(ENG) The Case Study of Vanijeanne

5. To Feel Your Hands Upon My Face (Part 7 of 7)

Just Like Heaven
*Contains explicit sex*

Jeanne's expression hardened in response to his salacious remark. Her fists were clenching so tightly that her nails sank into the skin of her palms. "Is this all to make me give up on you?!"

Vanitas tilted his head, feigning amusement, showing off a garish air for proudly squeezing another inflamed reaction out of her. "And why do you think that?"

Because I know you, jerk. she thought.

"... I swear, Vanitas. You're so childish sometimes." Not that she didn't enjoy his trickeries, really. That's how she had gotten smitten by him in the first place.

But still...

"Huh...? A-a-are you recovered enough already to give me snark?" Jeanne sure seemed to be too full of herself. So much so that she had deemed him tongue-tied with that accusatory tone.

Did she really just call him childish? Where did all that confidence come from?

Ignoring his question, she strode past him, allowing her robe to gradually fall to the floor. Climbing onto the bed, she assumed the indecent pose as he previously instructed — adjusting to her hands and knees, completely bare and ready — looking back with a sly grin once she was done, "Is this good enough for you...?"

Silly him, thinking he had complete control over this all along.

He felt his body ignite at Jeanne's boldness, kindled enthusiasm rapidly combusting his organs apart.

Ok. This scene needed extra time to be savored, to be digested slowly, like a special dish from a world-renowned chef. You know, those chefs with their own name written in the façade sign of a restaurant and everything.

In that split second, Vanitas wished he was that piece of cloth — slippers... or a rug even, it really didn't matter — right there at her feet. He reflexively squinted and bit his lower lip, letting needy groans escape as the velvety robe slid down her beautiful features, caressing her curves, stilling on the hardwood floor beneath her.

At this point he was already hyperventilating, and an even rawer, guttural sound ventured to uncover the abstruse nature of his malice when she climbed onto the bed, leaving her rear fully exposed.

Exposed exclusively for his own private show, where he could not only see, but touch her as he pleased. Oh, yeah. More of that, please.

To add insult to injury — as if all the rest wasn't enough already — she made that face. Jeanne was still adorable, don't get him wrong. But this expression specifically was of a luridly risqué, spicily erotic, altogether sinful nature that almost made him choke on his saliva. Jeanne was going all out with a royal flush against the guile of his heart, announcing it was game on.

Vanitas swallowed his cunning laugh — the one he had planned to give prior to all that flashing before his eyes — and whistled enthusiastically, "So... You're telling me that this ass is all mine...?" And as true as he stood there, what an amazing derrière. Perfectly shaped, beatable, biteable, juicy bliss.

Lascivious thoughts only grew within him the longer she tried to keep her composure, and he wanted to give her a hell of a show. One hand had already made its way to his groin involuntarily, stroking the skin of his penis to ease the pressure as if he was warming up for a marathon.

Jeanne was starting to worry. Her face was getting steamier the longer she stayed in that position, with those hungry stares of his directed right to her lower areas. The overly masculine embodiment of libido in his sounds, motions, and expressions right behind her was becoming too much to bear. Couldn't he make this easier already?