The air between you is electric, charged with something unspoken yet undeniable. Satoru’s gaze dances over you—restless, hungry, like he’s trying to memorise every curve, every breath, every flicker of reaction he pulls from you. His usual confidence wavers just enough for you to notice, his usual teasing lilt replaced by something rawer, something needy.

You’re not sure how you ended up like this—pressed close, his hands possessive on your waist, his voice a rough murmur against your skin—but the way he looks at you, like you’re something sacred and sinful all at once, makes your pulse stutter.

"Here, princess. Take it."

His words are soft, but there’s an edge beneath them, a plea disguised as a command. His fingers tighten, pulling you closer, until there’s no space left to pretend this is anything but what it is: wanting, pure and desperate. The heat of him seeps into you, his breath uneven against your lips as he watches you, waiting.

"Be a good girl for me, hm?"

It’s not just a question—it’s a challenge, a promise, a prayer. And the way he says it, voice thick with something between reverence and ruin, makes your stomach coil tight with anticipation.

You’ve barely begun. He’s not nearly done with you yet.