Yuko’s chest rose and fell in slow, even breaths; the sheets tangled around her waist, one leg peeking out from beneath the blanket. The recliner creaked softly as I sank into it, my gaze tracing the curve of her hip, the way her lips parted just slightly in sleep.
Would she taste as sweet as Haruna?
I glanced at the clock. 4:17 AM. Dawn would break soon, painting the room in golden light. Painting her in golden light.
I stretched out, my body still humming with leftover lust, my mind replaying the way Haruna had begged, the way she’d gushed for me. My fingers twitched with the ghost of her skin beneath them.
I could’ve woken Yuko up.
I could’ve crawled into that bed, pressed my body against hers, and whispered her name until she moaned it back. I could’ve told her how good her sister had felt—how loud she’d screamed—and watched her face burn with the same shameful hunger.
But no.
Not yet.
I closed my eyes, letting the fantasy simmer as I drifted into a light, restless nap.
Because patience made the game so much sweeter.
When I opened my eyes, the first thing I noticed was Yuko—still asleep, but tangled in the sheets she’d kicked off in her rest. The fabric was pooled at her feet, leaving her exposed in a way that made my pulse thrum. The soft rise and fall of her chest, the way her lips parted just slightly in sleep—fuck. The faintest flush still lingered on her cheeks, and I wondered what dreams had kept her restless.
I moved closer, pulling the sheet back over her with deliberate slowness, my fingers brushing the fabric just above her skin. The air was thick with the scent of last night—Haruna’s scent, still clinging to me—but Yuko’s warmth, her presence, was intoxicating in a different way. Innocent. Untouched. For now.
Then her eyelashes fluttered.
Her eyes opened, hazy with sleep, and before I could pull back—before I could even breathe—she surged forward, her arms wrapping around me with a sleepy, dreamy smile.
"Husband... good morning..."
Her voice was soft, husky with the remnants of sleep, and I froze.
Then I pulled back just as she leaned in—her lips barely an inch from mine.
"Sister Yuko..." I said, my voice low, laced with something dangerously close to amusement. "What are you doing?"
Her body went rigid. Her face flushed crimson in an instant, her hands dropping from me like I’d burned her. I could see the moment realization crashed over her, the way her breath hitched, her eyes widening in horror.
"I—I—" She stammered, her fingers flying to her lips as if she could erase the word she’d just spoken. "I didn’t mean—! That is—I wasn’t—!"
I didn’t need telepathy to know what she was thinking—but I used it anyway, just to savor the chaos in her mind.
[Fuck... it was a dream... what did I call Jack just now? Husband? Oh my god—OH MY GOD—what did I do?!]
[I remember in the dream... he was—we were—fuck, this is so embarrassing... how could I—even if it was a dream—and with Jack—]
[And now he knows! He heard me! I’m going to die. I’m actually going to die.]
Her thoughts were a frantic, mortified spiral, and I had to bite back a smirk.
"Sister Yuko..." I said, my voice dripping with false concern as I tilted my head slightly. "Are you okay? You look... flushed."
She scrambled backward, nearly tripping over the sheets in her haste to put distance between us. "I-I’m fine! Just—just a little confused! I must’ve still been half-asleep!"
I crossed my arms, leaning against the bedpost with a casualness that belied the predatory thrill coursing through me. "Must’ve been quite the dream, huh?"
Her face burned even brighter. "N-No! It wasn’t—I mean, I don’t remember—!"
"You don’t remember calling me husband?" I teased, letting the word hang between us like a live wire.
She let out a squeak, her hands covering her face. "I was dreaming! It didn’t mean anything!"
"Sure, sure," I said, my tone light, almost amused. "But just so you know—I did carry you to the bed. You were half-falling off the recliner. I tried to wake you, but you were out cold."
I let my gaze flicker over her—just for a second—before meeting her eyes again. "So I picked you up. Didn’t want you to hurt yourself."
Her fingers tightened in the sheets. "Y-You carried me?"
"Mhm." I nodded, enjoying the way her face twisted between embarrassment and something else—something warmer. "You were mumbling in your sleep, too. Something about..." I paused, letting the silence stretch. "Well, I couldn’t quite make it out."
Her eyes widened. "I was not!"
"Were too." I grinned. "But don’t worry, Sister Yuko. I slept on the recliner. Didn’t do anything weird." I held up my hands in mock surrender. "Scout’s honor."
She blinked, her expression shifting from horror to suspicion. "You were never a scout."
"Details." I waved a hand dismissively.
"Relax," I said, chuckling as I pushed off the bedpost. "I’m just joking. Mostly."
She looked like she was two seconds away from combusting. "That’s not funny!"
"It’s a little funny," I countered, stepping closer just to watch her squirm.
She backed up until her legs hit the edge of the bed. "You’re awful!"
"And yet," I murmured, my eyes tracing the way her breath hitched, the way her pulse fluttered in her throat, "you’re the one who hugged me first."
"I was asleep!" Yuko hissed, her entire body trembling with indignation. Her fingers clenched the rumpled sheets so tightly her knuckles turned white. The flush on her cheeks deepened with every second, spreading down her neck like wildfire.
"Oh, sure you were," I said, my voice low and sweet, though I didn’t mean a word of it. I took a slow step toward her, watching as she shifted back until her legs bumped against the mattress. The bed creaked softly under the weight of her hesitation.
"But if that’s what you do while asleep," I continued, a smirk playing on my lips, "I can’t even guess what you’d do if you were awake."
I kept my eyes on her, waiting. The dream had shaken her, and I wanted to see how she’d handle it now that she was fully awake.
Her mouth opened and closed like a fish gasping for air. "I-I wasn’t—! That’s not—!" Her stammering only made this more delicious.
She finally found her footing and shot upright, squaring her shoulders in a pathetic attempt at dignity. "You’re impossible!" she snapped, pointing an accusing finger at me.
I raised my hands in mock surrender. "Hey now, don’t shoot the messenger. I’m just observing facts."
She opened her mouth to fire back another retort—
Then my gaze dropped.
Not subtly. Not quickly. I let my eyes trace down her body with deliberate slowness, lingering just long enough for her to follow my line of sight.
And there it was.
The fabric of her dress—right between her thighs—was darkened. Not just damp. Soaked. The thin material clung to her in a way that left nothing to the imagination. A dark, spreading stain that spoke volumes about what she’d been dreaming about.
Fuck. My cock twitched at the realization. She’d been that worked up? Over me?
Yuko followed my gaze.
Her entire body froze.