His eyes fluttered open slowly. He hadn’t meant to wake, but her scent was impossible to ignore—sweet lotion, soft perfume, and the faint warmth of wine and skin. She had pressed her body fully against his sometime during the night, her soft curves fitting like puzzle pieces against him.

Aunt Mizuki’s arm was draped across his chest, her leg hooked over his hip. Her breathing was slow and warm against his neck. Her nightgown had ridden up around her thighs, dangerously high, revealing too much for someone who was supposed to be just family.

“...Mmnn…” she mumbled sleepily, her voice husky. “You’re awake, aren’t you…?”

He froze, heart skipping.

“I can feel your heartbeat, dummy,” she whispered teasingly, her lips barely an inch from his ear. “It’s racing.”

Her hand slid slowly up his chest, tracing the shape of him, savoring the rise and fall of his breath beneath her touch. “Did you think I wouldn’t notice you squirming…? Naughty boy.”