Author's Note:
Thank you all for the wonderful reviews. They have definitely lifted my spirits during this last week of hell. They are, in fact, so wonderful that I'm now sitting here typing up this chapter instead of doing the endless other things I should be doing right now. Ah, oh well.
I have two things to mention, since this is nearing to its close. One is that I know some of you are wondering if Usagi and Mamoru will discover their past identities, but as the story is laid out in my head at the moment, they will not. However, that got me thinking about how their physical relationship would impact other events that occur in the canon and I'm seriously considering turning Insatiable into the first part of a series of stories, which will all be housed here and would branch off from Insatiable, while still loosely remaining true to the main arcs in the storyline. Do you think that is something you would be interested in reading?
And secondly, a few of you had expressed an interest in talking with me, which I am completely open to. You can send me a pm through this site or if you have aim, my sn is snickers338. Anyways, don't be shy, I'd be glad to talk with you all.
So please read and enjoy and review! I love reviews. And judging by the number of alerts and favorites I have for this particular story, I have many who don't review at all. So please, if you are one of those, one review would be just lovely and so appreciated. Tell me what you love, hate, would change, etc. I'm very open to criticism as long as it's constructive. Oh wow, I see I've gotten a little lengthy—my apologies.
Much love,
PrincessJade
PS: This is not the last chapter, as some of you have thought. Don't worry. I do like happy endings, just not those overly sappy ones. Hehe.
Insatiable
Chapter Seven: A Rising Culmination
Try as he might, he's unable to speak
He grabs her by the hair, he strokes her on the cheek
The bed is unmade, like everything is
Dark little heaven at the top of the stairs
Take me like that, ruin it all
Then build it again by the light in the hall
He drops to his knees, says please my love, please
I'll kill who you hate, take off that dress, you won't freeze
One more night, that was a good one
One more night, I dreamed it was a good one
One more, one more night, that was a good one
One more night, the end should be a good one
A good one
He starts with her back cause that's what he sees
When she's breaking his heart, she still fucks like a tease
Release to the sky, look him straight in the eye
And tell him that now, that you wish he would die
You'll never touch him again, so get what you can
Leaving him empty just because he's a man
So good when it ends, they'll never be friends
One more night, that's all they can spend
One more night, that was a good one
One more night, I dreamed it was a good one
One more, one more night, that was a good one
One more night, the end should be a good one
A good one
The Stars—One More Night
When Usagi opened her eyes, she was first disconcerted by the bright morning light which slanted itself through glimmering panes of glass to fall across an unfamiliar gray carpet. She rose sleepily, propping herself on a forearm, to the sight of a bustling Tokyo below. Oh, no! School! She had thought in alarm, coming fully awake, before remembering that it was Saturday and that she didn't have school and that she had gotten drunk at Molly's and then she had gotten sick and Mamoru—Oh, Mamoru! Turning quickly, the sight of his slumbering figure, sprawled beside her, quickly brought the previous night's events into sharp focus.
Her first reaction, recalling how she had sloppily thrown herself at him, was a shameful blush of embarrassment, but slowly, as gentle words and caring touches began to surface, it gave way to a new sensation, warm and fuzzy, that extended all the way down to her toes. Could she possibly be feeling affection for Mamoru? Dare it be more than the friendly affection that had just recently grown between them since she had started coming here?
She knew she no longer hated him—no, truthfully, she had never hated him—she simply hadn't known him. And now, well, she had to admit, she still didn't know him very well, but she certainly knew enough to realize sarcasm and mockery were only the shallow exterior of his character. Beneath, he was turning out to be much more—perceptive, sensitive, caring, and warm. And, although she had assumed him to be experienced, she had never, thinking of his kisses and heated touches, expected his intensity, his selflessness, his passion.
It was something that confused her, for she had always felt an undeniable connection with Tuxedo Kamen when they touched, and yet she could not get him to respond to her, not the way Mamoru did. With him it seemed so easy and, despite their foundation of mutual dislike, she had found she could please him—did please him. Last night was proof enough. That had even been after she had thrown up in front of him twice—not exactly at her most attractive. And really, shouldn't it be the other way around? Shouldn't she have to try harder to entice Mamoru, rather than Tuxedo Kamen? And she certainly had never done anything as unattractive as throwing up in front of Tuxedo Kamen, so what was the problem? And was it really love that she felt for her masked—
A feathered touch, at the base of her spine, startled Usagi from her thoughts. Rolling over, she came face to face with Mamoru, a lazy smile across his lips, looking like a hungry panther, all dark sinew.
"Morning."
"Morning." She greeted, about to ask him if he had slept okay, but lost the words when he licked his lips slowly, pinning her with cobalt eyes.
There was a pause, perhaps only seconds in length, though it felt more like an eternity, before he made his move. But when he did, at last, it was like lightening and she squeaked in surprise, any lingering thoughts of Tuxedo Kamen vanishing instantly, as he pressed himself against her, his desire evident. Her heart sped up, remembering how firm and smooth he'd been in her hand, and her sex quivered in anticipation.
"Is it too early for a little lesson?" He whispered, his hand skimming over her hip to slide between her thighs, knowing very well that her underwear were in his dryer. He found her warm and wet, stroked her in confidence. Obviously, it wasn't too early, he grinned, watching how her cheeks flushed in pleasure, lashes fluttering. And he noticed, giddily in love, that she still hadn't broken their gaze. Her eyes were bold. She wasn't about to retreat.
And he knew she was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen, lying before with him on a Saturday, legs akimbo, open to his touch and luring words. And for now, though knowing it all an illusion, she was his to hold and to have and to pretend—today, she felt more than mere gratitude.
Today, they were in love. Today, they were forever. Today, they were real.
"If I remember correctly, last night, you said you wanted my tongue on you." Her answering blush, encouraged him on. "You like my tongue, don't you? I know you do, you like what I can do with it—love how it makes you feel."
"I…ah…oh, yes—" She finally agreed breathlessly, her clit a hard bundle of nerves beneath his knowing thumb, and, reaching out to touch his stomach, she ran her fingers over the taut expanse of flesh. "But I like touching you too."
"That can be arranged." His murmured words, husky and low, thread through her mind, seductive as smoke, sending shivers down her spine.
"Show me." She tugged then on the elastic of his pants, a command. Closing legs to his invading fingers, she took her shirt off first and then helped him out of his clothes. Once freed, she grabbed his cock, stroking him just right, remembering how he had come in the shower, all jerking hips and bitten lips.
"Not so fast," he warned, sitting up to grab her legs. Dragging her up by the knees, he rolled them on their sides and spread her wide, leg bent over his head. Then his tongue was on her, lapping from her clit to entrance, where he dipped it teasingly inside.
"Oh my god!" She cried out, hips jerking in response. The pleasure was so intense that she sunk her teeth into the tender skin below his navel. She felt his cock jump in her grip, a bead of moisture forming at the head. Fascinated, she stroked faster, and watched it grow. Then, as it began to slide, not fully realizing what she was doing, she licked it up before it could fall—it was salty, slightly sweet, and not at all unpleasant. She took him in her mouth then, tongued the head in search of more, and never ceased her stroking—thinking she could do this, she could like this, she could enjoy this.
Mamoru knew he was close, could feel his orgasm coiled at the base of his spine, ready and waiting. Yanking her roughly, grip like steel, he hauled her on top of him, determined to make her come. He sucked her hard, angling his head so he could slide two fingers into her, curling them against her trembling walls. There he stroked her, faster and faster until she was spiraling out of control.
He knew her orgasm was there before she did—the tumble over the peak was quick, though it gave way to a long, drawn out, descent. She mewled and rode the waves of pleasure, mouth and thighs vibrating around him, and even when he came shortly after, in smooth, milky-ropes of sweetness, she still saw stars. In those blissful moments of aftermath, she found the taste of him everywhere—on her tongue, down her throat, around her heart. Delicious, she thought and swallowed it all. Shifting with a sigh, she rolled beside him, a languid stretch of limbs.
"Are you okay?" He appeared above her, instantly worried, despite her glowing face. "I should have warned you. I didn't mean to—"
"Mamo-chan," she giggled, pulling him to her by the nape of his neck. "You're all salty-sweet goodness—a taffy-treat. You don't have to worry, I like taffy."
She kissed him to prove her point, their tongues mingling, though all too brief. Then she was out of his arms with a sugar-cookie-smile, it was a sudden vice around his heart, as she skipped across his bedroom, finally glancing back from the bathroom door.
"We taste delicious." She winked, her laughter like Christmas bells, before she disappeared, calling cheerily over her shoulder, "I'm hungry. Won't you make us breakfast?"
At first, Mamoru couldn't help but smile at her cheer, her happiness infectious. Though he knew how dangerous it would be to read too much into her smiles. And he reminded himself, frowning darkly, that she wasn't in love with him. To her, this was only a game—the physical gratification a mere side-effect of the experience, which was all in preparation for the real thing. A real love they'd never share.
He thought bitterly of her love and compared it to Christmas, something that was all fairytales and make-believe. Mamoru told himself that anything that was so full of magic, such as her love, would be forever unattainable, for he had grown up a long time ago, knowing hope, the key ingredient, was not something to count on.
And he knew they were nearing a culmination—an inevitable climax—which he despised himself for his foresight, preferring ignorance, knowing the end would break his heart.
…
He watched her over his coffee, in deep contemplation, as she shoveled down all three of the blueberry pancakes he had made for her with ease. She sat across from him at his island counter, newly showered and sparkling in her black dress once again. He didn't want her to leave and, scared of the loss that lurked around the corner, wondered how he could make this last.
"What are you doing today?" He asked, set his mug aside, and opened a magazine, flipping through its pages at random, not wanting to seem too interested.
"Oh, nuff-ffring wrrree-lly," she replied, mouth full. She gulped down the rest of her milk and sighed in contentment. "I just have to stop back home, change, and then I'm supposed to meet the girls at Crown Royal for a—er—a lunch date."
"Oh, sounds fun." Mamoru's tone was non-committal. He suddenly stopped flipping pages and, at the sight of a glossy advertisement of exotic fish and rainbow-coral, a full-fledged plan began to take shape. "Say Usagi, I was wondering, if you're not doing anything afterwards that is, if you might like to—I dunno—go see the new aquarium that opened up? With me?"
"Really?" Though surprised by his request, the thought of spending the rest of afternoon with Mamoru filled her with excited butterflies. "Oh, I'd love to!"
"Are you sure?" He couldn't help it, he had to make sure she was serious, for he had not expected her to have agreed so easily. "You don't mind wasting the rest of your Saturday on me?"
She giggled and took his breath away with a dazzling smile, punching his shoulder playfully. "It won't be so bad, Mamoru. I think I'm beginning to like spending time with you."
In a whirl of gold and flying limbs, she told him to meet her at the arcade around two, and then she was gone.
…
As they rode the elevator up to his apartment, pressed against his side, Usagi couldn't deny the fact that the date had been amazing, though she wasn't sure if it was a date at all. But secretly, she decided to call it one, at least to herself, in order to claim it as the best date she'd ever been on—not that she'd been on many, but that was beside the point.
She smiled, remembering how Mamoru, ever punctual, had strolled through the arcade doors at two o'clock, looking devastatingly handsome in dark jeans and a worn in black t-shirt. He had not been embarrassed, as Usagi had thought he would, when he picked her up. Instead, he walked, without hesitation, straight up to their table.
Predictably, the busy chatter of her friends had fallen into surprised silence.
"Ready, Odango?" She remembered his hair had been messy, windblown and undeniably sexy, which when he pointed out the window to the sleek, jet-black motorcycle had made perfect sense. Perceptively, he asked her friends, "Didn't she tell you girls? The Odango Atama won a bet, and so I promised to take her for a ride."
She had caught his double-entendre with a blush and watched him head outside, knowing she would follow. Once he had gone, the girls had hissed: "But with Mamoru? Usagi, don't you hate each other?"
She had shrugged, especially enjoying Rei's envious look, and scooted out of the booth. Oh, how shocked all of them would be, she had mused, to know the full details of their relationship—how he kissed her, touched her, made her come with ease, high above Tokyo, safely tucked away from everything else. She had been annoyed at their questions, rolling her eyes at their astonished faces.
"Oh, come on! You guys don't really expect me to pass up a ride on a motorcycle, do you? Even if it is Mamoru-baka's."
And then she had left, glad to be gone, finally wrapped around Mamoru with only the wind to keep them company. At each light, he had either dropped a hand to one of her knees, which she had pressed tightly against his sides, or squeezed her clenched fists, gripping his waist, in reassurance.
"Don't be afraid, I won't let you fall."
"I'm not afraid," she had replied.
And once at the aquarium, where it had been filled with unfamiliar faces, he had wrapped an arm around her shoulders like her boyfriend, leading her through the maze of corridors, lips pressed into her hair. He had teased her, toyed with her arousal with stolen kisses and sly touches until her heart was pounding so loud she couldn't hear or think or see anything else but him.
And even now, hours later, she was still dizzy with it all—her emotions a spinning mess inside her quivering chest. Was this, she wondered, as they stepped onto his floor, love? Could she be in love with Mamoru? Oh, her heart sped up in realization, this must be love! She was in love—in crazy, insane, passionate love!
"Mamo-chan!" She exclaimed and caught him by surprise, legs wrapping around his hips, mouth on his. With her latched around him, he managed to stumble inside his apartment, where he swung her hard up against the wall. She grunted at the impact, but didn't seem to mind, rather it only increased the kittenish sounds she was making into his open mouth.
Oh, she was everywhere, he thought through a haze, with her lips and her hands and her rolling hips. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't think. And when she began to gnaw on underside of his jaw, he shuddered, knees buckling, and fell to the floor with her in a tangle of limbs.
Everything was a blur, her words the only thing he could hear.
"I want you. I want you. Now. Now. Now." She told him, an endless chant, yanking them both out of shirts and pants and skirts and shoes. And he let her, not realizing what she wanted, until—oh, fucking hell—she had him there, poised at her entrance, wet and real and quivering and—
"No, no, no!" He pushed her away in a panic, chest heaving. Fuck, that was too close, and he had promised himself that he would not be selfish. No, he would not take something so precious, no matter how much he loved her. No, he would not be that kind of man. "You should go."
"But Mamoru…" She whimpered, eyes brimming with tears. She didn't understand. Why wouldn't he look at her? What had she done wrong? What had she missed? Wasn't today different? Hadn't they been different? Hadn't everything changed? "I don't understand."
With his eyes fixed on the wall, he kept his voice distant. He had stopped trembling. "I thought I had made it clear that I wouldn't sleep with you."
"Yes, but—"
"No, buts. It's over. You need to go home."
She nodded and wiped her eyes, determined not to break down in front of him. She dressed in silence and grabbed her things. At the door, she looked down at him. He was still pressed against the wall.
"Mamoru, won't you look at me?"
Unwillingly, he did as she asked. Her smile was sad, eyes a haunted blue. Oh, why did she have to look as if he had just broken her heart?
"Arigato."
And it seemed fitting to them both, for her to leave with the same words as the first time, because, after all, this was really the end—wasn't it? Everything had come full circle.
She had grown up, she realized—turning from this irreversible moment in her life. And as she left him in that darkened apartment, she shed her adolescent skin, and walked away a woman.