She climbed onto him like she was taking a seat at a conference table.
One leg over, settle, adjust. Her hand reached between them and guided him to her entrance. She was wet. Had been since the face-sitting, probably since before that, her body betraying what her voice never would. She positioned him and sank down the first inch and stopped.
A controlled exhale through her nose.
The stretch registered on her face before she could catch it. A crease between her eyebrows, her jaw setting. The muscles in her thighs flexed as she held herself in place. She was taking him slow, fraction by fraction, adjusting angles the way she'd adjust a telescope lens. Finding the configuration that worked.
"There," she said. More to herself than to him.
She sank lower. Another inch. Her breath caught and she covered it with a swallow. His hands were free now and he put them on her thighs. She looked at his hands, then at his face.
"Did I say you could touch me?"
"No."
She didn't move his hands.
She took the rest of him in one slow continuous slide, her body opening around him, the wet sound audible in the quiet bedroom. When she was fully seated her eyes closed and she sat there, not moving, adjusting to the fullness. Her aroma pulsed. Thick, heavy, the room warming by a degree.
"Hold still," she said. Her voice was instruction. Her hips were already moving. "Don't move. I set the pace."
She started moving.
Slow rolls of her hips that kept him buried deep. Not bouncing, not riding. Rolling. Controlled circles that shifted the angle by degrees, her body searching for something, calibrating. Her dark hair swayed with the motion, brushing his chest on the forward roll. Her face was composed. Concentrated. The face of someone doing precise work.
The wet sound of their connection filled the spaces between her breathing. Slick from the start, getting slicker with each roll of her hips. Riku could hear it and she could hear it and the sound was making her face pinker even as her pace stayed measured.
He looked up at her. Her body rolling above him, the lean muscles in her stomach working, her breasts shifting with each movement. Sweat at her temples catching the lamplight. The flush creeping up from her chest to her neck, slow, visible, a progression she was aware of and couldn't stop.
She narrated. "Deeper." Rolled her hips to match. "Angle up." Tilted. Her voice was still steady but the spaces between commands were getting longer. Filled with breathing that was louder than it should have been.
Riku watched her face and learned her.
There was an angle she kept avoiding. A tilt of her hips she'd find and then pull away from, correcting before it could take her somewhere she wasn't ready to go. He saw it happen twice. The third time, he tilted his hips to match.
Her eyes flew open.
"I didn't tell you to, nn."
The sound slipped out before she caught it. Not a word. A syllable. Raw, involuntary, dragged from somewhere behind the composure she'd built between them like a wall. She looked at him and her jaw clenched and he could see her deciding whether to stop, correct, reassert control.
He tilted again. Same angle. She made the same sound, louder.
"Stop. I said I, ah."
Her hips moved on their own. Grinding down into the angle he'd found, her body chasing it even as her mouth tried to forbid it. The composure cracked further with each roll. Her commands degraded. "Hold, nn. Don't, ah. I set the." Sentences breaking apart mid-word. Her breathing through her nose, deliberate, measured, failing.
The wet sounds were louder now. Her pace had picked up without her choosing to speed up. Slick rhythmic sounds filling the bedroom, the sheets shifting under her knees. Her fingers on his chest curled into fists, gripping skin.
He watched her face. The concentration was gone. Her eyes half-closed, mouth slightly open. The flush had reached her cheekbones.
He came inside her.
She felt it. Her hips ground down, deep, holding him there. She didn't flinch. Rode through his orgasm at her own pace, deliberately clenching around him, controlling even this. But the sound she made. "Mm." Louder than she'd wanted it to be. She heard it and her jaw set harder.
Her eyes locked on his as he came. Watching his face, maintaining dominance, the teacher observing the student even now. But his warmth was spreading inside her and her thighs trembled against his hips and the "Mm" came again, quieter, bitten behind closed teeth.
She stopped moving. Sat on him, full of him, breathing through her nose in long measured pulls that were clearly an attempt to reassemble something that had come apart. This chapter was copied from novelping.com without permission.
"Adequate," she said. Her voice cracked on the second syllable.
Vitality Drain pulsed. Energy flooding in through every point of skin contact. His senses sharpened. Her aroma went from thick to crystalline in his perception, every note distinct, the warmth of it and the chemistry of it separating into individual components he could almost taste.
He was hard again before she'd finished catching her breath.
She felt him swell inside her and her composure broke for one full second. Her eyes widened, her lips parting. She looked down at where their bodies joined like she was seeing it for the first time.
"How," she started.
"Quirk."
"That's." She closed her mouth. Opened it again. Nothing came out. He'd never seen her unable to finish a sentence before now and it was doing something to him that had nothing to do with the Vitality Drain.
He sat up. She was still on his lap, still full of him, and the motion shifted him inside her and she inhaled sharply. He put his hands on her waist. She looked at his hands.
"I'm still in charge," she said.
"Then tell me to stop."
She didn't.
He lifted her off him. The pullout was slick, wet, a visible string of his cum connecting them before it broke. She was dripping. Her inner thighs glazed. Her body clenched at the emptiness and a sound came out of her that she would have denied making.
He turned her over.
Face down on the bed, his body covering hers from behind. Prone bone. His chest against her back, his weight pinning her to the mattress. She couldn't direct from underneath. Couldn't set the pace or control the angle.
His mouth found her ear. "Tell me to stop."
"Don't you dare."
He pushed in from behind.
Slicker than before. His cum from the first round and her wetness making the entry audible, obscene. The sound filled the bedroom. She gasped into the mattress, her fingers grabbing fistfuls of sheet.
He started moving. Not slow. Not controlled. His hips driving into her from above, the angle deep, his weight behind each thrust. The sheets bunched under her fists. Her face pressed into the pillow.
"Ah. Nn." Muffled. Surprised. Raw sounds, pulled from her by the angle and the depth. his Allure Aura was compounding with her aroma in the closed space and the combined output was hitting her harder than she'd accounted for.
She was used to affecting others. Not being affected. Her Somnambulist quirk made people drowsy, compliant. It didn't come back at her. But his aura did. His pheromones tangled with hers in the thick air and the feedback loop ran both directions and every sound she made amplified his aura which amplified her aroma which amplified her sensitivity.
She stopped trying.
"Deeper. No, I. Ah. Right. Right there. Don't. Nn."
Fragments. Her commands had become single words separated by sounds she couldn't swallow. Her hips were pushing back against him, meeting his thrusts, her ass pressing against his pelvis. The wet slapping was loud and rhythmic, filling the room. Her grip on the sheets was white-knuckled.
He could feel her walls tightening. The first clench of an orgasm building, her body coiling under him.
She came with her face in the pillow. A muffled "NN, ah, nn" that vibrated through the mattress. Her whole body locked under his weight, her back arching against his chest, her fingers tearing at the sheets. He didn't stop. Kept moving through her orgasm, the oversensitivity making her jolt with each thrust.
"Wait, I just, ah, I'm still."
He didn't wait.
She came again. Harder. Her face turned sideways on the pillow and the sound that came out was genuine. Not controlled, not bitten back. A moan. Full-voiced, unplanned, a sound she would never have let anyone hear if she'd had any say in the matter.
Her face burned against the pillow. Her eyes squeezed shut. Her aroma spiked so hard the room went humid, the air thick enough to taste. She gripped the sheets until her knuckles blanched, jaw clenched. She made the sound again because her body wouldn't let her not.
"Ah. NNAH."
He came inside her while she was still clenching. She felt his warmth join what was already there, the fullness, the slick heat. Her body pulled at him involuntarily, clenching in rhythmic waves, milking. Her face stayed pressed sideways on the pillow. She wouldn't look at him.
He pulled back. Slid out slowly. The pullout was a mess. His cock glistening, coated, two rounds of cum leaking from her onto the dark sheets. Her body clenched at the loss and she made a sound, small, that she tried to disguise as clearing her throat.
He lay down beside her. She stayed face-down for a long time.
Her aroma was thick in the room. Uncontrolled. She could smell it and he could see the awareness in the rigid line of her shoulders, how still she was keeping herself, the effort she was putting into composing before she turned over.
When she did turn, her face was flushed and her eyes were bright. Her expression was doing something he'd never seen on anyone's face before.
"That," she said. Her voice was shot. A register lower than normal, raw at the edges. "That was not part of the lesson plan."
"You didn't tell me to stop."
"No." She looked at the ceiling. "I didn't."
Silence. Her breathing steadying. The aroma slowly, slowly receding to something manageable. Her hand came up and pressed against her own face, fingers spread, hiding her eyes.
"I made a sound," she said from behind her hand.
"You made several sounds."
"I made a specific sound. A sound I don't make. A sound that a professional adult with a decade of quirk control training does not make during a research exercise." Her voice was clipped and precise again, the teacher reassembling herself piece by piece. But her hand was still over her eyes.
"It was hot," he said.
"That is not the point."
"It's a little bit the point."
She moved her hand. Looked at him. The flush was fading but her eyes were still dilated, her hair wrecked, sheet-creases on her cheek from the pillow. She looked like a woman who'd been fucked properly for the first time in a while.
"Your aura," she said. "It amplifies during sex. Significantly. The interaction between our quirks creates a feedback loop that I did not adequately prepare for." She paused. "My output was... unregulated."
"Your output was hot."
"Stop saying things are hot."
"Stop being hot and I'll stop saying it."
She stared at him. Her mouth twitched. She caught it before it became a smile and redirected it into something more professional.
"We'll need to study this further," she said.
"For research."
"Obviously for research." She pulled the sheet up to her shoulders. Her eyes were getting heavy, the drain's aftermath settling over her. "This was... not what I expected."
"Better or worse?"
She closed her eyes. The professional mask settled back into place, thinner than before, worn at the edges. Her breathing slowed.
"Better," she said quietly. "Significantly better."
Her hand found his under the sheet. Held it. Not interlocking fingers like Yu. Just her palm flat against his, the contact minimal, precise.
The aroma faded and the room cooled. She fell asleep holding his hand and not admitting it.