Nanami Kento, a mysterious and charming figure stumbles into the ordinary world of a café worker.
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𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆: This story contains mature content such as explicit language and sexual situations.
𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐈𝐌𝐄�...
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DISCLAIMER: The following chapter contains NSFW (18+) material. Reader discretion advised.
The silence between you and Nanami was as thick as the steam rising from the bathroom sink. You stood there, your face illuminated by the soft glow of the vanity lights, carefully removing the last traces of makeup from your skin. Despite the comforting sounds of the quiet faucet, your mind was anything but a calm stream. The tension from the night's events clung to you, refusing to let go, making every breath feel heavy, every thought clouded.
You could hear Nanami rustling about in the bedroom, most likely undressing. The image of him unbuttoning his shirt and sliding out of his pants flashed in your mind, and despite your frustration with him, you couldn't help but think about how perfect his body was—how every inch of him was crafted with strength and precision. You craved him. Nanami had been the perfect gentleman, never once making any moves on you, but you wished he had.
As you rinsed your face one last time, you noticed Nanami's reflection in the mirror, silently creeping into the bathroom. He entered, shirtless, with his pants unbuttoned, the waistband hanging low on his hips. Your gaze fell on the bruise on his side, the one he had mentioned earlier. It was worse than you'd imagined, a deep, dark mark that stood out starkly against his pale skin.
Concern flashed through your anger, but before you could say anything, Nanami pressed his chest against your back, his muscular arms wrapping around your waist with a familiar, comforting weight. His warmth seeped into you, battling the coldness that had settled in your chest since dinner. You could feel the steady rise and fall of his breathing, the way his body seemed to meld perfectly with yours, and despite your frustrations, you leaned back into him, craving the affections that only he could provide.
"I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice low and heavy with regret. His lips brushed against the top of your head, the gesture so gentle it sent a shiver down your spine. "I didn't mean to upset you."
He kissed you again, this time on the nape of your neck, the warmth of his mouth lingering on your skin. He planted one more gentle kiss, raising goosebumps throughout your body. The anger you had been holding onto all evening began to melt away, replaced by a confusing mix of emotions—frustration, longing, and a deep-seated desire to understand him, to be close to him despite the secrets that lay between you.
As his kisses trailed down from your neck to your shoulder, you couldn't help but hold his head against you, your fingers tangling in his hair as if anchoring yourself to him would somehow answer all the questions swirling in your mind. You wanted to be angry, to push him away and demand the truth, but in this moment, all you could do was pull him closer, let him wrap you in his warmth, in his apologies, in the sincerity of his touch.
Nanami's hands slid slowly up your sides, finding the zipper at the back of your dress. He hesitated for a moment, as if asking for permission with the subtle pause in his movements. You could feel his breath against your skin, the way his heart seemed to beat in time with yours, and despite the uncertainty, you nodded slightly, giving him the answer he sought.
