The tension snapped. Toshinori bent his face to her, hands going around her back to pull her up into him as he kissed her deep. He felt her eager submission; her body melding into his, fingers fumbling blindly at the buttons on his shirt while his hands were sliding down to cup her ass, taking her weight.

And here it laid, the greatest fear of them all. The knowledge that he couldn't — wouldn't — walk away from what they were starting. She was his. Whether he wanted it or not, he claimed her for himself in the split of that moment. He did not merely allow himself to have her: she belonged to him. He would give his life at a moment's notice for the sake of saving someone else, always. But her. He would raze cities for her.

She'd given up on the buttons and was on her toes, pushing his suit jacket off his shoulders. He had to let go of her to remove it. A growl of frustration left him as he ripped it off and threw it to the ground, advancing on her as he went. Makoto didn't shy away from his energy. She met him, mouths returning to their true north, his lips consuming her with a selfish greed he'd never allowed himself the pleasure of before.

Toshinori wrapped his arm around her narrow waist to lift her, clutching her to his chest as he stalked toward the sofa. Her fingers were in his hair, on his face, raking underneath the collar of his shirt, as he put her down on the sofa's arm. Her dress was hiked up around her thighs. Toshinori's hands dragged down her waist, down her legs, tugging it up higher and lifting her off the arm of the chair as he did. She laughed against his mouth as she settled back onto the arm, legs dangling with him standing between her thighs.

She didn't laugh for long.

He felt touch starved and ravenous as he broke away from the kiss, taking her jaw in one hand to look into her eyes. Her lips were swollen. Cheeks flushed. The rapid rise and fall of her breasts. He dropped to one knee between her legs. She hadn't worn panties.

She gasped his name as he buried his face between her thighs and tongued her. He felt the bite of her nails through his shirt as she grabbed onto his shoulders, arching back and tilting her hips. Her slit was already wet, and Toshinori took his time getting to know her now. Familiarizing himself with her taste, and the sounds she made as he explored her cunt bit by bit. Slick folds, wet core. She liked that. Tongue flat against her clit, a slow, tenuous circle. Makoto whimpered. She liked that more.

He stayed steady, listening with intention to every sound she made. Her hips flexing back to press her cunt against his mouth to increase the pressure when he dared tease her and lighten up. Her moans edged him on, and Toshinori wanted his. He wanted to get inside her more than he wanted air. But he couldn't stop what he was doing to her even if he wanted to. Makoto's whimpers crescendoed and she grinded on his mouth as she neared her peak. Toshinori closed his eyes, letting his senses savor the moment her climax arrived.

She cried out, jerking hard, hands grabbing onto him to steady herself so she could ride it out. He dug his fingers into her hips to keep her right where she was, simpering into pieces as he continued his ministrations. Steady. He heard her gasp his name.

"Toshinori—"

Her voice broke off as she came again, her sounds melting into something nearly unintelligible and begging. Please, please—Oh God, I can't take it, don't stop, don't stop— Her entire body clenched as she navigated the second orgasm. She tried to draw away and Toshinori released her hips, letting her go.

Makoto collapsed backward onto the sofa cushions, thighs squeezing together. Her breathing was ragged; unsteady in its cadence. Toshinori rose to his feet, fingers flicking the top two buttons of his dress shirt open, as he looked down at her. Gorgeous. Dark hair splayed across the bright sofa, cheeks and the space between her collarbones flushed ruddy. Her dress was gathered up around her waist as she covered her face with her hands.

He was nowhere near done with her though. Toshinori came around and put a knee on the sofa, planting his hands on either side of her. Makoto looked between her fingers at him, still winded but rosy and smiling, and reaching for him. She pulled him down to kiss her, and she kissed him without hesitation. The taste of her body was still on his lips and they shared it together.

Her fingertips went to his waist, and he felt her undoing his buckle. The clasp followed a moment later, then the whisper of his zipper close behind. Toshinori bit his lip, leaning his head back as her hand found his cock.

"Oh shit," she gasped, spine going rigid.

"We'll go slow," Toshinori reassured her.

It would be a hard promise to keep. He didn't want slow. He wanted to swallow her whole. Instead, he dipped his head into the curve of her neck and kissed her. He could smell the dab of perfume behind her ear. He could feel the steady, strong pulse beneath his lips. Her entire body tensed, lifting into his, as he kissed her neck. With his other hand, Toshinori maneuvered his slacks down to expose his cock. She inhaled sharply as he pressed the head of his dick against her slit.

Makoto's hand went around to the back of his neck and her spine arched off the sofa, up into him as Toshinori entered her. Inch by painstaking inch. Her sex was hot and wet around his cock. He groaned aloud, breathing hard, one hand fisting around the corner of a sofa cushion — more to help hold himself back than for leverage. The way her body was so tight around him was just…

"Shit," Makoto panted, closing her eyes.

Toshinori held still as she raised her hips, her body struggling to accommodate him. The expression on her face — greedy with lust and determined to take him — would've brought a lesser man to his knees. He brought his fingers to his mouth, wetting them with his spit, then began to rub her clit again.

She cried out, already sensitized from his tongue, and he sank further into her. Makoto's hands were gripping his upper arms, holding him tight as he slowly — testing — rocked his hips. The sound she made was a solid affirmation for him to go on.

Her body rose, finding a better angle for him, and he kissed her again. Distracted himself from going too fast by running his hands down her. Memorizing the curves of her breasts and hips underneath him as he moved.

His breathing hitched when Makoto ran her fingers through his hair, then down his chest. Through his shirt, she touched the scar across his chest, and the memory of the pain that had caused it gave him pause. She sensed the change immediately, her hands slowing to a stop. For a moment it was just them two there, inhaling in sync and watching one another, waiting to see what the other would do next. She moved first, nimble fingers flicking a button open, and immediately Toshinori covered her hand with his own.

"I—"

There should've been no surprise as her hand, his still over hers, traveled down and the next button came undone under her touch.

"I have scars," he manifested at last. "You wouldn't—"

"Don't tell me what I would or wouldn't," Makoto answered as she pressed her palm to his chest and pushed him to sit up — he exhaled sharply as their bodies separated — then she straddled him.

She positioned his dick between her legs, letting gravity help her sink onto him even further than before. Toshinori's head fell back against the sofa, eyes shut and every thought gone as her wet pussy clenched around him. She began to ride him, one hand on his shoulder to balance herself as she fucked him, and he wasn't even aware of her unbuttoning his shirt until her warm palm laid flush on his pec.

His eyes snapped open and he stopped breathing to look at her on his lap. Makoto's eyes were already on his face. Waiting for him to notice her. Toshinori's jaw clenched.

Exposed. Vulnerable. Shame. Revulsion. He didn't like the emotions that went through him. A great weight settled behind his ribs, with its heft and memories that he kept away from him behind a frosted glass where it couldn't hurt him. He began to turn his face away, but she took his chin in her hand and brought him back. Then she tilted her face down to kiss him.

He was reluctant to kiss her back, but as her lips warmed across his and she began to ride him, hands on his shoulders, his coldness faded. There wasn't a hint of hesitation as Makoto worked herself up and down on his shaft, taking him as deep as she could, and he felt her heat transferring to him. Toshinori took her by the waist, her dress hiked above her hips, and his fingers dug in as she bounced on his cock. A bead of sweat went down her throat. He leaned in and licked it off, tongue savoring the taste of her skin, arm going around her to pull them chest to chest as his hips flexed up into her.

She moaned in his ear, breathing his name as she worked herself on him. Looking at her, head canted to one side, eyes closed tight and lips parted…Breathing harder and faster, and he could feel her cunt as her orgasm began to contract around him. So hot. Fuck. He was getting close too, and Makoto cried out as she came. He felt when her legs began to go out under her — his hold tightened to support her as she rode it out. But his body was tightening too.

She said his name, and that did it. He couldn't hold back any longer. His cock pulsated inside her, filling her deep, and Toshinori groaned her name against her mouth as his fingers dug in before he kissed her again, tongue probing and exploring as the aftershocks tremored through them both.

Makoto slowly went limp in his arms, her head dropping into the crook of his neck. Her panting tickled his skin before she kissed his pulse. Toshinori sucked in a sharp breath as she slowly lifted herself off him.

Her hair was tousled and messy. Lips swollen. Cheeks red. Eyes still sharp with desire and lust. She grabbed him by the hand, giving a gentle tug as she took a step in the direction of the bedroom.

"Oh, I am nowhere near done with you—"