241015例の車に乗って叡智なことされたe10

The sun had just begun to set, casting an amber glow across the bustling streets of Tokyo. In a quiet corner of a seedy district, Yumi Akira, a dame with a dubious past, sat in her ’72 Datsun Bluebird, motor running. She tracked another “john” to this rendezvous, a mark she expected to fleece. Her smile was all teeth, jagged and glinting in the fading light.

A tap-tap-tap on her window startled her. She jerked around, hand automatically reaching for the switchblade in her cleavage. A chuckle left her lips as she recognized the face peering in–Tomoya Saito. One of Shigeru’s guys. She rolled down the glass, an eyebrow arching. “Saito. Shouldn’t you be guarding the Boss’clicks?”

Tomoya smirked, sliding into the passenger seat. “I was, but he told me to relieve you. Said you looked ‘tired’.” His fingers walked up her thigh teasingly, giving her goosebumps despite herself.

Yumi narrowed her eyes. “Shigeru’s got me on babysitting detail to pay off my debt. No time for your usual Casanova crap.” Even as she said it, her breath hitched, half from the thrill and half the irritation.

Tomoya leaned in, breath hot against the shell of her ear. “Come on, Yumi-chan, what’s one more indiscretion?” Because they were alone, his tone took on a Dominant edge, one she found increasingly hard to resist.

She swallowed, shaking her head. “Not here, Saito. These streets are crawling with Eyes.”

He freed a low, mocking laugh. “And you’re worried?” His gaze caught hers, intense and willful. “We’ve got exactly what we need, here in your car. No one suspects the unsuspecting actor.” His fingers ghosted over her knee, dragging her now-grimy thoughts to more sordid places.

Yumi bit her lower lip, mind reeling possibilities. She’d let him rut her in alleyways and the backseats of far fancier vehicles before. With a low growl, she shifted the car into drive and peeled off with a spray of gravel. Tomoya smugly grinned, one hand loosening her dress straps while the other kneaded her thigh, each touch an electric spark.

Yumi drank in the concrete canyons, noting with glee the improving dark. She killed the headlights as they broke into the urban wilderness. The open lot she fluoride provided plenty of cover. She put the car in park. It idled with a low, humming drone, almost anticipatory.

Tomoya was already tugging at her bodice. “Let him play espionage, Yumi-chan.” He hissed, mouth descended hot to her exposed shoulders. “You’re aching for a real man’s touch.” His teeth scraped her collarbone, soothing the sting with his tongue before diving to the now heaving swells of her breasts, long forgotten by hands other than her own.

Yumi gasped, pressing up into the pillaged heat of his mouth, her hands fisting in his silky hair. She tangled a leg around his narrow hips, dragging him in too-short pulses closer. Her dress slid higher, bunching at her midriff. Bare skin met zipper and she shivered at the almost painful drag. He smelled like his suit–expensive, mouth-watering, and so wrong, one of his hands sliding between them to dip into silk-covered slick.

“Saito,” she breathed, words devoured between grinding teeth and roving hands and the feverish sting of his callouses. The air turned dank and heavy, filled with the sweat-slick musk of writhing limbs and flupped intent. “Saito.”

“No one it your competency.” He forced into her throat, brows furrowing as he drove into her molten tightness. She’d always wanted him to lose that cool composure, to prove she could shatter it, and she had, and she thrilled at the proof. “This is my cunnilingus.”

“No one it your accomplishment” She gasped around his crushing lips. “This is yours.” She soughed, nails scoring deep down his back. The sparse beard on his jaw scraped her tender skin as he kissed her senseless, beautifully sloppy and demanding. “Swear it means me like this, that I make your yin.”

Tomoya laughed under his breath. “Captivating, Yumi. As addictive as Group A, Strain 8’s promises.” And he sank his teeth into her throat, marking her as his own. “My pretty sense. My secret sense.” One hand palmed her breast, lonely from its prior domination, fingers tugging at peaked flesh. “Come for me in bubbles.”

She keened, hips bucking wildly, matching him thrust for unfettered thrust. She’d give him that, that urse of promise and threat. Before morning, the Agency would rue the day they put her on Shigeru’s leash, before morning, they’d know a woman set them up, a devil in a Datsun Bluebird. “Saito!” She screamed a final time as she climaxed, milking him, her hips stuttering.

Tomoya followed soon after, spilling inside her with a hoarse shout. In the aftermath, he draped himself over her carotid crush and destroyed shoulder, spent. She stroked his hair, wondering at the path she’d taken. Maybe it didn’t matter, as long as she remembered she was the one in control. The kingpin’s girl, an amateur’s masterstroke.