As Kyousuke stepped into the groom's changing room, he took a look around.
Compared to when he ca earlier to get his boutonnière, the room looked a lot emptier.
The boxes that once held staff badges and floral pins were gone.
Maybe it was to avoid cleaning fees—or maybe to make sure the morial hall wouldn't refuse to rent to them again next ti.
Either way, the dressing room, lined with dark red carpet, was now almost spotless.
On a long table near the wall sat a few elegantly wrapped gift boxes.
He walked over and saw his na on one of them, along with an itemized list: a 100,000-yen bookstore gift card, a chanical pencil set, and a few other commorative trinkets.
The most interesting of them was a special edition of The Devotion of Suspect X.
Its pure white cover was adorned only with bold red letters: the Bookstore Award emblem, the title, and the author's na.
There was no fancy design to speak of, yet the simplicity of the red-and-white color sche gave it a striking, tiless beauty.
Kyousuke picked up the book and was just about to flip through it to check the print quality—if it was good enough, he was already thinking about ordering a hundred or two copies to give away—when he heard the door behind him open.
Not Hamamoto Shigeru. He could tell that imdiately.
As he turned around, a surprised but delighted smile spread across his face.
"Utaha—"
He barely got two syllables out before her lips sealed his, and her body collided with his so forcefully that he nearly stumbled back.
Fortunately, his well-trained body could withstand much more than this.
Even if Utaha-senpai had jumped on him entirely, it would've been nothing he couldn't handle.
Her soft, warm lips captured his lower lip completely.
Before he could even take a good look at her face, he felt her hot, shallow breaths washing over his skin, the warmth of her exhalations mixing with a barely restrained panting that burned against him.
Then she shifted slightly, locking their lips together even tighter—no space, no hesitation.
A soft, slippery tongue slithered into his mouth like a serpent darting from its nest, sweeping through him with breath-stealing intensity.
It twined around his tongue, tasting every inch of his mouth as if searching for so hidden treasure that wasn't there.
It was a kiss driven by wild passion—so intense he could barely breathe.
It felt like she wasn't just trying to steal the taste from his mouth, but even the air from his lungs.
"Hah~ Mmm~ Ah~"
Kasumigaoka Utaha's breathing was short and ragged, her gasps laced with a sensuality that made one's blood stir.
Maybe it was from rushing here, or maybe it was because she was embracing the man who, to her, was like the strongest aphrodisiac imaginable.
'Don't speak. Don't speak. Don't say a word…'
Her eyes were tightly shut, as if trying to focus every ounce of herself into this kiss.
Back then—no, long before even that—when she had stood hidden in the shadows, watching him step into the light, listening to him announce to the entire world that she was the most important person to him… her heart had been pounding non-stop.
That overwhelming urge surged through her: Do sothing. Move. Run to him. Hold him. Kiss him. Feel his breath.
Even as Kyousuke's speech went on, her emotions kept rising, building up like grains of sand in an hourglass—filling her, counting down.
And now the tir had struck zero.
She had wrapped her arms around him.
She would carry this tidal wave of emotion and pour it into this kiss—this perfect, blissful kiss.
She had always known—no matter how refined your manners, no matter how enlightened your thoughts—humans are creatures driven by desire.
And if you ever need proof, just look at the existence of law and morality: they only exist to restrain what we really want to do.
Right now, the man who had stood on the stage monts ago, bathed in spotlight and the attention of countless eyes, the newly crowned winner of the Bookstore Award—was in her arms.
His mouth, the sa mouth that delivered that stirring, eloquent speech and boldly called her his "kanojo" in front of the world, was completely claid by her.
His silver tongue, his sweet saliva—she took them all.
Utaha knew fans often felt an irrational attachnt to their idols.
Even a simple reply on social dia could leave them sleepless with joy.
And now, this man—her man—who had just stood beneath the lights, whose na would appear on every front page tomorrow, who shone like the sun itself, was here.
In her arms. Like a child, obediently letting her hold him.
Humans always crave more.
When life is tough, we long for food and shelter.
Once that's secured, we start to desire money, fa, love.
Possessiveness is like a perpetual engine, humming inside our chests, spawning more and more desires.
Possession. Competition. Vanity. Power.
These are the forces that make humans what they are. Without desire, we wouldn't be human at all.
But right now… as she felt his tongue dancing with hers, Utaha could only think:
'I'm full.'
Possession, competition, vanity, ambition—all of it. It felt like it had overflowed.
Hojou Kyousuke.
The man under the spotlight.
The man who made the entire audience fixate on him like he was divine.
He had just stepped down from the stage.
The hall was still full of people wanting to shake his hand, network with him, dig stories out of him. Reporters were practically lining up.
Yet here he was. In her arms.
Her nose rubbed against his cheek.
She couldn't even tell anymore if the dampness ca from her sweat or his—it just made their skin glide more easily against one another.
His breath, which started calm and quiet, had gradually synced with hers—hot, ragged, and desperate.
From his throat ca a low growl, like that of a beast starved for more.
Their breaths intertwined, then were drawn in again, filling their lungs, fueling their hearts—letting her tongue continue its little ga of tag with his thick, powerful one.
The thought made her open her mouth wider, trying to swallow his whole.
Sothing inside her had snapped.
Her desire surged.
Her crimson lips, plump and full, began sliding upward along the curve of his lips as if savoring an ice cream cone.
She wanted to engulf his entire mouth, the sa mouth that had delivered that unforgettable speech just monts ago.
Her tender lips felt the fine beads of sweat on his philtrum, the faint scrape of stubble beneath—small, tingling sensations that made her heart race even faster.
That stubble—it reminded her that this boy in her arms was not just so awkward, lovable youth.
He was a man. A real, grown man.
That invisible aura of masculinity overwheld her senses, and her wine-colored eyes turned hazy with longing.
Her grip on Kyousuke tightened, her fingers pressing harder into his back, like she wanted to dig her nails into his body, to lt the two of them into one.
Humans are greedy by nature.
When one desire is satisfied, another takes its place.
But right now… right now…
With Kyousuke's tongue in her mouth, with his warmth against her body, with his scent filling her lungs, Kasumigaoka Utaha felt—for the first ti—that maybe she had everything she ever needed.
In a hidden changing room, away from the world's eyes, Kyousuke—was being held tightly against her chest and arms, kissed passionately by her.
The beautiful girl's usually petite and tempting lips were now desperately, almost aggressively, pressing against his, hungrily sucking the saliva from his mouth.
Even though, just monts ago, she'd felt like her desire had been completely satisfied, her fingers were now clawing at Kyousuke's back with such force that every joint in her slender hands stood out sharply.
She didn't care one bit if she wrinkled his expensive tailored suit.
But the harder she tried to pull him closer, to lt into him, the emptier she felt.
Just kissing him wasn't enough anymore—it couldn't satisfy the rising tide of desire burning inside her.
"Kyousuke~~"
Her voice trembled, sweet and plaintive, as if she were on the verge of tears.
The sound ca from deep in her throat, filled with aching longing.
Her wine-red eyes were no longer just misty—they were wet, shimring at the corners.
She needed him. Craved him. Wanted to be filled by sothing more than just kisses.
Though her lips parted from Kyousuke for a breath, Utaha still held him tightly with her soft chest and delicate arms.
Her grip only tightened, as if she wanted to use him to fill the emptiness inside her.
"Utaha…"
Even Kyousuke's voice, usually clear and cool like wind across a frozen plain, had beco rough and unsteady.
She wasn't wrong—he was on the edge of becoming a beast.
His voice had deepened, his gaze intense, burning hot like he might devour her.
He was never the type to passively let others take control.
Fifty kilograms ant nothing to him physically—he could lift her with ease.
But this ti, he had given her the lead.
From the mont she entered the changing room, with her ragged breaths and desperate, feverish kisses, he could feel her overwhelming emotion.
That's why he had let her take the initiative—let her guide their kiss.
But now, those wine-colored eyes were no longer just filled with desire.
They pleaded with him silently: Do sothing… anything… Right now, I belong to you.
He knew it was ti to act. He had given her the prize—now it was ti to share in the glory together.
"Mmh…"
Utaha moaned softly, unashad and longing for him.
Her glistening eyes sparkled with an electric charge as she gently rocked her body against his, letting the curves of her chest brush more firmly against him.
Every subtle friction sparked heat in her nerves.
Just as her desire seed to calm, it surged again—wilder, more intense—like the storm after a mont of stillness. It blazed inside her like fire, too much to contain.
Her head tilted back, lips puckered again, seeking his kiss.
Kyousuke didn't say a word.
This—this was how life was ant to be savored.
Win the prize. Kiss the beauty. That's how the story usually goes.
His only concern now was whether this room was really secure.
Did Utaha rember to lock the door?
But one look at her flushed, desperate expression—and all hesitation vanished.
He leaned down, claiming her lips once more in a fierce kiss.
His arms slipped under hers, wrapping tightly around her slender fra.
Utaha could never match the strength in those arms.
When he pulled her close, her chest was practically crushed against him.
The pressure made her breath catch, but there wasn't ti to worry about that anymore.
She had thought her kisses were passionate—but Hojou's were searing.
While she responded eagerly, her long, beautiful legs, wrapped in a sleek black evening dress, lifted slightly, rubbing softly along the side of his leg.
Kyousuke felt every movent clearly.
His strong hands glided from her smooth shoulders down her back.
Though her body was full and sensual, he could feel every bone—her shoulder blades, the line of her ribs—distinct beneath his fingertips.
Her dress was as luxurious as it looked.
The fabric clung to her like a second skin—soft, smooth, and elegant.
It didn't match the silky perfection of her bare skin, but it didn't stop him from savoring every curve of her figure.
To Utaha, those strong hands roaming her back felt like they carried a charge.
Every stroke left behind a trail of heat.
Her body burned under his touch, her entire being crying out for more, begging those hands to linger—pleading for him to touch her again and again.
But those hands—just like their owner—were cold, firm, and relentless.
Even though her back was slender and seductively curved, Kyousuke didn't linger. His touch continued downward without hesitation.
His fingers slid from the nape of her neck, tracing the elegant line along her sides.
They skimd just beneath the curve of her breasts, glided over her graceful waistline, until even his longest middle finger brushed against her navel.
Still, not even her soft, delicate waist was enough to make him stop.
Yes—Kyousuke had a very clear goal.
Sure, that slim little waist, so fragile it could be encircled with one hand, was incredibly tempting.
He wanted to savor it, to run his tongue along the smooth plane of her stomach, drawing lazy patterns on her flat belly.
But even that desire couldn't distract him from his destination.
That voluptuous, perky backside—so round and firm that Eriri had once cursed it out of sheer jealousy—had already caught his eye.
He rembered watching Utaha walk down from the stage during the awards ceremony, cradling the trophy he'd given her.
That fitted black dress had hugged her hips so perfectly that all he could think about was what it would feel like to touch her there.
Sure, he might've known before—last night, maybe—but today was a new day.
Now, his hand traced the curve of her rear through the sleek fabric of her dress, feeling the soft glide of the material and the shape beneath it.
Just as his fingers reached the edge of her hip, almost brushing the top of her thigh, he suddenly gave a sharp squeeze.
"Ah—nhh! Aaah~"
The sudden jolt made Utaha gasp softly through her nose, lips still caught under Kyousuke's firm kiss.
Her autumn-colored eyes snapped open, shimring with tears and pleasure.
Her expression was a blend of sweet surprise and helpless longing—was it a plea for him to go easier… or a silent cry for more?
Kyousuke didn't have ti to ponder.
If necessary, he'd think about it later—when she was lying in his arms, breathless and flushed.
Now, both his hands gripped her rear, his fingers sinking deep into the plush softness. Finally, he knew what it felt like.
Satisfaction. Pure, overwhelming satisfaction.
He kneaded her generously curved backside with firm, hungry motions, and with every squeeze, Utaha let out faint, breathy moans from her throat and nose.
That sound only spurred him further—his kisses grew hotter, his hands bolder.
He was starting to understand why humanity was obsessed with data.
Gun calibers, building heights, ship tonnage, bust sizes, hip asurents…
Bigger really was better—at least when perfectly proportioned.
After all, what's the point of a giant cannon if there's no firepower to back it up?
A figure like hers—those full, rounded hips set beneath such a narrow, elegant waist—was nothing short of srizing.
It was the kind of beauty that made you want to follow it, reach for it, worship it.
As much as he enjoyed the feel of her soft curves in his hands, Hojou Kyousuke didn't stop there.
'Damn it, Kasumigaoka Utaha… you really are too perfect.'
He hadn't even touched her chest yet—arguably the most exquisite part—and already her smooth back, her delicate waist, and those divine hips had him thinking he could spend a whole year just playing with each one.
Year after year… it'd never get old. Not even in a lifeti.
His hands slid lower, tracing the curve of her rear again, continuing downward along the length of her black dress.
'Wait… sothing felt off. Where were the familiar stockings?'
Beneath his palms, all he could feel was the silky smoothness of her evening gown.
It was lovely, sure—but no match for the feel of sheer black stockings.
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