Chapter Text
The Tokyo air was heavy with the acrid tang of a defeated curse, its remnants dissipating into the night as she and Geto trudged toward the nondescript building that housed would take them back to Jujutsu High.
The mission had been grueling. A Grade 1 curse that had nested in an abandoned warehouse, its tendrils of malevolent energy twisting through the shadows, testing their every move.
She had been paired up with him for this one, an unusual assignment given how little they interacted at school.
She, a second-year sorcerer with a knack for precise, devastating cursed techniques and Geto, calm, controlled, the kind of presence that seemed to fill a space whether he moved or not, had moved through the warehouse almost like a single organism.
She knew him only in passing. Shared glances during group training sessions, and the occasional quip through mutual friends like Shoko or Gojo.
There was a magnetism about him. Always a step ahead, always aware, with that easy, almost lazy confidence that made the world feel smaller when he was near.
His long black hair, tied in a neat bun but loose enough for that single rebellious strand to graze his face, framed eyes that seemed to see too much, too clearly.
His uniform clung to him in a way that suggested strength without effort. Every movement he made carried control, precision, and a subtle threat.
Tonight, though, the distance had softened. Between battles, as the curse hissed and twisted at the edges of her vision, words had come easier.
His dry humor matched hers, and she caught herself smiling without realizing it, letting her guard slip just enough to notice the way his voice shifted when he spoke to her directly.
Now, exhausted and ready to collapse, they stepped into the creaky, industrial elevator of the building. The flickering fluorescent light overhead cast harsh shadows across the metal walls, making the space feel even smaller.
The doors slid shut with a groan, and she pressed the button for the ground floor, her fingers lingering on the cold panel for a moment.
The elevator lurched upward, the sudden motion sending a jolt through her sore body, and then shuddered to a halt with a metallic screech that made her heart sink.
She pressed her back to the wall, trying to ignore the small flutter in her chest as the elevator remained motionless. Not fear exactly, but the idea of being trapped here for who-knows-how-long made her uneasy.
She drew a slow, careful breath, forcing herself to appear calm, though her fingers itched to press every button in panic.
Geto’s eyes flicked toward her, sharp and attentive.
“Are you okay?”
His voice was low, steady, but there was a faint edge of concern.
“Yeah, I‘m good.” she replied a little too quickly, voice tight.
She forced a small laugh, hoping it sounded natural, and shifted slightly to take the edge off the panic building behind her ribs.
Geto pressed the emergency button, the sharp buzz echoing in the confined space. No response.
The hum of the broken light filled the silence, and somewhere above, a faint metallic creak reminded her how high up they probably were.
Geto, meanwhile, looked more annoyed than anything, his jaw tight as he stared at the closed doors, a faint muscle twitching near his temple.
“Figures,” he muttered, his voice low and edged with annoyance.
“Mission’s over, and now the elevator decides to quit.”
She glanced at him, trying to keep her tone light despite the sudden claustrophobia of the small space.
“Could be worse. We could still be out there.”
He tilted his head, his dark eyes catching hers.
“Hm. You saying you’d rather be stuck with me than another curse?”
“Depends on how long we’re stuck,” she replied, a small smirk tugging at her lips.
He huffed a quiet laugh, the sound warm and fleeting.
“Fair enough.”
The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable, but it carried weight. She leaned against the wall, her knees drawn up to her chest as she sat on the cold elevator floor.
He sat across from her , his long legs spread out in that effortlessly confident way, his shoes almost brushing hers in the cramped space.
The black of his uniform seemed to absorb the dim light, making his pale skin and sharp features stand out even more. His hair, slightly mussed from the fight, framed his face in a way that made her stomach flip.
She tried not to stare, but the sight of him, manspreading, relaxed yet intense, did something to her.
She remembered the times she had watched him from a distance, the way the air seemed to shift the moment he entered her line of sight. She would catch herself glancing, almost hoping to see him, and when their eyes met, there was always that… weight.
She tried to hold her gaze, to show him that his look didn’t affect her, that she wasn’t one to falter under his attention. Sometimes she succeeded, holding it steady, refusing to blink first.
Other times, it was maddening. He would remain perfectly composed, that effortless, cool expression unreadable, like he had done this a hundred times before and knew exactly the effect he had on her.
How frustrating it was that he could look so unbothered, so cool, even when glancing in her direction, while she felt like he was quietly dismantling her from the inside out.
Her mind wandered, imagining his hands, his long fingers sliding into hers, thumb brushing her knuckles. Cupping her face, tilting her up to meet his mouth. Pressing into her waist, pulling her flush against him.
She wondered how his lips would feel. How he’d kiss slow, deliberate, until her knees gave out. How his voice would drop, low and rough, murmuring against her skin.
She had to stop herself before her imagination went too far, before she betrayed the ache pulsing low between her thighs.
Still, she could feel his gaze, steady and unhurried, tracing the space between them, mapping her with a quiet attention that made her skin prickle. It was impossible to focus on anything else.
After a beat, she turned her head toward him again, her voice quieter than before.
“You always seem… calm,” she said finally, letting the words out before thinking.
“Even when things are falling apart.”
He raised an eyebrow, a faint smirk tugging at his lips.
“Is that a compliment, or are you judging me?”
“Maybe a little of both,” she admitted, shrugging.
“I’d be panicking a little, if the floor dropped out beneath me like this.”
“Practice,” he said smoothly, leaning back just enough to make her notice the angles of his posture.
“And knowing when to focus on what matters. Something you’re getting better at, I hope.”
“Maybe,” she said, glancing down at the narrow space between her shoes and his, fighting a small laugh.
“Though you make it look too easy. That infuriates me a little.”
He chuckled quietly, low and measured.
“Infuriated by someone who doesn’t panic? Interesting.”
“I mean someone should at least try to look like they’re trying.”
He let that sit for a moment, eyes dark and steady on her, then tilted his head slightly.
“Careful. I might start thinking you enjoy seeing me too composed.”
“Maybe I do,” she whispered, quickly covering it with a laugh when she realized what she’d implied.
“But don’t let it get to your head.”
He smiled faintly, not breaking eye contact.
“I never let anyone get to my head. But..” He paused, letting the word hang.
“You make me wonder if that’s a rule I want to follow.”
She felt heat creeping up her neck, chest tightening, yet couldn’t stop the laugh that escaped at the subtle tease in his tone. The sound was soft, but somehow it made him smirk, like he’d been waiting for it.
“See?” she said, trying to reclaim control, hiding the pulse racing in her fingers.
“I’m keeping you on your toes.”
“And you’re doing it effortlessly,” he said quietly, voice low, a hint of amusement in it.
“I’ll admit it’s disarming.”
Her stomach flipped, and she looked away, biting the inside of her cheek to stop herself from smiling too much.
“Good. Mission accomplished then,” she murmured, teasing, though the tension didn’t leave.
He let out a soft, quiet laugh, just enough to fill the elevator with a warmth that made the space feel smaller, closer.
Finally, a crackling voice came through the intercom.
“Hello? Is anyone there?”
“Yeah,” Geto got up and answered, his tone clipped but polite.
“We’re stuck in the elevator. Can you get someone to fix it?”
“We’re contacting the fire department now,” the voice replied.
“It might take a while, maybe half an hour. Are you both okay?”
Geto’s eyes flicked to her, softening slightly.
“Yeah, we’re fine. Thanks.”
The intercom went silent and she sighed, letting her head rest on her knees. The fatigue was winning and she closed her eyes.
“Tired?” His voice was soft, almost gentle, pulling you back.
She opened her eyes, looking up at him, meeting his gaze. Those dark, tired eyes, framed by lashes that shouldn’t belong to someone so effortlessly cool.
“Yeah, a little,” she admitted, her voice quieter than she intended.
She tilted her head, studying him.
“You?”
He nodded, a faint smile curving his lips. “Guess you noticed.”
————————————-
Geto was annoyed, more at the situation than anything else. He’d planned to meet Gojo and Shoko after the mission, maybe grab a drink and let the adrenaline fade.
But now he was stuck in this metal box, with no phone signal and no way out. And yet, as he glanced at her, her knees pulled up and her face half-hidden, he wasn’t sure if he was relieved or frustrated to be stuck with her.
It could’ve been worse. Someone like Yaga, barking orders even in a broken elevator, or Gojo, who’d probably turn the whole thing into a performance.
But her? She was different. They’d never been close, not really. Just friendly hellos and fleeting glances at Jujutsu High. Shoko had mentioned her in passing, calling her “nice, but don’t underestimate her.” And Geto hadn’t forgotten.
She was beautiful, not just in the obvious way, but in the way she moved, the way she carried herself, like she was always one step ahead of everyone else.
He didn’t know why, but every time her gaze landed on him, it hit different. Not like the others, casual, dismissive, or wary.
Hers was soft at the edges, but there was steel behind it, a quiet intensity that made his chest tighten. When she looked at him, he felt seen. Special. Like she was searching for something only he could give.
He’d catch her staring sometimes, in the training yard or across the cafeteria, her eyes flicking up just long enough to register him before sliding away.
And he’d stare back when she wasn’t looking. Watching the way she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, the way her lips curved when she laughed at something.
They’d been circling each other for months, waiting for the moment their eyes would lock at the same time. And when they did, it was never loud. Just a beat, a breath, a subtle spark that crackled in the air between them.
She’d hold it sometimes, longer than necessary, her gaze steady but warm, and then she’d smile. Just a flicker, barely there, but it was enough to make his pulse stutter. Enough to make him want more.
He wouldn’t admit it, not out loud, but he wanted her to look at him. Wanted to see that softness, that strength, directed at him again. Wanted to know what it meant. It wasn’t nerves, not exactly. It was something heavier, deeper, like a pull he couldn’t name.
Now they were here, inches apart. He lowered himself to the floor beside her, letting his legs stretch out until his knees brushed her lightly. The faint contact made him pause.
Small, meaningless, and yet electric. She glanced at him, eyes flicking up for just a second before darting away, and he fought the urge to smile.
He wanted her. He’d wanted her for a while, if he was honest, but he’d never acted on it. Too many missions, too many distractions. But now, in this confined space, with her sitting so close, it was harder to ignore.
He shifted, his gaze sliding to her.
“Head still on straight?” he asked again, his voice low.
She turned her face toward him, eyes catching the light.
“Barely”.
“Guess that makes two of us.”
He gave a small nod, holding her gaze a moment longer than necessary. She shifted to sit cross-legged, her knees now closer to his, and he felt the air shift again.
He couldn’t help it. His eyes traced her, from the curve of her neck to the way her hands rested lightly on her knees.
She was beautiful, and it wasn’t just her face. It was the way she seemed so composed, yet so aware of him. He wondered what she was thinking, if she felt the same pull he did.
“You always sit like that?” he asked, keeping his tone casual but letting his eyes linger.
“Sometimes,” she replied, her voice soft but with a hint of challenge.
“Makes it easier in a tight space.”
He smirked, just barely. “You look focused.”
“Focused on what?” she asked, her brows lifting slightly.
“Not moving, not talking too much. Just… sitting.”
She blinked, and he saw the faintest flush creep up her cheeks. He could catch the faint scent of her.
Something floral, something uniquely her. His pulse quickened, but he kept his expression calm, his eyes locked on hers.
“You’re quiet,” he said, his voice almost a whisper.
“So are you,” she shot back, but there was no edge to it, just a quiet intensity.
“Yeah,” he said, his gaze dropping to her lips for a split second before returning to her eyes.
“But I notice it.”
She felt her breath catch as Geto’s gaze lingered on her. He wasn’t subtle about it, his eyes tracing her with a slow, deliberate intensity that made her skin prickle.
She shifted her focus to his shoes, then back to his eyes, trying not to show just how nervous she was, though she was certain he could tell.
But when she caught him looking at her, not just her face, but her body, her posture, the way she sat. It sent a jolt through her.
His eyes were calm, unapologetic, and the corner of his mouth twitched into something that wasn’t quite a smirk but wasn’t far off.
“What is it?” she asked, her voice quieter than she meant.
“What do you mean?” he replied, his tone even, teasing.
“Why are you looking like that?”
He tilted his head, his expression unreadable but charged.
“Like what?”
“Like you’re… thinking.”
“I am,” he said simply, and the weight of those two words made her stomach flip.
She swallowed, her heart beating faster. “And what are you thinking?”
He paused, his eyes never leaving hers. “Depends if you want to hear it.”
The silence stretched, thick and heavy, the hum of the elevator fading into the background.
He leaned closer, just enough for her to feel the warmth of him. His cologne mingled with his own scent, warm and quietly intoxicating.
Her chest tightened, and she couldn’t look away, even though part of her wanted to.
His gaze was relentless, patient, like he was daring her to make the next move.
“Seriously, what is it?” she pressed, her voice barely above a whisper.
“You.”
The word hung between them, heavy and electric. Her breath hitched, mind racing. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected him to say, but it wasn’t that.
Not so direct, not so raw. She hesitated, caught between curiosity and the sudden awareness of how close he was, how the small space seemed to shrink around her.
“And what are you thinking?” she asked, voice trembling just enough to betray it.
He didn’t answer right away, eyes flicking to her lips then back to hers.
When he spoke, voice soft, almost intimate but with an edge that made her pulse race.
“I’m thinking about how soft your lips are gonna be. How it’d feel to kiss you. How easy it’d be to pull you onto my lap, let my hands slip under your shirt and trace slow circles up your spine until you shiver.”
His breath came out slower, heavier, as he leaned in, his hand brushing her knee like an accident that wasn’t one.
“How you’d melt against me, your thighs tightening, that tiny gasp you’d make when my thumb brushes just beneath your bra and how your hips would roll, slow and needy, the second my fingers dip into your waistband.”
The words were light, almost casual, but they sank straight through her, igniting a slow, pulsing throb between her thighs.
She couldn’t move, couldn’t think, eyes locked on his. His gaze stayed steady, unapologetic, and the faintest smile played on his lips, like he knew exactly what he’d just done to her.
“You always think like that?” she managed, voice barely audible.
“Sometimes,” he said, tone soft but loaded.
Her heart pounded, body reacting to his words in ways she couldn’t ignore. She glanced at his lips, full, slightly parted, inviting and then back to his eyes.
The air between them thickened, charged with something neither of them could deny.
Her eyes fluttered shut, hands resting lightly in front of her, but every nerve in her body was alive, waiting for him to close the distance.
Geto’s heart was steady, but his mind was racing. Her closeness, the way her breath hitched, the way her eyes had flickered to his lips. It was unraveling him, piece by piece.
He’d wanted this for longer than he cared to admit, every stolen glance in the halls, every moment her gaze lingered just a second too long, building to this.
He lifted his hand slowly, deliberately, and cupped her cheek. His palm was warm, but gentle against her skin.
His thumb began to move slow, reverent circles along her cheekbone, tracing the soft curve.
His thumb drifted lower, brushing the swell of her bottom lip, parting it slightly. Her breath caught, a tiny sound that sent heat straight through him.
He watched her eyes, dark and fixed on his mouth, lips parted like she was already tasting him.
She wanted this. He could see it, feel it in the way her body tilted toward him, in the way her gaze burned with need.
“I’ve been waiting for this,” he murmured, voice low, rough with the weight of it.
“Every time you looked at me like that… I’ve been waiting.”
When their noses touched, he felt her pause, and he waited, letting her decide. Her eyes closed, and that was all the permission he needed.
He closed the distance, his lips brushing hers softly at first, testing.The contact was electric, her lips softer than he’d imagined, warm and yielding.
He pressed closer, the kiss deepening, slow and deliberate, like they had all the time in the world.
His hand moved, tentative at first, his thumb brushing the curve of her jaw. Geto’s voice dropped to a rough murmur against her lips, barely a breath away.
“Sit on me.”
She didn’t hesitate. One fluid motion and she rose to her knees, swinging a leg over his until she straddled him, thighs bracketing his hips.
The second she settled, his free hand clamped onto her waist, yanking her flush against him, no space, no hesitation.
Her back arched on instinct, spine bowing as she felt him hard, thick, unmistakable. Pressed right up against the heat between her legs.
A low throb answered instantly, slick and urgent, soaking through the thin layers of fabric.
“This is it,” she thought. Every glance. Every time I stared when he wasn’t looking. Every fantasy, his hands, his mouth, his voice telling me how good I feel. All of it. Here. Now.
She didn’t care that they were in an elevator. She didn’t care if someone heard. All she wanted was him.
To show him the side she’d hidden. The fire, the need, the want she’d buried under composure. She wanted to drive him as insane as he’d driven her.
Geto’s lips sealed over hers, soft at first, just the plush drag of lower lip to lower lip, tasting the faint salt of her skin.
Then the angle shifted, he tilted her chin with the hand still cupping her cheek, thumb stroking the corner of her mouth, coaxing it open.
She gave it to him on a quiet, breathy moan that vibrated straight into his tongue.
He didn’t speak.
He didn’t need to.
His tongue slid against hers, slow, filthy, deliberate. Each stroke said, “I‘ve wanted this.”Each pull of her lip said “You’re mine now.”
A low, guttural sound rumbled in his throat when she licked back, hungry.
“Finally…” he breathed against her mouth, the word barely audible, soaked in want.
His hips rolled once, slow, deliberate. Letting her feel every inch of what she did to him.
She whimpered.
He swallowed it.
Her hand found the back of his neck, fingers threading into his hair, and the touch sent a shiver down his spine. Her hand slid from his hair to the shell of his ear.
She caught the soft lobe between thumb and finger, kneading once, twice, gentle rolling pressure that made him exhale against her lips.
One hand slid back to his nape, fingers curling into his hair, while the other pressed lightly to his shoulder, steadying herself.
She pulled back first, just enough to catch her breath, her eyes half-lidded and locked on his lips. Their breaths came in matching rhythm.
His palm still cradled her cheek, warm and steady, but his thumb began to move slow, deliberate circles along the ridge of her cheekbone.
He felt a surge of want, his gaze dropping to her mouth, still glistening from the kiss. He didn’t want to stop, couldn’t stop.
Her eyes flicked up to his, and she smiled, a soft, teasing curve that made his chest tighten.
Then she leaned in, her tongue tracing his lower lip in a slow drag, before repeating the motion on his upper lip.
The wet heat of it made his spine tighten. The move caught him off guard. She’d been so reserved, so composed, and now this?
Geto’s thumb drifted lower, brushing the swell of her bottom lip the instant she pulled back. The pad of his thumb was rough from years of cursed-energy calluses, and the contrast of his dry heat against her slick mouth, made her shiver.
He pressed gently, parting her mouth just enough to watch her tongue peek out again, pink and glistening.
She let it rest there, a deliberate tease, the flat of it barely grazing the tip of his thumb.
She leaned forward, eyes still locked on his, and licked him in one long, deliberate stripe up the centre of his tongue when he instinctively mirrored her.
Then she changed the game: side to side, slow, filthy sweeps, painting his tongue with hers, tasting every inch, feeling the velvet heat of him slide against her.
Left, right, left again, until his breath stuttered and his fingers flexed against her cheek. Only then did she close the distance.
No tongue this time, just lips. She sealed her mouth over his, soft, deliberate pressure, sucking his bottom lip between hers for one heartbeat, two, before pulling back a fraction.
He pulled back just enough to look at her, his breath uneven. Her eyes were bright, her cheeks flushed, and that smile was still there, soft but with an edge that promised more.
He wanted to say something, anything, but words felt inadequate. She held the stare.
His thumb brushed the corner of her mouth, smearing the wetness there, marking her.
Neither of them moved. The elevator hadn’t budged, but something between them had shifted, irrevocably.
“Again,” he whispered, the single word rough, reverent.
She smiled against his thumb, held his stare, and obeyed.
Her back arched harder, breasts pressing to his chest, heart hammering so loud she felt it in her clit.
She kissed him again, deeper, hungrier, her teeth grazing his lip, tugging lightly. He sucked her tongue gently, then let her chase his, let her lick into his mouth until their breaths mingled in hot, open-mouthed pants.
“Mmmh—”
A shared moan, quiet, filthy, vibrating between their sealed lips. His thumb brushed her cheekbone in time with the slow thrust of his tongue.
Her fingers tightened in his hair, nails scraping his scalp, urging him deeper.
They kissed like they were starving and savoring at once, lazy licks turning sharp, soft sucks turning desperate.
Every time she tried to speed up, he slowed her with a gentle bite to her lower lip, soothing it with a languid stroke of his tongue until she melted again.
His mouth left hers with a wet sound, a deliberate break, and he didn’t go far. Just enough to let the air between them burn.
His hand slid up her side, and two fingers, middle and index pressed to her swollen lips.
She froze. Hips stilled mid-roll, thighs trembling around his. Her eyes snapped to his, wide, glassy,
“Suck,” he ordered, voice low, lethal, the word scraping out of him like gravel.
Her lips parted, tongue peeking out first. Slow, deliberate, before she took him in. Deep. All the way to the second knuckle and sucked like she was starving.
Tongue curling under his fingers, swirling, dragging wet heat up the underside, then flattening to take him deeper. Her cheeks hollowed. Her lashes fluttered but never dropped.
She held his stare, eyes dark and daring, lips stretched around his fingers like they were his cock.
Geto’s jaw clenched. His cock throled beneath her, trapped and aching. The sight of her, mouth full, tongue out, sent a white-hot spike straight to his spine.
A crackle from the intercom.
“Hello? Still okay in there?”
She pulled off with a wet pop, breath ghosting over his slick fingers.
Geto turned his head toward the speaker, jaw tight, voice deceptively calm.
“Yeah. Still breathing.”
She didn’t wait. Leaned in, lips brushing his cheek, soft and reverent, then higher, to his ear. Her tongue traced the shell, flicked the gauge, sucked the lobe hard.
He swallowed a groan. His hand, now free, shot to her throat, fingers wrapping around it, thumb pressing the frantic pulse.
She moaned into his ear, low and filthy, and ground down hard. Once. Twice. Her hips rolled in tight, desperate circles, clit dragging over the thick ridge of him, soaked fabric catching on every stroke.
“Fire department’s ten minutes out,” the voice crackled.
“Hang tight.”
“Copy,” Geto gritted out, voice strained.
His grip on her throat tightened, not choking, just owning. The line went dead and he turned back to her.
She kissed him slow, deep, tongue sliding in like she’d never left. His hand slid from her throat to her cheek, thumb smearing the wetness from his fingers across her lip.
“Didn’t know you were like that,” he murmured, voice rough, reverent.
She smiled, a touch of embarrassed, yet her gaze didn’t waver.
“Guess you never asked.”
“Yeah?”
His hands dropped to her hips, both of them now fingers digging into the soft flesh of her ass. He yanked her down, forcing her to grind.
“Grind yourself on me,” he rasped, voice velvet-rough, lips brushing the shell of her ear.
“Slow.”
She did. Hard. Slow.
Her hips snapped forward, clit dragging over his cock in tight, wet circles. He met her thrust for thrust, rolling up, grinding into her, the friction brutal and perfect.
The fabric of her uniform caught, clung, soaked through, and the friction made her thighs tremble. A shudder tore through her.
She bit down hard on her lower lip to trap the moan, but it spilled anyway, broken and needy.
Geto’s other hand slipped under the hem of her shirt, calloused fingertips tracing the dip of her spine in lazy, maddening circles.
Higher, over the clasp of her bra, thumb brushing the band. Lower, until he hooked the waistband of her pants and tugged, baring the small of her back to the cool air.
His palm flattened there, hot and possessive, drawing slow, wet circles with the pads of his fingers, each pass making her arch harder, breasts crushed to his chest.
Her lips found the shell of his ear again, tongue flicking the black gauge once, twice, before she sucked the lobe between her teeth and tugged, sharp, deliberate.
He hissed, hips snapping up to meet her next grind, the head of his cock dragging over her clit through the layers and making her whine.
“Fuck—”
The word tore out of him, raw, filthy. His fingers curled into her hair, fisting tight at the roots, wrenching her head back with a slow, controlled pull until her throat was bared to him.
He didn’t hesitate.
His tongue licked a long, wet stripe from the hollow of her collarbone to the sharp edge of her jaw, then bit down just beneath her ear, hard enough to sting, soft enough to make her ache.
He soothed the mark with a slow, open-mouthed kiss, teeth grazing again, tongue swirling, until she was trembling in his lap.
She whimpered, nails raking his nape, and he answered by sliding his hand from her ass to her throat. Squeezing.
Thumb pressing the frantic beat of her pulse, fingers spanning the delicate column, owning every breath she took. His grip was firm, possessive, the kind that said “You’re not going anywhere”.
“Look at me,” he ordered, voice low, lethal, eyes dark and blown wide with want.
Her eyes snapped open, glassy, desperate.
He held her gaze while his hips rolled again, slow, deliberate, letting her feel how hard he was, how wet she’d made him through two layers of fabric.
The head of his cock dragged over her clit in a perfect, torturous line, and she gasped, hips stuttering.
“Geto—”
It was half plea, half prayer, her voice cracking on his name.
He smirked, dark and filthy, and dragged his thumb across her lower lip again, smearing the wetness there.
“Say it louder,” he murmured, then leaned in, tongue tracing the seam of her mouth before he bit down, tugging until she opened for him with a broken moan.
He groaned into her mouth, hand tightening on her throat for one heartbeat, before sliding back to her ass, fingers digging in, pulling her flush so every roll of her hips dragged her slick heat over his cock in perfect, torturous rhythm.
Geto’s head fell back against the wall, a low, filthy sound rumbling in his chest.
His hand in her hair tightened, pulling her closer, guiding her mouth lower, over the sharp line of his collarbone, the hollow of his throat.
His hand under her shirt never stopped. Circles on her back, then lower, thumb brushing the dimples above her ass, fingers splaying wide to feel every tremor.
His other hand on her cheek tilted her face up, forcing her to meet his eyes as he ground up hard, dragging his cock over her clit in one slow, filthy stroke.
“Feel that?” he rasped, voice wrecked.
“That’s what you do to me. Every fucking time you looked at me.”
She whimpered, hips rolling faster, chasing the friction, the heat, him.
He pulled her hair again, baring her throat, and licked a long, wet stripe up the column before biting down hard, then soothing it with his tongue.
“Fuck, you’re soaked,” he rasped, voice low, reverent.
She moaned loud, broken, her back arching, breasts crushed to his chest. Her thighs trembled. Her clit throbbed.
He met her thrust for thrust, rolling up, grinding into her, the head of his cock dragging over her clit in one slow, filthy stroke.
“There,” he growled. “Right there. Don’t stop.”
She didn’t.
She couldn’t.
Her hips snapped forward, clit dragging over him in tight, wet circles. Her breath hitched. Her thighs clenched. Her back arched harder.
“Geto—”
His name tore from her throat, a sob.
His hand on her throat tightened, thumb pressing the pulse, fingers spanning the column.
“Eyes on me,” he ordered, voice wrecked. “Wanna see you fall apart.”
She obeyed.
Pupils blown, lips swollen, breath ragged.
“Oh my God—”
She came hard shuddering, gasping, eyes locked on his as her body clenched, waves crashing through her.
Geto’s hips snapped up, once, twice. And he followed. Cock pulsing, thick and hot, spilling into his uniform as he ground into her, dragging out every wave.
A low, guttural groan tore from his throat, raw, reverent. His hand on her throat loosening, thumb stroking the pulse that still raced beneath her skin.
The aftershocks ebbed slowly, like the last ripples of a stone dropped in deep water. She sagged against him, forehead to his collarbone, cheek pressed to the steady drum of his heart.
Geto’s chest rose and fell beneath her, each exhale warm against her temple.
One of his hands found the back of her head, fingers threading through the damp strands, stroking in long, lazy passes that made her eyelids flutter.
The other hand stayed low on her waist, palm flat against bare skin where her shirt had ridden up, thumb sweeping slow arcs along the curve of her hip.
For a long minute there was only the soft rasp of their breathing and the faint metallic creak of the elevator car.
Then his lips brushed the shell of her ear, voice low and velvet-rough.
“You hide it behind those pretty eyes, but I feilt it. How wet you got, how needy. That side of you? It‘s louder than you think.”
Heat flared across her cheeks so fast she felt dizzy. She lifted her head, chin resting on his sternum, and met his eyes.
God, he’s beautiful.
Hair mussed, black strands clinging to his forehead, lips swollen and slick. Gaze still dark with hunger, like what they’d just done had only whetted the edge.
The same stare they’d traded across training yards and cafeteria tables for months, only now it carried the weight of knowing.
He leaned in and stole a quick, soft kiss, barely more than a press of lips, then pulled back an inch, studying her like he was memorizing the flush on her skin.
His hand slid from her waist to her thigh, thumb tracing idle circles just beneath the hem of her pants, while the other stayed under her shirt, palm warm against the dip of her spine.
“What is he thinking?” she wondered, pulse skittering.
Geto’s thoughts were louder than he let on. Want to peel every layer off her. Want to watch her arch naked under me, hear her moan my name until her voice cracks.
Want my fingers buried inside her, curling, until she comes so hard she sees stars. Want her mouth on me, want to ruin her for anyone else.
He gathered her hair in one fist, gentle but firm, and swept it over one shoulder. His knuckles grazed her cheek again slow, like he couldn’t stop touching her face.
She still didn’t understand the obsession, but the way his thumb traced the crest of her cheekbone made her stomach flip.
A sharp rap on the elevator doors shattered the hush.
“Fire department! We’re here, opening the hatch in thirty seconds. Everyone decent?”
Her eyes went wide. Embarrassment crashed over her like cold water. She tried to scramble off his lap, knees wobbling, but Geto’s arm locked around her waist and hauled her back down.
His gaze dropped to her mouth, lazy and predatory.
“One more,” he murmured, voice pitched for her ears alone.
“Make it count.”
She knew exactly what he wanted.
She gave it to him.
She surged forward, lips crashing into his, tongue sliding deep on the first stroke. Wet, filthy, hungry.
She licked into his mouth like she was trying to taste the last hour all over again, teeth scraping his lower lip, tongue curling against his, sucking once before pulling back just enough to bite.
A soft, needy sound escaped her and he swallowed it with a growl. Thirty seconds stretched into eternity.
“Ten seconds!” came the muffled shout.
She broke the kiss with a gasp, lips tingling. Geto’s smile was slow, crooked, devastating. He let her go.
They moved fast.
He stood first, adjusting himself with a quick, practiced tug at the front of his pants, still half-hard, fabric dark where she’d soaked through.
She tugged at the hem of her uniform shirt, twisted her hair into a low ponytail with shaking fingers, and smoothed her shirt. A quick swipe of her thumb across her mouth to erase the worst of the shine.
Geto hit the intercom button, voice perfectly calm.
“We’re good. Open it.”
The hatch above clanged. Light spilled in.
Neither of them looked back.