(Extremely 18+, and could even be more: You have been warned.)
His hands found her, hot and demanding, pulling her flush against him on the bed. The cool air of the room hit her skin, a momentary shock, only to be instantly replaced by the burning heat of his touch, a stark contrast to her own lingering chill. His mouth descended, not with the frantic rush from earlier, but with a slow, almost agonizing deliberation. He traced the delicate curve of her collarbone with the tip of his tongue, tasting the soft, yielding skin of her neck, sending shivers down her spine that had nothing to do with cold, and everything to do with the inferno he was starting within her.
His exploration was thorough, almost clinical in its reverence. He devoured every inch, every curve, every hidden dip of her body. His senses were alive with a fervent desire she'd never encountered, not even from him. His lips, his tongue, his hands moved with an intensity that stripped away her carefully built composure, lighting a fire deep inside her that she'd kept buried for so long, hidden beneath layers of duty and emotional detachment. He sought out every sensitive spot, lingering, teasing, drawing out reactions she hadn't known she possessed, coaxing them from her with a quiet, undeniable demand.
His mouth moved lower, a trail of fire across her sternum, his tongue tracing a path towards the soft swell of her breasts. He paused, his breath hot against her skin, before he finally took one rosy peak into his mouth. He drew on it with a gentle suction that sent a jolt straight to her core. He suckled deeply, savoring the taste, rolling her nipple between his tongue and teeth, a torment of exquisite pleasure. Her skin flushed, a deep red spreading across her chest. Her breath hitched in a ragged gasp, and a soft, broken whimper escaped her lips as his mouth's intense focus sent tremors, deep and uncontrollable, through her entire body. He then moved to the other, giving it the same devoted attention, his hands steady on her ribs, feeling the frantic beat of her heart beneath his palms as if it were his own.
"So, tell me..." he murmured, his voice thick with desire, his lips pressing against the sensitive skin just beneath her ear, "are you still so objectively resillient now, Mei?" His fingers tangled in her hair, pulling her head back slightly, exposing her throat, her chest, her rapidly heaving breasts to his hungry gaze. He consumed her with his eyes, with his touch, with every deliberate motion, pulling from her responses that were raw, unfiltered, and utterly emotional. This was not a detached experiment; this was a complete, consuming immersion, a worship that demanded every ounce of her being, leaving no room for the careful, calculating facade she usually wore.
Mei's breath hitched, her body trembling under his relentless assault. Every nerve ending screamed, her skin flushed, and a deep, unfamiliar heat bloomed in her core, spreading rapidly through her limbs. Her mind, usually so sharp and disciplined, struggled to maintain its focus against the overwhelming tide of sensation. She knew, deep down, that her body was betraying her, responding with an intensity she had never anticipated. Yet, even as her hips instinctively arched against him, seeking deeper contact, she fought to keep her voice steady, to cling to the last vestiges of her control.
"I... I am always resilient, Kyouya-sama," she managed, her voice a strained whisper, barely recognizable as her own. Her eyes, wide and dilated, locked onto his, a desperate attempt to project the unwavering composure she no longer felt. She refused to admit the truth, refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing her utterly consumed, even as her body, slick with sweat and desire, convulsed with a pleasure that was rapidly becoming unbearable.
"So, please... stop," Mei pleaded, the words torn from her, barely audible above the rising tide of sensation. Her voice was weak, a stark contrast to the strength with which Kyouya was now dominating her senses. Yet, even as the plea left her lips, her body, an independent entity in this fervent embrace, betrayed her. A shiver, deep and unfamiliar, rippled through her core. It was nothing like the detached experience of moments before, nothing like her first time with him. This was raw, untamed passion, a searing heat that consumed her from the inside out. Instinctively, involuntarily, her legs parted, a silent, desperate invitation.
His eyes, dark and knowing, held hers. A slow smile, triumphant and undeniably possessive, spread across Kyouya's face. "There it is," he murmured, his voice thick with satisfaction. "Honesty. It suits you, Mei."
Without another word, he shifted, aligning himself. A low groan escaped him as he pressed forward, his manhood finding its mark, sliding deep inside her for the second time. But this entry was utterly different. There was no detached calculation, no guarded resistance. This time, Mei was utterly devoured by her own emotions, a tempest of pleasure and raw instinct she could no longer control.
Kyouya began to move, a primal rhythm taking hold. He pounded into her, each thrust deep and deliberate, driving her higher, stripping away every last shred of her composure. His mouth was a fervent exploration across her skin, tracing the line of her jaw, nipping at her earlobe, tasting the delicate pulse at her throat. His hands, firm and steady, remained on her chest, bracing himself, feeling the frantic beat of her heart against his palms as he claimed every breathless gasp, every soft cry, every shiver that wracked her body. She was lost, consumed, utterly at his mercy, and in that surrender, she found a release she had never known possible.
Her back arched off the bed, a guttural cry escaping her lips, a sound she wouldn't have believed herself capable of. Each thrust from Kyouya was a direct hit to the core of her being, dismantling the careful structure of her self-control with brutal, exquisite efficiency. He wasn't just inside her; he was filling her, consuming her, demanding a response that vibrated through her very bones.
His mouth found the hollow of her throat, then her shoulder, biting down just hard enough to elicit a sharp gasp, a burst of pain that melted instantly into a more intense pleasure. His hands, still on her chest, tightened, his thumbs brushing against the swollen peaks of her breasts, sending another jolt through her. She felt herself fragmenting, her thoughts dissolving into pure sensation, a relentless, overwhelming tide.
"No more objectivity, Mei," Kyouya rasped against her ear, his breath hot, his voice thick with his own escalating pleasure. "Only this. Only us."
Her fingers, no longer disciplined, clawed at the sheets, then tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, begging for more of the exquisite torment he inflicted. Her hips rose to meet his, an instinctive, desperate rhythm, as if her body had a will entirely separate from her mind. The room spun, the sounds of their labored breathing, the wet slap of skin against skin, the moans she couldn't suppress, becoming the only reality. She was a vessel, overflowing with feeling, a burning conduit for the primal energy that surged between them. This wasn't just a physical act; it was an obliteration of her former self, a violent, beautiful rebirth in the crucible of his worship.
A final, desperate surge of sensation tore through her, breaking the last of her carefully constructed walls. Her voice, raw and ragged, ripped from her throat in a single, guttural scream. "YES!"
Kyouya paused, his body still deeply embedded within hers, his eyes locked on her face. A slow, triumphant smile spread across his lips, a mixture of satisfaction and dark admiration. He leaned down, brushing his lips against her sweaty temple. "Good girl, Mei," he murmured, his voice laced with possessive pleasure.
"A very good girl."