare at your chest, you squeezed your legs together beneath the table, feeling the obvious need for friction slowly begin to simmer. The clench of your thighs sending a flood of heat to your core.

“So uh— as I was saying on page—” he began, flipping through the textbook before his eyes betrayed him again, darting down at your chest for just a moment too long. The blush on his cheeks deepened immediately, subsequently having you rub your thighs together once more. Did he truly now realize how obvious he was?

“Gojo—” you interrupted softly, placing your hand on top of his. Your fingers curled slightly and you felt the way he immediately went still beneath your touch. You slowly glanced around the back corner of the library, scanning the tall shelves to make sure no one else was nearby. “I wanted to thank you… for all the help you’ve given me.” Your fingers tugged lightly at the collar of your shirt as you spoke. You watched his throat bob as he swallowed hard. “You really have been so helpful,” you continued, letting your voice drop to a almost seductive tone.

“Well— I mean— I like studying with you too—” he started, already flustered beyond saving.

“Let me suck your cock,Gojo.” The way you so casually said it had Gojo freezing. His brain visibly tried to catch up with what you had just said, blue eyes wide behind his glasses. For a terrifying second you wondered if you had completely misread the past few months—the long stares, the way he always made time for you, the way he seemed to get nervous whenever you leaned too close. “I mean I don’t-“ you begin.

“Yes” The answer burst out of him before you could finish. L”Yes please— I mean— only if you want to.” His voice cracked as he tried to correct himself. At that, you stood and walked around the table toward him. He stood automatically, almost like he was drawn to you. Up close you could see the way his pupils had blown wide, the faint tremble in his hands. The bulge in his pants was already there and you were tempted to grab it than but, His eyes dropped to your lips and you took that moment to close the distance between you.

The kiss was immediate— desperate and messy and full of months of tension finally snapping. His hand moved to the back of your neck instantly, pulling you closer like he couldn’t get enough. You both stumbled backward until your back bumped into the wall between the shelves. “You okay?” he asked breathlessly as you pulled apart for a second. His glasses were completely fogged. You smiled and nodded, and before another word could be said his lips were on yours again. Your hand slid slowly down his shirt, tracing the line of buttons until you reached his waist. Finally you got to cup him fully and the lewd sound he let out had you nearly bursting at the seams to get him undone.

“Please” he says desperately once you turn to face him. You pulled away and slowly dropped to your knees in front of him. You fumble with his zipper for a second before pulling his cock completely free. you were immediately surprised, His tip almost purple from the strain and he was already leaking plenty of pre cum , glancing up at him with raised brows. His face was completely red now, one hand covering his mouth as he pushed his glasses back up his nose like he couldn’t believe what was happening.

“God…” he breathed. You leaned forward slowly, teasing him with light touches to his tip that had him already shaking. Even the smallest contact made him whimper quietly above you. Slowly you spread his wetness over the length of his veiny cock.

“Please,” he whispered again. “Need your mouth…” That desperate tone sent a thrill through you. Having you nearly rutting against the top of your shoe. When you finally took him into your mouth he let out a broken sound, one hand gripping a fistful of your hair. He wasn’t forcing you, just holding on like he needed something to steady himself. Slowly you took him in wetting his cock and wrapping a hand around the part you couldn’t quite reach yet. The quiet sounds he made echoed softly in the empty aisle, Eventually you found your pace working your mouth and hand together creating a perfectly slick base that had him making all sorts of lewd noises, and when he got a little too loud you slapped his thigh lightly as a reminder of where you were. He tried to quiet himself after that, biting down on his knuckle, but the strained little noises still slipped out.

You pulled away for a second with a soft pop.“Fuck my throat, Gojo,” you murmured, looking up at him. You swallow once relaxing your throat in preparation for him. His breath caught. “Tell me if it’s too much,” he said quickly, adjusting his glasses again even though they were already fine. You swallowed once more and nodded, relaxing as he slowly pushed forward. The moment he felt the back of your throat he let out a loud moan before clapping his hand over his mouth in panic.

“You feel so good,” he whispered hoarsely. You tugged gently at his thigh, encouraging him to move more, you loved this having him use you for once, and to feel him so deeply in your throat, had you reaching down to give relief to your already swollen clit. You moan around him applying the perfect amount of pressure to your clit, and the last bit of his composure snapped. His pace picked up, his quiet praise turning into half-muttered words under his breath as his thighs started to tremble.The grip on your hair tightened.

“Oh g— can I please cum in your mouth?” he gasped. You hummed in response, the vibration making him nearly double over. That was all the permission he needed. His body tensed as he came apart above you, trying desperately to stay quiet even as he completely lost himself in the moment. Thick ropes coated your throat and when he pulled back you relished in the salty taste of him. he sagged slightly against the bookshelf, breathing hard, glasses fogged again.

You pulled away from his grip on your hair slowly, catching your breath as you looked up at him. His eyes looked dazed.“That was amazing— are you alright?” he asked almost immediately, crouching down in front of you to gently wipe at the tears gathered in your eyes. You swallowed, still trying to get used to the feeling in your throat, ignoring the ache between your legs as he tucked himself back into his pants.

But before you could respond, a shadow fell across the aisle.“Well,” a familiar voice said lazily. Both of you froze. Geto stepped into view between the shelves, dark hair tied back, arms crossed over his chest. His sharp eyes flicked between the two of you, lingering on Gojo’s flushed face and disheveled appearance before sliding back to you with a knowing look.

“Really, Satoru?” he said with a smirk. “You let her do all the work and didn’t even bother making her cum?” Gojo straightened instantly, face burning as he tried to respond, but the words came out completely incoherent. Geto’s gaze lingered on you, slow and deliberate. The corner of his mouth curled slightly.

You straddle him, your thighs clamping tight around his legs, the edge of his desk digging into the small of your back as you settle into his lap. The office is dead silent after hours, just the faint hum of the AC and your ragged breaths filling the cramped cubicle. "Hiromi," you whisper, voice breathless and needy, already feeling the thick bulge of his cock straining against his slacks, pressing right up against the heat of your core through your skirt.

His hands slide to your ass, fingers gripping the soft flesh and pulling you forward, grinding your clothed pussy down harder onto his length. The friction sends a jolt straight through you, making your clit throb with want. "Fuck," he mutters, his hot breath seeping through your blouse as he rests his forehead against your chest, inhaling your scent like he's starved for it.

This feels so damn wrong—right here in the office where you've spent the day buried in case files and depositions, both of you fried from the grind. But after that brutal meeting, you'd caught his eye and offered to help him unwind however he needed. Now you're perched on him like this, and god, he feels like he was made to fit right there, teasing you without mercy.

Your hips rock on instinct, chasing that delicious drag of his hardness against your folds, and a sharp gasp escapes your lips. Heat surges through your veins, turning the tiny space into a furnace. Sweat beads at the nape of your neck, and you can feel the dampness building between your legs, soaking into your panties.

"You've been so good for me today," Hiromi growls, his voice low and rough, laced with hunger as his grip tightens on your hips. He yanks you closer, forcing another slow, deliberate grind that has your pussy clenching around nothing. You bite back a moan, everyone's gone home, but the thrill of getting caught makes your pulse race, your body buzzing with forbidden fire.

The rush of blood to your clit has you moving again, rolling your hips in a needy rhythm, the seam of his pants rubbing just right against you. "Fuck, baby," he groans, his fingers digging into your skin hard enough to leave marks. His right hand trails up your side, cupping your breast through your blouse, thumb circling the peak until your nipple hardens into a tight bud. You pinch your lower lip between your teeth, stifling the whimper that bubbles up.

"You're so hard, Hiromi," you moan softly, your voice trembling as you keep grinding your soaked pussy over his cock, the layers of fabric doing nothing to dull the building ache. He grunts in response, his free hand still anchoring your hip while the other kneads your tit, finally pinching your nipple through the thin material. The sharp sting shoots straight to your core, making you buck against him faster.

"Been wanting to rip this shirt off you all damn day," he rasps, his dark eyes flicking up to meet yours, pupils blown wide with lust. His fingers fumble with the buttons of your blouse, popping them open one by one, exposing the lace of your bra. He doesn't stop there—pushing the fabric aside, he leans in and drags his tongue along the swell of your breast, nipping at the skin just above your nipple.

You arch into his mouth, your hands threading through his messy hair, tugging him closer as your hips never stop their desperate rhythm. His cock twitches beneath you, thick and insistent, and every slide against it has you gasping, the pressure coiling tighter in your belly. "Hiromi, please... don't stop," you beg, voice husky, grinding down harder to feel him throb against your clit.

He chuckles darkly against your skin, the vibration rumbling through you. "Not stopping until you're shaking, sweetheart." His hands guide your movements now, one on your ass lifting and dropping you in a steady pace, the other slipping under your bra to roll your nipple between his fingers. The dual assault has you mewling, your pussy weeping with need, the friction so close to pushing you over the edge but not quite there, teasing.

You lean back slightly, bracing your hands on the desk for leverage, and pick up the speed, your skirt hiked up around your waist now, panties slick and clinging. His slacks are tented obscenely, the outline of his cock clear as day, and watching it strain for you only makes you hotter. "God, you feel incredible like this," you pant, circling your hips to rub your clit right along his length, sparks flying with every pass.

Hiromi's head falls back against his chair, a low curse spilling from his lips as he thrusts up to meet you, the motion controlled but forceful. "Keep going—just like that. Fuck, you're gonna make me lose it." His voice cracks on the last word, and you can feel him pulsing under you, the heat of him seeping through the fabric. You clench your thighs tighter, trapping him there, and ride the wave building inside you, moans spilling free now that the office echoes only with your shared desperation.

The cubicle walls seem to close in, amplifying every grind, every gasp, every filthy whisper. His mouth finds your neck, sucking a mark into the skin as his hands roam—squeezing your ass, tweaking your nipples, urging you on. You're both slick with sweat, bodies moving in sync, chasing that peak without crossing the line, the dry heat of it all driving you wild.

Your rhythm falters for a second as his teeth graze your collarbone, but you recover fast, slamming your hips down with more force, the rigid line of his cock dragging relentlessly over your swollen clit. The fabric between you is soaked now—your panties drenched, his slacks damp from the precum leaking through—and every thrust up from him makes the pressure build like a storm about to break. "Hiromi, I'm so close," you whine, your voice raw, fingers clawing at his shoulders for purchase as you rock faster, chasing the edge.

He growls low in his throat, the sound vibrating against your throat where he's latched on, sucking harder, marking you as his. "That's it, ride me just like that," he demands, his hips bucking up to match your pace, the friction turning brutal, exquisite. One hand stays firm on your ass, spreading you wider to let his cock rub deeper along your slit through the layers, while the other pinches your nipple sharply, rolling it until you're arching, a cry tearing from your lips.

The coil in your belly tightens unbearably, your pussy throbbing with each pass over his hardness. You can feel him swelling even more beneath you, his breaths coming in harsh pants against your skin. "Fuck, you're gonna make me cum in my pants," he admits through gritted teeth, his control fraying as he grinds up harder, the head of his cock nudging your clit with perfect precision.

That confession pushes you over. Your thighs quake around him, and you grind down one last time, holding yourself flush against his length as the orgasm crashes through you. Waves of pleasure rip from your core, your pussy clenching and pulsing, juices flooding your panties as you shudder in his lap, moaning his name like a prayer. "Hiromi—oh god, yes!"

The sight of you unraveling tips him right after. His grip turns vise-like on your hips, slamming you down as he thrusts up erratically, his cock jerking wildly under the fabric. "Shit—cumming," he rasps, head thrown back, eyes squeezed shut as hot spurts of cum soak through his slacks, pulsing against your still-twitching pussy. His body tenses, every muscle locking as he rides out the release, groans spilling from him in a guttural stream.

The sprawling frat house pulsed with chaos from the thrill of the hide and seek game, shouts ricocheting off the vaulted ceilings and creaky wooden floors. You'd bolted up the stairs, heart pounding from the thrill of evasion, when you spotted the half-open door to a walk-in wardrobe at the end of the hall, perfect cover! stuffed with forgotten coats and boxes that promised perfect concealment. You lunged inside, shoving past hanging jackets that rubbed against your arms, the door swinging shut behind you just as heavy footsteps echoed closer.

But before you could catch your breath, the door yanked open again. Gojo Satoru, frat king with his messy white hair, broad shoulders straining his graphic tee, and those smug blue eyes, barreled in after you, his body colliding with yours in the dim, cluttered space. “Outta my spot,”he growled playfully, planting a hand on your shoulder to push you back toward the door. The wardrobe was minuscule, crammed with moth-eaten clothes that draped over both of you like suffocating curtains, the air already thick and stale with dust and old fabric.

“No way, asshole, this is my spot,” you shot back, twisting to shove at his chest, your palms meeting solid muscle under his shirt. Your elbows knocked into wooden shelves on either side, the tight confines forcing your hips to bump his, legs tangling as you wrestled for dominance. He pressed forward, trying to muscle you out, his knee nudging between your thighs accidentally—or not, while a wool coat sleeve flopped over his head, making him look ridiculous for a split second. You laughed breathlessly, using the distraction to hook your foot behind his ankle, nearly toppling him into a pile of shoeboxes at the back.

“Get—off,” he grunted, but his push turned into a grapple, arms wrapping around your waist to haul you deeper in instead of ejecting you. The door clicked shut from the momentum, plunging you both into near-total darkness, slivers of light sneaking through the slats like teasing whispers. Outside, getos voice called out lazily, “ready or not here I come losers,”Footsteps creaked on the floorboards, pausing right outside the room.

You both froze, chests heaving against each other in the vice-like squeeze of the space, his back against one wall, yours pinned to the opposite, coats pillowed between but doing nothing to ease the press of his body molding to yours. His breath fanned hot across your collarbone, and you could feel the rapid thump of his heart mirroring your own. “Truce?” he whispered, voice low and edged with that cocky lilt, though his hands lingered on your hips a beat too long before pulling back.

“Temporary truce.” you agreed, shifting to create some nonexistent room, but it only ground your thigh against the front of his jeans. The friction sent a unwelcome spark through you, and from the way his jaw tightened, he felt it too. The wardrobe felt alive around you, fabrics whispering with every tiny movement, the shelves digging into your shoulders, the air growing warmer, heavier, trapping your shared scents and the faint hint of arousal already creeping in.

Geto's voice drifted up from downstairs next, smooth and teasing “ha found you Nanami!” Laughter followed, but it was too close for comfort. Gojo's eyes locked on yours in the gloom, a mischievous glint sparking as he leaned in, lips brushing your ear. “Bet I can make you blow our cover first. One little noise, and Geto finds us.”

His words ignited the competitive fire, that familiar rush of not backing down from Satoru Gojo's bullshit. “Dream on.” you murmured, voice a defiant whisper, your hand sliding up his arm to grip his bicep testing the corded strength there. “You're the one who'll crack. All talk, no control.” You whisper. To prove it, you pressed closer, your chest flush to his, nipples hardening against the thin barrier of your top as you rolled your hips just enough to graze his growing bulge.

He sucked in a sharp breath, the sound swallowed by the hanging clothes, but his grin sharpened, predatory now. “Oh, it's on.”His hand dipped to your lower back, fingers splaying wide to pull you tighter into him, the wardrobe's walls seeming to close in further. coats tangling around your legs, a forgotten hanger poking into your side. The yearning simmered low and insistent, built on years of party flirtations and unspoken challenges, now amplified by the risk. Nanami’s measured footsteps approached the hallway, his voice gruff: “This is ridiculous. Why are we even playing?”

Gojo's free hand ventured bolder, tracing the curve of your ass through your shorts, squeezing just hard enough to make your breath hitch. “Quiet now,” he taunted softly, mimicking your earlier warning, even as his thumb dipped under the hem, skin on skin sending electric jolts up your spine. You retaliated without hesitation, your fingers trailing down his abs, nails scraping lightly over the waistband of his jeans before palming the thick outline of his cock, already half-hard, twitching under your touch. “Who's quiet? You're throbbing like you need this bad.”

The banter fueled the heat, each jab a spark in the powder keg of the tight space. He groaned low in his throat, the vibration rumbling through both of you, and countered by slipping his hand between your thighs from behind, cupping your heat through the fabric. The pressure was maddening—firm but not enough, making your core clench with frustrated want. Outside, Geto laughed from the adjacent room: “Nanami, you think they're hiding together? That'd be hilarious.” This had you both stilling again, breaths syncing in ragged unison, bodies locked in a standoff of restraint.

But the pause only intensified the ache. When the footsteps receded, Gojo's fingers hooked into your shorts, tugging them down just an inch—enough to expose the edge of your panties. “Admit it,” he breathed, voice husky with strain, '”you're soaked. One touch, and you'll moan loud enough for Geto to hear.” You didn't deny it, couldn't when your own hand worked his zipper open with deliberate slowness, the metallic rasp obscenely loud in the confined silence. His cock sprang free, heavy and hot in your palm, the velvety skin stretched taut over rigid length.

“Keep pushing-,” you warned, wrapping your fingers around him fully, stroking from root to tip with a languid twist that made his hips buck involuntarily. “-See what happens” The wardrobe amplified every sensation,the slide of his precum slicking your grip, the way his free hand braced against the shelf above your head, knocking a coat to drape over your joined forms like a secretive veil. Yearning clawed deeper now, a slow burn of competitive lust. Who could tease longer without begging, who could unravel the other in this sweat dampened prison.

He upped the ante, shoving your panties aside with rough urgency, his fingers delving into your folds tracing the slick entrance before circling your clit with featherlight pressure that had you biting your lip hard. “Fuck, you are wet,” he murmured, triumph lacing his tone, even as his cock jerked in your fist from a particularly firm pump. You stroked him steadily, thumb pressing into the sensitive underside, watching his cocky facade fracture eyes fluttering, breaths coming in shallow pants that fogged the air between you.

The tension wound tighter with each pass: his fingers dipping shallowly into your pussy, then retreating to rub your clit, building the pressure without mercy; your hand gliding over his shaft, varying speed to keep him on edge, squeezing the base to stave off his release. Coats rustled with your subtle shifts, the wooden slats creaking faintly under the strain of your movements, every inch of space a reminder of how exposed you were, bodies slick with sweat, thighs trembling from the effort to stay silent. Geto's voice echoed again, closer: “Up here? Shoko, help me search.” The thrill spiked, adrenaline mixing with arousal until it was indistinguishable.

“Can't... hold back much longer,” Gojo admitted through gritted teeth, his fingers finally plunging deep, two, then three He fingered you harder, thumb flicking your clit in rhythm, the tight space forcing his arm to brush your breasts with every thrust—nipples aching from the friction. You matched him stroke for stroke on his dick, feeling it pulse thicker, veins throbbing under your fingers as precum dripped steadily. “Come on,” you whispered fiercely, nipping his earlobe, “cum first and lose.” But the words broke on a gasp as his digits scissored inside you, hitting every nerve.

The edge loomed, inevitable now bodies quaking in the claustrophobic heat, the wardrobe a cocoon of their mutual destruction. Shokos footsteps thudded past the door once more. “Nothing here. Let's check downstairs.” The false safety shattered the last of your control. Your orgasm crashed over you first, pussy clenching vise-like around his fingers, waves of ecstasy pulsing through you as you soaked his hand, a strangled whimper escaping despite your bitten lip.

The sensation tipped him over, Gojo's cock erupted in your grip, hot spurts of cum jetting across your wrist and his stomach, his body shuddering violently against yours. He muffled his groan into your hair, hips stuttering forward as he emptied himself, the wardrobe trembling with the force of it. You milked every drop, fingers slick and unrelenting, until he sagged, spent and breathless.

In the hazy aftermath, you both leaned into each other, the tight space now a haven of sticky satisfaction, cum cooling on skin, pussy still fluttering around nothing. Coats settled around you like conspirators, and outside, the game droned on, oblivious. “Tie,” Gojo rasped, a lazy smirk returning as he withdrew his fingers with a final, teasing stroke.

“For now,” you replied, zipping him up with a possessive tug. But as Shoko's laughter faded away, you both knew this 'win' was just the start of something far more dangerous.

The dressing room door rattles faintly as you press closer to Gojo, the cramped space trapping the heat of your bodies like a secret furnace. Voices murmur just beyond, women chatting about strapless bras and evening gowns, oblivious to the filthy game unfolding inches away. "We... we can't do this here," Gojo whispers, his voice cracking into a near-whimper, those thick-rimmed glasses slipping down his nose as your clothed pussy grinds deliberately against the rigid bulge straining his pants. His cheeks flush a deep crimson, the flush he always gets when his brain short-circuits from arousal, and you can feel his cock twitch helplessly beneath you.

You silence him with a single finger pressed to his soft lips, your eyes dropping pointedly to the obscene outline of his erection. “Are you sure?”your gaze challenges, teasing and unyielding. He swallows hard, Adam's apple bobbing, but doesn't pull away. Emboldened, you cup his throbbing length through the fabric, squeezing just enough to make his hips jerk involuntarily, he bites his lip to hide his whimper. His glasses fog slightly from his ragged breaths, and he pushes them up with a trembling hand, blushing even harder as if embarrassed by how quickly he's unraveling.

The chatter outside swells, someone laughs about a too-tight fit, and you seize the distraction, yanking down his zipper with a soft zip that echoes too loudly in the confined air. His cock springs free, thick and veined, already leaking precum in glistening beads from the flushed tip. Gojo's eyes widen behind his lenses, a stuttered "W-wait—" dying on his lips as he bites down hard, stifling the whine building in his throat. You wrap your hand around his shaft, skin hot and velvet-smooth, and start stroking him slow and firm, thumb circling the slick head to spread the mess.

He buries his face in his hands, shoulders hunching, but you know it's all to muffle those lewd noises threatening to escape. The sight of him so desperately restrained only makes your core clench with heat. You spit onto his cockhead, the wet glob mixing with his precum for a slick glide, and he coughs out a choked gasp, nearly toppling backward on the bench. You can't help the soft, teasing laugh that bubbles up, low and wicked, as you watch him squirm—his ears turning pink, glasses askew, utterly undone.

Rising slowly, you trail your fingers from his pulsing cock up his heaving chest, hooking under his chin to tilt his head back. His wide eyes meet yours, pupils blown with lust, that perpetual blush painting him like a guilty schoolboy. You straddle him then, the bench creaking faintly under your weight, and guide his tip to your soaked entrance. Sinking down, you pause at the delicious stretch—his girth filling you inch by torturous inch, your pussy walls fluttering around him. A gasp claws at your throat, but you swallow it, clamping a finger over his lips instead. "Shh, baby," you whisper, voice husky with command. "People right outside. Be good."

Gojo stutters beneath you, a pathetic "P-please... move," slipping out in a desperate whine, his hands fisting the edge of the bench to keep from grabbing you. The thrill of it, the risk, the wrongness, sends fire licking through your veins. You start rocking, slow at first, his cock dragging against that deep, sensitive spot inside you with every rise and fall. Pleasure sparks white-hot, making your eyes roll back, mouth falling open in a silent cry as your pussy squeezes him greedily.

You lock eyes with him, and fuck, he's a mess: glasses perched precariously at the tip of his nose, not even bothering to fix them as he stares up at you, already looking thoroughly fucked out. His stubble scratches lightly against your cheek when you lean in, breath ghosting his ear. "You feel so fucking good, baby," you murmur, the words a deliberate tease to shatter his composure. It works—his grip snaps to your hips, fingers digging in with surprising strength as he bucks up, forcing you down faster, deeper.

You match his rhythm, the wet slap of skin muffled by the thin walls, but every thrust amps the danger. He freezes suddenly, gaze flicking past you, and you twist to follow—oh. The full-length mirror on the opposite wall reflects it all, he's watching the obscene bounce of your ass, the way your pussy swallows him whole with each grind. A sly smile curls your lips, and you speed up, slamming down harder to make his breath hitch into a choked cough, saliva catching in his throat.

Gojo's hand tangles in your hair, pulling your head back gently but urgently so your ear brushes his lips. His voice is wrecked, a desperate rasp: "T-turn around... please... n-need to see you." The desperate plea, laced with that stutter, only fuels your fire. You lift off him with a slick pop, his cock gleaming with your combined arousal, and spin to face the mirror. Eyes locking on his in the reflection—those flushed cheeks, the way his glasses magnify his hazy desperation, you sink back down, impaling yourself fully.

Now you see it too, the erotic tableau of your bodies joined, his bearded face contorted in bliss, ears burning red as you ride him harder. He rises off the bench, thrusting up to meet you, his cock pistoning deep into your clenching heat. The pressure builds relentlessly, your clit grinding against his base with every slam, and you bite your lip bloody to trap the moans bubbling up. Voices outside spike, a door swings nearby—and the fear twists into pure adrenaline, making your pussy flutter wildly around him.

"F-fuck, you're so tight," Gojo whimpers softly, his thrusts turning erratic, glasses finally slipping off to clatter forgotten on the bench. He's close, you can feel it in the way he twitches inside you, but you're not done teasing. You clench deliberately, rolling your hips in a way that has him gasping, and whisper over your shoulder, "Hold it. Not yet. We're being so bad... what if they hear?"

The words tip you both toward the edge. Your orgasm crashes first, sudden and shattering, waves of heat pulsing through your core as your pussy spasms around his cock, milking him with rhythmic squeezes. You shatter silently, body arching in the mirror's reflection, nails digging into his thighs as ecstasy rips a muffled cry from your throat.

It undoes him completely. Gojo's eyes widen in panic and bliss, a stuttered "N-no, I—ah!" escaping as your climax triggers his own. He cums hard, accidentally flooding your pussy with hot spurts of his release, hips jerking uncontrollably as he whimpers brokenly—"Mmmph... s-sorry... f-fuck, c-cumming..."—his voice a high, nerdy whine that vibrates against your skin. The sensation of him filling you, warm and messy, prolongs your high, and you grind down to wring every drop from him, both of you trembling in the aftermath.

“My back hurts,” you groan, reaching up to massage your sore shoulders. Your muscles are tight beneath your fingers, and you sigh at the tiny bit of relief you manage to give yourself. Choso, your longtime friend and roommate, watches from beside you on the couch. His eyes linger a little.

“Come here,” he says, patting the floor in front of him. “Let me work my magic.” He wiggles his fingers like sparks are about to fly from them.

You snort. “Somehow you’re gonna make it worse.” Still, you stand and plop yourself down in front of him. “Please be careful, Cho.”

He doesn’t respond. His hands settle on your shoulders, warm and firm, and he starts kneading. You melt almost instantly. His touch is careful but strong, thumbs pressing deep into the knots there. A broken sigh slips from your lips when he hits a particularly sore spot. His fingers falter for half a second.

“This would be easier if you took your shirt off,” Choso says quietly. When you glance back, he’s blushing hard. You smirk and pull your shirt over your head, revealing the pink bra underneath. “Better?”

“Y-Yeah. Uh. Definitely. I’ve… been told it helps,” he mutters, trying and failing to sound professional. You laugh softly and lay down when he tells you to. Chest against the hardwood, you feel him shift, his thick thighs straddling your hips as he resumes. His hands glide lower now, spreading warmth through your back. You’re practically purring.

“This is amazing, Choso,” you breathe. Your eyes flutter shut. His palms move slower, heavier, thumbs digging in just right. When he presses into another tender spot, a soft, helpless moan spills from you before you can stop it.

He freezes.

“Sorry,” you laugh, turning your head to tease him—but the words die in your throat. He’s staring at you. Flushed. Eyes dark.You shift slightly and feel it.

His hardness, unmistakable, pressing against your lower back. Your breath catches. One moan. That’s all it took.

“Cho—” you murmur, subtly pushing your hips back. He groans, low and strained. “Don’t,” he warns, one hand sliding to your hip, gripping.

Heat floods your body. He’s so riled up, so desperate already. The idea makes you arch again, brushing against him deliberately this time.

“Fuck,” he exhales, voice wrecked. He grips your hips harder and sits back down fully against you. His breathing is heavier now, uneven, and you can feel him grinding ever so slightly against your backside before he forces himself still.

His hands drift upward again, but this time they’re not steady. They trail over your bra straps,hesitant and aching.

“Take it off, Choso,” you whisper. You flip over to face him. He swallows hard before reaching behind you, fingers fumbling slightly at the clasp. When it snaps open, he pulls away just enough for you to sit up and slip it off. Your breasts are bare in front of him now. He stares like he’s starving.

His eyes flick between your face and your chest over and over, like he can’t decide what’s more overwhelming. Something shifts in him then—restraint snapping.

He leans in and kisses you. It’s not gentle. It’s hungry. Feverish. Like he’s been holding this in for years and one single moan shattered his control. His mouth moves against yours urgently, tongue sliding past your lips when you gasp.

You moan again. This time he doesn’t freeze. He groans into your mouth, hands gripping your waist as he lifts you effortlessly. You wrap your legs around him, kissing down his jaw as he carries you toward the bedrooms. He hesitates for a split second in the hallway. Trying to decide between the two.

“Yours,” you whisper against his neck. He turns immediately, pushing his door open and kicking it shut behind him. He lays you down carefully, but the look in his eyes is anything but careful. He crawls over you, caging you in. When your hand slips into his sweatpants and wraps around his hard length, he shudders.

“God—” he breathes, hips twitching into your palm. You smile against his mouth.

“Want to hear you make that pretty noise again,” he murmurs, voice thick.

He moves down your body, kissing and biting along the way until he reaches your chest. He sucks one nipple into his mouth, groaning softly at the taste of you, while his hand squeezes the other. He pinches your nipple between his fingers. You moan, louder this time. His hips jerk into the mattress.

“Can I do more?” he asks, already tugging at your shorts. You nod desperately, lifting your hips for him. He strips you in one swift motion and then just… stares.

“Fuck,” he whispers. You’re already wet, glistening under him.

“Please, Choso,” you beg. That’s all it takes.

He spreads your thighs and buries himself between them without hesitation. His tongue slides through your heat and you gasp sharply. He groans at the sound, grinding himself into the bed as if he can’t help it. His tounge is working you desperately. Sucking on your swollen clit, Every moan you give him makes him more frantic. More desperate.

You can see it—his hips rutting into the mattress, the way his fingers dig into your thighs to hold you open. He slips two fingers inside you, curling them just right, and you cry out his name. He whimpers.

Actually whimpers.

“Feels so good, Cho,” you breathe, tangling your fingers in his hair. He works your pussy eagerly. Desperate to work any sweet sounds out of you.

He moans against you, tongue working your clit harder, fingers thrusting deeper. He’s chasing your sounds, addicted to them. Every gasp, every broken cry pushes him closer to the edge. When he adds a third finger and hits that perfect spot, your vision blurs.

“Choso—I’m close—” He groans, hips stuttering hard against the bed as you tighten around his fingers. You come undone with a loud moan of his name, legs shaking as he holds you down and works you through it. He’s rutting desperately into the mattress now, breathing ragged. You glance down through hazy eyes and see his movements growing frantic, sloppy.

And then,He goes still. A sharp inhale. A strained, broken sound from deep in his chest. His hips jerk once more against the bed before he collapses forward slightly, forehead pressing into your thigh.

It takes you a second to realize.

He didn’t even touch himself. Slowly, he pulls away from between your legs, cheeks flushed dark red, lips swollen and shiny. You sit up slightly, eyes trailing down. There’s a dark, spreading stain on the front of his sweatpants. Your lips part.

“Choso…” you breathe. He refuses to meet your eyes, mortified and breathless. “You were—” he swallows. “You sounded so good.” You stare at him for a moment before a slow, wicked smile spreads across your face.

“All from one moan?” you tease softly. His ears burn red. You lean forward, grabbing his shirt and pulling him into another kiss, this time slow and deliberate.

Your fingers teased yourself open slowly. You loved this. Your dorm was too crowded, privacy almost impossible to find. So you came here at night, when it was quiet and no one was around.

You’d done this before. It had always been exactly what you needed. And after today? This was perfect.

A soft moan slipped from your lips as you brought one leg up onto the dashboard, giving yourself better access. Your head fell back as you pushed your fingers inside, heat instantly spreading through your body.

God, it felt good.

Your fingers moved skillfully, searching for that spongy spot you loved so much. You exhaled shakily when you hit it just right—

And froze.

Headlights pulled into a spot a few spaces over.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

You dropped your leg quickly, heart racing, praying they hadn’t seen you. Slowly, you glanced over.

A boy you vaguely recognized sat in the driver’s seat.

He wasn’t looking at you.

He was looking down.

Down at his hand wrapped around his dick, pumping slowly.

Holy shit.

You gasped. Was he doing that while driving? That couldn’t be safe. But god… his white hair almost glowed under the faint light, and he looked hot. He threw his head back, clearly moaning, and you wished you could hear it.

That thought alone made you spread your legs again.

He still hadn’t noticed you.

You slipped a finger back inside yourself, moaning softly as you watched him. You were wetter now—far wetter than before. Watching him affect you like this was almost embarrassing.

Almost.

You circled your swollen clit slowly, eyes locked on his moving hand. Fuck, he was hot.

Your hand slid up to squeeze your clothed breast, imagining it was his instead. Just as you let out another breathy moan, your eyes met his.

Fuck.

He saw you.

You quickly looked away, heat rushing to your face, but when you dared to glance back… he was still watching.

And his hand hadn’t stopped.

He found this hot.

And to your surprise—you did too.

Slowly, deliberately, you moved your hand back to your breast. He nodded once.

An invitation.

Your other hand drifted down between your legs again. Even through the glass, you could see the way his smirk deepened. Neither of you could see below each other’s chests, but the way his arm moved told you everything.

You picked up your pace.

Your fingers traced tight circles over your clit, breath growing heavier. His eyes never left yours. You brought two fingers to your mouth, sucking them slowly, watching him groan at the sight.

Then you pushed them back inside yourself, gasping at the stretch.

His hand moved faster now.

He tugged at the collar of his shirt and you gave a small nod. In one smooth motion, he pulled it off, revealing a chiseled chest that made your stomach tighten. God, you wanted him to stand up—wanted to see all of him—but the mystery only made it hotter.

He gestured slightly toward you.

You slipped your fingers out with a soft sigh and pulled your shirt over your head. Then your bra followed. When you looked up again, he was blushing.

You smirked and rolled one nipple between your fingers, moaning softly.

His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, pumping harder. He was close. You could tell.

So were you.

You plunged your fingers back inside yourself, other hand tugging at your nipple. The thought of climbing into his car and straddling him flashed through your mind—but the distance, the glass between you, the silent understanding… it was intoxicating.

His eyes locked with yours as his body tensed. You watched him shudder as he came, white streaking across his chest.

That was all it took.

Your orgasm hit hard, unraveling through you in waves. A loud moan spilled from your lips as your body trembled around your fingers. Even through the glass, you were sure he heard.

For a long moment, neither of you moved.

Just staring.

Breathing.

Then he gave you one last slow smirk… started his engine… and drove away.