Dancing like fire over her skin, his hands forced Haruhi to restrain herself from moaning too loud. Although his pace and heat brought her to trembles of utter ecstasy, she was dually not alone. It was, after all, late into the night, and she was, after all, a minor with a single parent. Somehow, he managed to touch her, caress her, fondle her, without even laying a single hand on her flesh. Only his fingertips skimmed over her bare skin, but even so, it was enough to have her begging for more.
She cried out his name as his hands ghosted up her thighs. He was so close to where she needed him to be, he was so close to pleasuring her but each time he was about to conclude her agony, he would rush away and turn his attentions elsewhere. This had been happening since he'd snuck in. Fueling the fire, extinguishing the flame, fueling the fire, extinguishing the flame. It was a shock that she'd last this long without punishing him in some sort of way. Her only logical explanation was the slight pleasure it permitted her. Perfectly, he balanced between starving her of gratification and presenting her all she could desire.
Mind only half aware of the parent sleeping soundly in the other room, Haruhi moaned vociferously as his chest squashed against hers, crushing her back against the wall behind her. Lack of clothing forced another groan from her, this time of mutual delight and discomfort. The paint on the wall dug into her flesh almost like sandpaper, and yet, his member was stiff and he flush against her. Although he was clothed, the sensation of his heart beating against hers and his hands, as they now firmly gripped her inner thighs, brought her immense satisfaction.
"Please," she moaned, refraining from the growl building up in her chest. His lips savagely scorched up her neck, teeth grazing against the heated flesh there. When he declined, she could the vibrations from his chest. "Please," Haruhi breathed. As he elevated the placement of his hand, she was gradually losing the ability to speak coherently. Now, with his hand lingering in the crook of her thigh, she merely panted heavily, licking her chapped lips. Attempting a mutter once more, Haruhi did not manage the beginning syllable when he cupped her womanhood and drew a grateful moan from deep within her abdomen. With the relief, her pleasure conquered her sanity and, although Rank slumbered just a wall away, Haruhi released a series of moans, inarticulately slurring his name.
She whimpered pathetically as his hand worked magic, fingering her and twisting her so well that she almost, again, cried out. In a half-conscious attempt to prevent any further noises, Haruhi clutched the jacket he wore, Ouran's mandatory uniform jacket, and crumpled in her hands, drawing him impossibly closer.
Rolling off her tongue, his name filled the air until she climaxed, where she held her breath and fisted a hand in his hair to keep from waking her father. Truthfully, she was stunned that he'd not yet burst in. After all her failed attempts to cease emitting the erotic moans, he should've at least made some noise or pounded a hand on her door. He'd done it before to 'protect his baby girl.' It shocked her that he'd abstained from the action now.
As the sensation ebbed away, he withdrew his hand and slowly eased backwards.
Haruhi, dumbfounded to find that he'd quit his actions so soon, opened her eyes – which must have shut while she'd been consumed by lust – only to gasp and find that his face was clouded from her sight. She shrieked as the fogginess over his face obscured only it from her line of sight and thrust him away, terrified that he was so afflicted by such a mystery.
She woke from the dream in a cold sweat. Unlike TV shows or movies, she did not leap into a sitting position, gasping for her life, but rather flashed open her eyes and convulsed minutely. Her heart pounded, caught somewhere between fierce desire and paralyzing guilt. The dream-mare lingered in her, certain scenes so familiar, others terrifyingly haunting. Haruhi did not sleep that night, but simply tossed and turned, restlessly in her bed. It was clear to her what the dream signified, what it tried to transpire from the moral, and equally subdued, part of her mind. But she refused to face it. Although she'd always been a girl of honesty and fact, she could not accept what she already knew.
She could not accept that she, Haruhi Fujioka, was in a relationship with two.