Sho's lips ghosted over hers, breath hot and ragged, heart hammering in sync with hers.
He trailed kisses down her collarbone again, letting his tongue flick out to taste her skin—warm, trembling, alive beneath him. His hand cupped the side of her breast, thumb stroking slow, reverent circles over the soft flesh until she gasped beneath him.
"You okay?" he murmured, lips brushing her ear.
Makoto gave a jerky nod, too breathless to speak. Her body felt like fire, nerves alight with every tiny movement he made. Sho's touch was worshipful—nothing hurried, nothing careless. Just slow, deliberate devotion.
Then his lips dipped lower.
He took her breast into his mouth gently, sucking softly at first, his tongue swirling around the sensitive peak until it hardened against his tongue. Makoto's back arched helplessly, a strangled moan escaping her lips as his hand found her other breast, squeezing tenderly, fingers teasing her nipple with slow, aching patience.
"Sho… oh god…" she whimpered.
He hummed against her skin, the sound sending a hot jolt between her legs. The attention, the warmth of his mouth, the way his teeth gently grazed before kissing again—it made her dizzy, made her ache in places she didn't know could ache.
Sho moved to the other breast, repeating the same worship. His hands never stopped moving—caressing, exploring, holding her like she might vanish if he let go.
Then he kissed lower.
Makoto's breath hitched, her hands fisting the sheets as he trailed hot, wet kisses down her stomach. Each touch of his mouth was fire; each glance up at her from between her thighs made her feel both powerful and vulnerable all at once.
When he reached the soft curve of her hips, he paused.
"Tell me again," he whispered.
Makoto blinked down at him, eyes wide.
"That you want this. That I'm not dreaming."
She smiled shakily, brushing his cheek with trembling fingers. "You're not dreaming," she said. "And I want you, Sho. All of you."
He leaned down and kissed the inside of her thigh.
"Then I'm yours."
He spread her legs slowly, reverently, exposing her completely to him. Makoto flushed deep crimson, instinctively trying to close them again—but Sho gently pushed them apart.
"Don't hide from me," he said, voice thick with awe. "You're perfect."
His breath was warm against her folds, and when his tongue flicked out—slowly, teasingly—Makoto cried out, hips jerking upward. Her fingers flew to her mouth, trying to silence herself again, but Sho caught her wrist and pulled it away.
"Don't," he murmured. "Let me hear you. Please."
Then he dove back in.
His tongue was slow at first, exploring every fold, every crevice with aching precision. He traced her entrance, then moved up to her clit, swirling the tip of his tongue in soft, rhythmic circles that made her thighs tremble. Her hands tangled in his hair, hips rolling instinctively toward his mouth.
"Ah—Sho! Oh my god—!"
Her voice was shaky, breathless, her body taut like a bowstring. Sho's grip on her hips tightened as he sucked her clit gently, then alternated with fast, flicking licks that made her cry out louder, lost in sensation.
He slid a finger inside her—slowly, carefully—and felt her fluttering around him, hot and wet and pulsing with need. He pumped it gently, curling upward as his mouth continued working her folds with maddening skill.
Makoto was losing control.
Every nerve was alight, her body rising and falling with the rhythm of his tongue, the thrust of his finger. Her eyes fluttered shut, and she felt herself hurtling toward the edge.
"Sho—I'm—Sho, I'm gonna—!"
He didn't stop. If anything, he intensified, moaning softly into her as he felt her tighten, tremble—
Then she broke.
Her back arched off the mattress as her climax hit, a low, strangled cry escaping her lips. Her thighs clamped around his head, her body convulsing with pleasure so fierce it left her sobbing into his name.
Sho stayed with her through it all, gentling his licks, kissing her thighs as her body twitched and fell back to the bed, spent and glowing.
When he finally crawled back up to her, her face was flushed, eyes glassy, chest rising and falling in heavy gasps.
"I've never… felt that before," she whispered.
He kissed her forehead. "You deserve more than that."
"Sho…"
She reached up, brushing his hair from his eyes. Her fingers trailed down his chest, then lower—until they found the hard length pressing against his briefs. He shuddered under her touch.
"I want you inside me," she whispered.
His breath caught.
"Are you sure?" he rasped.
"I've never been more sure."
He kissed her again, slower this time—deeper. Then he pushed down his briefs, and Makoto stared for a second, eyes widening slightly. Sho hesitated, reading her reaction.
But she smiled. "Perfect."
He blushed. Actually blushed.
She cupped his face. "Come here."
Sho settled between her thighs, guiding himself to her entrance. He rubbed the head gently against her folds, gathering slickness, teasing her clit with slow movements until she squirmed beneath him.
"Sho—please—"
He lined himself up.
Then slowly, carefully, he pushed in.
Makoto gasped, eyes going wide, fingers gripping his arms. He froze at the first resistance, kissing her cheek, her neck, whispering soothing nothings.
"I'm okay," she said, voice tight. "Just go slow."
He did.
Each inch was slow, deliberate, giving her time to adjust. He felt the tight pull of her around him, hot and welcoming and impossibly snug.
When he was fully inside her, they both stilled, trembling.
"God…" he whispered. "You feel… incredible."
She nodded, tears in her eyes—but not from pain. "So do you."
He kissed her then, and as their lips moved, his hips began to move too—slow, shallow thrusts at first, careful, tender. She gasped into his mouth, arching against him, and he groaned at the feeling of her wrapped around him, clinging.
"Makoto… you're everything…"
He moved faster.
Their rhythm built gradually, their bodies melting into one another—skin against skin, sweat mingling, hearts pounding. The room was filled with breathy moans, gasps, the soft slap of flesh, and the occasional whispered plea.
Makoto wrapped her legs around him, drawing him deeper, matching his rhythm. Her hands clawed down his back, her nails digging into his skin as the pleasure built again.
"Harder," she begged. "Sho—don't hold back."
His thrusts became rougher, deeper, desperate.
Their bodies crashed together again and again, chasing release like it was the only thing that mattered. And when it came, it came hard.
Makoto clung to him as her orgasm ripped through her again, eyes wide, mouth open in a silent scream. Her walls clenched tight around him, and Sho groaned, shuddering as he buried himself deep and came, hips jerking as he filled her.
They collapsed together.
Breathless.
Tangled.
Whole.
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END OF CHAPTER : 6 : THE NIGHT BEFORE THE RACE! : 2
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