His (11)
She wore that damned dress. That dress that he once dreamed of tearing off her body, that dress that she wore that time they felt that spark for the first time, that time they kissed for the first time. That dress that provoked so many thoughts, so many feelings, a hardness in his body unmatched until this day, again. How he was supposed to deal with such inconveniences right now was unknown. He was alone in the shower, thankfully, at home. His wife was someplace in the house where he didn't know nor care at the moment because the thought of that woman in that damn dress was driving hi insane.
It was so wrong to be thinking about another woman, he knew it, but it was her. He couldn't help it. He'd tasted her before, and his body wanted more. How wrong would it be if he were to touch himself to the thought of her? Would it be so bad if he relieved the pressure that he felt in his groin? It would be, he decided, very wrong. He turned on the faucet and received the cold water with relief. Hormones were a horrible thing to control, he thought. But she looked so good. How that beautiful dress still hugged her curves. His mind was such a mess. He had to stop. At least the cold water had dealt with his excitement. It couldn't stop the memories, though.
After their first date, Naruto had been so optimistic about his evolving relationship with Sakura that he didn't hesitate to ask her out on a second date. This time, she said yes without thinking it, further increasing the positivity he was channeling. He remembered how he nearly ran to the top of the tallest building to shout in happiness. He didn't though, as he knew Sakura would take her yes back if he made her feel ashamed. That time, he did take her to Ichiraku's, at her own request. She had dressed simply, with a black skirt and red shirt, but she looked absolutely stunning. She always did, to him. Their time together then felt so easy, so comfortable. They could talk for hours and time would fly by without them even noticing it. How he wished they were still the same.
Once ichiraku closed, and they were gracefully kicked out, they had walked around the village, still deep in conversation, immersed in their little bubble and oblivious about what was to come. They knew there would be a war soon, they knew everything would change, after Pain, that lesson had ben learned. However, at that time, in that very moment, all was forgotten. They were so distracted by each other, Naruto infinitely amazed at how Sakura hadn't cared at all about him kissing her the night before, that he invited her to his apartment, to continue chatting, and she'd said yes.
They were there, in his messy little home, surrounded by old ramen packages, dirty laundry, and who knows what scattered all over the place, that she finally asked him to kiss her again.
"Kiss me already," she said, and, unlike every other time concerning Sakura, he didn't hesitate. He kissed her immediately, so hungrily, so deeply, like he'd only have the one chance to taste all of her mouth, to touch all he could with his tongue, to make her moan, which he did. He kissed her for so long, it felt, but yet so little. The feeling of her unlike no other, her sounds, her taste and even her smell, so enticing, so perfect for him. When they parted, she looked at him so invitingly, eyes wide open, cheeks red, lips parted. He noticed her hands had somehow entangled around his neck. He felt his skin prick as she leaned in for more. Bliss.
Hands touched, tongues tasted, moans engulfed any other sound. It was unstoppable, it flowed like a river after a storm, fast, steady, unending. Flowing stronger and stronger until suddenly it flooded, his hands under her skirt, hers attempting to lift his shirt up while he considered if parting his fingers from her bottom was worth the removal of the fabric. Ultimately, it was worth it, as the gloomy separation meant that he could remove some of what covered her also, and then all of it. Bare, curious, flushed, his body responded in ways he did not expect, the brush of her skin against his brought shivers to his entire being, and then his very soul when she touched him there. There, where he yearned for her the most.
Almost mechanically, medically, she brought him pleasures out of curiosity, causing him to make sounds he almost wished he could hold back, but the look on her face and the blush of her skin showed she welcomed such noises. Her movements slowly turned passionate, caring, and dare he say, loving. She was enjoying it, he knew, even if she doubted it at first. Her fingers traced every plane of his cock enquiringly, she giggled when he flexed it, and they had a cute laugh about it. He remembered everything so well.
The image in his head of her beautiful body, tight figure, pink lips, had his problem return tenfold. But he was too far into his memories to stop this time. He grasped himself as he replayed more of his memories.
Her sounds provoked him more and more, that little noise she made when he touched her swollen mound, while he explored her most intimate of places, while he slid, circled, penetrated her with his fingers, caressing her immense wetness, spreading it all over, making her squirm. Why she let him do these things to her, he didn't know, but he kept wondering, although he didn't let the wonder stop him wandering. He brought a finger to his mouth and his lust exploded. He wanted her so bad that he kissed her there, really kissed her, letting his tongue slide in, lap at her essence, circle her clit. It was a pleasure like no other having her there, like that, squirming under him, begging for his hands, his mouth, begging for more. His thoughts were so clouded that all he could think about was entering her, finally, making her his, marking her like no other had. His lust now a carnal, nearly selfish desire to claim her, if she allowed, of course. If she asked.
Which she did, and he exploded in his hand, in the shower, in his house. His house he shared with his wife, another. Clarity came quicker than him at the realization of what he'd just done, suddenly feeling ashamed of letting his memories with another woman affect him so much. But that memory had been so good, felt so right. He'd do anything to go back in time and feel like that again, so in love, so shameless, so free to show his deepest desires. However, he knew there was no way back now, he'd made his choices, and had to stick to them. Why'd they even reconnect? He shouldn't have gone looking for her. They were fine, perfectly fine. And then she wore that damned dress. Was that her plan? To get him all messed up like this, he asked himself He couldn't get her out of his head and he knew that it was dangerous. He knew that as much as he wanted to be a good man, a good husband, a great father, if the chance presented itself, he'd do wrong.
Sakura was, and still remained, that love he let go of, that spark of happiness in his life, that piece that completed his puzzle, that challenge he thought he'd never achieve, that person he always wanted to make happy, who he'd do anything for just to see her smile. She was still his love, his lust, his teammate, comrade, past, present, future. She'd always be there. He'll always love her, always want her, always cherish her, need her, miss her. And yet, he married another, and it was much too late now.
Hinata waited for him in the kitchen, with a small slice of chocolate cake that she'd made served for him, and a smile, the same lovely smile she had always shared with him and only him. Why she had chosen him and been so loyal to him since their childhood he would never know. He wished she hadn't, so much. He knew that even though he tried his best to make her the happiest she could be, he would eventually break her heart. He delayed it but he knew it was inevitable. He'd break her forever, he would fail her, and would fail himself. He hoped that if he'd been good all this time, he could still continue doing so for many more years. Truly, though, he doubted it. If the chance came, he knew he would likely take it.