I do things

Narumi had been good all day. Better than he thought he could be, honestly. Bag after bag had cut into the grooves of his arms, thin handles biting down until the skin flushed, veins standing out under the weight. His shoulders had burned halfway through the second store, but he hadn't said a word. Every time Y/N glanced back at him, bright-eyed and grinning, he just shifted the load higher, biceps bunching, jaw tight but silent.

He could have pulled out his phone. He thought about it once, thumb brushing the pocket, but didn't. Because then he might've missed the way she'd come spinning out of the fitting room in a slip of a dress that looked one tug away from disaster, laughing as she asked if it was too much. He might've missed the tug she gave her mini skirt to test its length, or the pout she threw when she decided against it. So he stayed there, heavy with her bags, pretending his patience wasn't thin as thread.

"This is the last one," she said for the third time that afternoon, poking her head out of yet another dressing room, hair messy from yanking tops over her head. She was still in the skirt, legs bare, one strap of her bra slipping down her shoulder under the shirt she hadn't bothered to fasten. "Swear. But—I need your help with this top, it's being stubborn."

Narumi dropped the bags onto the chair outside her stall with a dull thud. His reflection caught in the mirror opposite him before he stepped inside: arms carved sharp by the weight he'd carried, veins roped down his forearms, sleeveless tee clinging damp to his chest. His face was cut into planes by the harsh overhead light, pink fringe shadowing his eyes, his mouth already set too tight. He looked like someone who had been waiting, not someone who'd been shopping.

The stall was small. Too small. Mirrors on every wall trapped them in their own reflections, multiplying the heat between their bodies. Y/N bent to grab a hanger from the floor, muttering something about mixing and matching, and that was it. The skirt slid higher on her thighs, exposing the curve of her ass, and Narumi's restraint gave way.

By the time she straightened, he was there—chest pressed to her back, his arm sliding up to brace against the mirror above her shoulder. Their eyes met in the reflection, her breath catching in surprise, his gone low and dangerous.

"Baby," she whispered, the word quick, nervous, not quite a protest. "This is a store. There are people—"

His mouth found her ear, teeth scraping her skin before he bit down just enough to make her gasp. "Then you're just gonna have to be real good and real quiet, won't you?" His voice was steady, flat in its certainty, but his eyes in the mirror were wild. His other hand was already tugging at the hem of her skirt, fingers flexing like he'd imagined this moment a hundred times.

"You know how long I've been standin' out there?" His words rumbled against her neck, a low growl undercut with a grin. "Haulin' your bags. Watchin' you strut around in skirts that barely cover your ass. Noddin' and smilin' like a good boyfriend while you ask me which top makes your tits look better." He pressed his hips forward, just enough for her to feel how hard he already was. "And I was good. So good. But now?" His mouth dragged down her jaw, kissing hot and slow, filthy in its sweetness. "I think I deserve a little reward."

The mirrors made it worse. Every angle showed something—his arm stretched taut above her, the sweep of muscle in his bicep, the hungry line of his mouth against her throat. Her wide eyes, her parted lips. The skirt clinging tighter to her hips as he palmed her, greedy. He caught it all, his gaze darting from one reflection to the next like he wanted to memorize every version of her coming undone.

Her reflection caught her before she could even think about looking at him. The mirror in front of her laid it bare: Narumi crowding her against the glass, arm flexed above her head, the bulge in his jeans pressed against the small of her back. His eyes weren't on her face—they were on the reflection of her body, on the way her skirt had ridden up, on the faint glimpse of lace when her thighs shifted.

"Look at you," he rasped, voice a mix of awe and cruelty. His hand smoothed down her side, knuckles grazing the soft line of her waist before gripping tight at her hip. "All that twirlin' around for me out there, askin' if I liked this one or that one—like you didn't know the whole damn time the only thing I wanted was you bent over in front of me."

Her lips parted, a shaky exhale leaving her. "Gen... we can't—"

He laughed against her throat, the sound short, sharp, wicked. "Can't? Sweetheart, we already are." He pushed her skirt higher with one hand, the other flattening against her stomach to pin her flush to the mirror. "You feel that?" His hips rolled, slow but heavy, dragging the thick line of his cock against her ass. "You think I'm standin' here like this 'cause I'm patient?"

She squeezed her eyes shut, heat rising everywhere at once. He caught it instantly, teeth snapping at her ear as he growled, "No. Open. Your. Eyes."

Her gaze flew forward on instinct, meeting the reflection—her face flushed, her shirt half undone, Narumi looming over her with his grin split sharp. He looked dangerous in the lighting, hair falling into his eyes, veins standing in his arm where he braced them both.

"Fuck, you're even prettier when you're embarrassed," he groaned, grinding harder now, enough to make her whimper. His voice was a steady rasp in her ear. "Don't look away. You see how good you look for me? How perfect this is? That skirt, those mirrors—baby, you were beggin' for me the second you stepped in here."

His hand slipped lower, hooking the edge of her panties and dragging them aside. The sudden cold of air on wet heat made her jolt, a sound catching in her throat. His smirk deepened, his fingers spreading her folds, dragging through slick that coated his skin in seconds.

"Goddamn," he muttered, almost reverent, but the cruel curl never left his mouth. "All that shoppin' and chatter, and this is what you were hidin' under it all? Drippin' like a slut waitin' for me to lose it." He slid two fingers deep, groaning low at the way she clenched. "Fuck—you're squeezin' already. You that desperate?"

Her head dropped forward, forehead against the cool mirror. "Gen, please—"

"Please, what?" His pace stayed steady, curling deep, thumb finding her clit and dragging slow circles. His eyes in the reflection burned into hers. "Please stop? Please fuck you? You gotta use your words, sweetheart, or I'll just keep teasin' you till you're cryin'."

Her whimper was almost enough of an answer. He kissed it off her skin anyway, biting hard at her shoulder before soothing the mark with his tongue. His other hand freed his cock, the thick length dragging against her ass as he stroked himself once, twice, spreading the pre across her skin. His reflection showed everything—veins bulging in his arm, jaw tight, eyes half-lidded with hunger.

"You see that?" he hissed, pressing the head of his cock against her slick slit but not pushing in yet. "See how hard I am just from lookin' at you? You're my fuckin' treat right now."

He pushed forward a fraction, just enough to breach her, and her gasp fogged the glass again. He laughed, cruel and low, voice dripping heat as he kissed the shell of her ear.

"Good girl. Take it. Quiet now. Make me believe you can be real good for me while I ruin you."

Her cheek pressed against the glass now, heat blooming where cool surface met flushed skin. Every breath fogged her own reflection, her lips parted, eyes wide and desperate as Narumi loomed behind her. His arm caged her in, the thick cords of muscle shifting under his sleeveless shirt every time his hand flexed at her hip.

"Look at you," he rasped, dragging his cock's slick through her folds without pushing in. His voice split the silence, low and rough, curling with amusement. "This is what you were plannin' all along?"

She shook her head weakly, the denial breaking on a moan when he pushed just the tip inside.

"Don't lie to me." He slammed his hips forward an inch, the thick stretch forcing her body open. His arm flexed harder above her head, every vein standing out, his chest pressed solid into her back. "You feel this?" Another slow push, another inch. "This cock's been hard since your first little outfit try. You're a fuckin' tease, and now you're gonna pay for it."

Her knees buckled, and he caught her with a sharp grip at her waist, laughing ragged against her ear. "Uh-uh. You don't get to run. Not when you're this wet." His fingers dragged lower, spreading her slick across her inner thigh until it shone under the harsh lights. "Goddamn, sweetheart, you're makin' a mess and I ain't even given you half of it yet."

The mirror caught it all. Her wide, pleading eyes. His cock, thick and flushed, splitting her inch by inch. Sweat cutting lines along every ridge of muscle as he forced himself deeper. His mouth curved in a wolfish grin when her gaze darted away, cheeks flaming.

"No," he snapped, hand leaving her hip to grip her jaw, forcing her head up. His reflection loomed behind hers, eyes sharp, grin cruel. "You don't get to look away. You watch me fuck you. Watch yourself takin' me like the little treat you are."

She whimpered, muffled against his hand when he clamped it over her mouth. His hips rolled forward, finally sinking deep enough that his pelvis slammed flush against her ass. The sound cracked in the tiny space—skin meeting skin, obscene and raw.

"Fuck," he groaned, forehead pressing to her temple, his voice breaking into the reflection between their faces. "Tightest little cunt in the world, and she's all mine. Look at that—" He rocked back just enough that they both saw it: her body clenching, his cock dragging out slick and glistening before shoving back in. "—look at how well you take me. Tell me that ain't the prettiest fuckin' sight you've ever seen."

Her muffled cry met his hand again, thighs trembling. He only laughed, mean and fond at once. "Quiet now, sweetheart. You're doin' good. But you make one sound too loud, and the whole store's gonna know how easy you are for me."

Her reflection blurred with every thrust, glass fogged from her panting breath, her cheek smeared against it. Narumi's cock split her open deep and steady, each drag wet and obscene in the cramped room. His hand stayed clamped over her mouth, muffling every cry, while the other held her hip tight enough she'd have bruises come morning.

He caught her eyes darting away again. His laugh was sharp, breath hot at her ear. "I told you—watch. Don't you dare look anywhere but the mirror. You see this cock? You see how it owns you?" He shoved in harder, her eyes rolling as her body clenched. "That's mine. All mine."

Then, with a low grunt, he shifted. One hand still trapping her face, he tugged his phone from his pocket with the other. The screen lit, throwing pale light across their bodies, catching the sheen of sweat on his arms, the mess slicking her thighs. He angled it low first, behind them—her ass bouncing against his hips, his cock shining wet each time he pulled halfway out before slamming back in. The sound of their bodies colliding was filthy in the tiny space, loud enough the mirror trembled in its frame.

Her muffled whimper broke into his palm. He laughed again, meaner this time. "Yeah, that's it. You like this? Good. 'Cause I'm keepin' it. For my eyes only. You look too fuckin' pretty like this."

The phone shifted, tilting to catch their side view—her face slack, lips parted against his hand, her eyes glazed as her tits bounced with every thrust. His own reflection filled the frame too: sleeveless shirt clinging to his chest, arms bulging with every grip and slam, jaw tight, mouth split in a wolfish grin.

"Goddamn..." His voice broke, husky, desperate but still laced with control. "I've been haulin' bags all day, bein' good for you—and now look at you, givin' me a reward like this. You're my reward, sweetheart. My pretty little prize."

She shook her head weakly, a protest that didn't land, her thighs quivering as his cock drove deeper. His smirk sharpened, and he angled the phone higher, capturing the mirror's reflection of them both.

"Look," he ordered, grinding slow just to make her feel every inch. "See that? That's you takin' me. That's me fuckin' you like you deserve. And this—" he gave a sharp thrust, her muffled cry echoing against the glass, "—this is mine to watch again and again when you're not around to keep me warm."

Her body spasmed around him, and he groaned, head tipping back, throat working with the sound. He let the phone hover a second longer, then leaned down, lips brushing her ear, his words low and wrecked. "But don't worry, sweetheart. No one else is ever seein' this. Not a chance in hell. You're mine."

His arm was trembling—not from lack of control, but from holding the damn phone while pounding into her like this. He wanted both hands on her, wanted her body pinned and quaking under his grip, not balanced between a screen and her skin. With a sharp grunt, he pulled out just far enough to steady her, then reached past, setting the phone down on the little chair piled with her discarded clothes. The angle caught everything—her bent over the mirror, his cock sliding wet and thick into her, the way her thighs shook as he split her open.

He leaned back to check the frame and smirked. "Perfect. Now I don't miss a thing."

Then he was on her again. His chest pressed to her back, one broad palm covering her mouth, forcing her cries into whimpers muffled against his skin. His other hand dug into her hip, dragging her back onto him, harder, faster, until the sound of their bodies clapping together filled the dressing room louder than her muffled moans. His bicep bulged against her cheek, every vein on his arm standing as he kept her pinned and trembling.

"Yeah, that's it," he rasped against her ear, eyes flicking up to the mirror so she had to watch him watching her. "So fuckin' good for me. You take my cock so well. That's what bein' mine looks like." He slammed in again, teeth gritted, groaning when her body clenched around him. "Fuck, look at you—drippin' down your thighs, shakin' all over my cock. Goddamn, you're perfect."

She tried to speak, words garbled under his palm, but he only pressed tighter, smirking as her eyes rolled and her lashes fluttered. "Shh," he cooed, mean and sweet all at once. "Don't wanna let the whole store know what a mess you're makin', do you? Be my good girl. Take it quiet."

He dragged his hips slow for a beat, letting her feel every inch, then drove back in hard, the mirror rattling in its frame with the force. The reflection caught everything—the sweat dampening his hair, the smirk cutting his jaw, the way her breasts bounced, the shine of wetness on his cock every time he pulled back.

"Shit..." he hissed through clenched teeth, hips snapping faster, rougher, his breath hot against her ear. "Gonna keep this vid forever. Every time I watch it, I'm gonna remember how you looked—pretty skirt hiked up, panties pushed aside, takin' me deep while you begged me to fuck you."

His grip on her hip turned bruising, his thrusts sharper, his groans lower, guttural, breaking through his steady drawl. "Mine," he snarled, watching himself fuck her in the mirror. "Every angle, every sound—you're mine."

His rhythm broke, hips stuttering, breath hitching into something raw and sharp. He tore his hand from her mouth just long enough to growl, "On your knees. Now."

She barely had time to blink before he hauled her off the mirror, spinning her around with a grip on her arm and the waistband of her skirt. The force of it dropped her to the floor hard enough that her thighs wobbled when they hit the tile, but he steadied her with one hand tangled in her hair, tilting her head back so she had no choice but to look up at him.

The phone was still running on the chair, angled perfect: catching him looming over her, chest heaving, arms corded and shaking, cock glistening with her slick as he stroked himself furiously. His other hand kept her steady, thumb brushing the corner of her mouth before he shoved her jaw wider.

"Fuck, look at you," he groaned, voice rough, jaw clenched hard. His eyes burned down at her, half-wild with need, half reverent like he couldn't believe she was his. "So fucking perfect."

She gasped when he tugged her closer by the hair, the head of his cock dragging across her cheek, smearing wetness there before sliding over her lips. He didn't push inside—just teased, painted her with it, his stomach tightening as he worked himself faster.

"Gonna make such a mess of you," he rasped, veins standing in his forearms, every muscle drawn tight under the sleeveless tee clinging to him. His abs flexed hard with every stroke, the thick vein along his cock pulsing under his grip. "Fuckin' earned it."

Her hands came up instinctively, clutching his thighs, nails digging into hard muscle. He groaned, the sound breaking into a growl as his head tipped back, sweat dripping down the column of his throat. Then he looked down again, locking eyes with her, smirk breaking wide and filthy.

"Open wide, baby. This is mine, but I want it all over you."

The words hit like a command. She obeyed, lips parting, tongue out, chest rising fast as she braced for it. He grunted low, cock twitching in his fist, and then he broke—spurting thick, hot ropes that painted across her tongue, her lips, her cheek. His groan tore out of him, guttural, his whole body jerking with every pulse.

"Fuck, yes..." he panted, working the last drops out onto her chin, smearing it with his thumb. He looked wrecked—hair damp, chest heaving, veins raised down his arms—and yet his grin was smug as hell, worshipful and mean all at once. "Prettiest fuckin' sight. All mine."

He eased his grip in her hair, thumb brushing over her jaw as his breathing slowed. His cock softened in his hand, still slick with the mix of them, still glistening in the harsh dressing room light. He bent a little, catching her gaze in the mirror over her shoulder, making sure she saw what he saw: her on her knees, dripping with him, flushed and ruined.

The heat in him lingered, but the second the last tremor left his body, Narumi was bending down, hand gentle where it had been rough, brushing her damp hair back from her face. "Hey," he whispered, voice gone hoarse but soft now, all that edge smoothed out. His thumb traced her cheek, catching the streaks he'd left there. "You okay?"

Her breath came shaky, but she nodded, still dazed. That was all he needed. His grin softened into something boyish, and before she could blink, he was pulling tissues from his pocket—always prepared—and carefully wiping her chin, her lips, murmuring nonsense praise while he worked.

"Pretty girl... took me so good," he muttered, kissing her hairline, then her cheek, not caring if he got himself dirty again. "No one out there knows a thing. They just see my sweet girlfriend trying on skirts. If only they fuckin' knew."

He helped her to her feet with surprising care, steadying her by the waist when her knees wobbled. A quick check in the mirror—he fixed her hair, adjusted her skirt, tugged her top straight, and grinned at his own handiwork. No one would guess a thing if they saw her walk out right now.

Then he tapped her hip, playful again. "Looks like we're buyin' this outfit," he said, low and teasing but with that warmth that made it impossible to doubt him. "Skirt's already passed the test."

When she groaned, half exasperated, half laughing, he leaned in, lips brushing her temple, eyes sparkling even as he gathered up the pile of her discarded tops. "Relax, sweetheart. I'll pay. Least I can do after makin' it a little... lived-in."

By the time they stepped out, Narumi had every bag hooked on his arms again, casual as anything, like he hadn't just filmed her coming apart for him in a dressing room. His free hand found hers automatically, squeezing once, grounding. To anyone else, he was just the tired boyfriend trailing after his girl. But she could still feel his claim in every part of her body—and in the way he smirked, private and satisfied, when the sales clerk rang them up.