Chapter 933: Promise To Yuko
I let the silence stretch. Let her feel the heat of my body, the insistent throb only inches from her hip now. Let her wrestle with the cocktail of guilt, sha, responsibility... and sothing hotter she was trying desperately not to na.
After a long mont, she swallowed hard.
"I... I didn’t an to..." she whispered. "I just wanted to help. I didn’t think—"
"I know," I cut in softly. "But you are helping. More than you know."
Her lashes fluttered. She bit her lower lip—hard enough that the skin blanched white for a second.
"Do you... need
to... do sothing?" The question ca out so small, so reluctant, I almost didn’t catch it.
I turned my head slowly.
Yuko’s face was incandescent—deep crimson spreading from her cheeks down her throat, the blush so intense it looked almost painful under the unforgiving fluorescent light.
Her lips were parted, still trembling from the shock of seeing
fully exposed, from the way her own whispered "so big" still echoed between us like a confession she couldn’t take back. Her eyes—wide, glassy, shimring with unshed tears and sothing far more dangerous—darted between my face and the throbbing, veined length that refused to soften.
I softened my voice, made it gentle, careful.
"Sister Yuko... I know you hate n. I know you don’t like coming into contact with them because of... that incident you told
about." I paused, letting the weight of her past settle between us. "So if you’re not comfortable—if even being this close is hurting you—I don’t want to force you. I would never want to force you, Sister Yuko."
Her breath caught. For a second, she looked like she might shatter.
Then she shook her head—small, frantic.
"No..." The word ca out shaky, but certain. "I... I hate coming in contact with other n. But not you, Jack." Her voice dropped to sothing raw, almost reverent. "I don’t know why... but when I’m with you... I don’t have that feeling. At all."
She lifted her chin, forcing herself to et my eyes even though her whole body was trembling.
Her next words ca out in a serious, determined tone—completely at odds with the furious blush still burning across her face.
"I am willing to do anything to help you. Anything." She swallowed hard, stamring now. "But I... I don’t... know much about... these things. So please... teach ."
The way she stood there—still holding the back of my gown open behind , still pressed close enough that I could feel the frantic rise and fall of her chest against my side—she looked every inch like a young Japanese wife from so old drama: demure yet resolute, blushing furiously, ready to serve, to give, to learn whatever her husband asked of her. The image hit
harder than I expected.
I shook my head slowly, letting regret color my voice.
"I don’t want Sister Yuko to do these things just because she feels guilty about hurting . I—"
She didn’t let
finish.
In one sudden, impulsive movent, she spun
toward her—careful of the bandage on my ribs, but firm—and wrapped both arms around my neck. Then she surged up on her toes and kissed .
Hard.
Amateurish. Desperate. Lips crashing against mine with more emotion than technique—teeth clacking once, a tiny whimper escaping her when she realized how clumsy it was. But she didn’t pull back. She pressed closer instead, molding her body to mine like she was trying to fuse us together.
My erection—still achingly hard, veins standing out like cords—pressed directly against the soft mound of her crotch through her skirt and my thin gown. The sudden friction dragged a low, broken groan out of her throat, muffled against my mouth. Her hips jerked involuntarily, chasing the pressure for one helpless second before she froze in mortified realization.
She broke the kiss just enough to speak—lips still brushing mine, breath hot and ragged.
"I’m not doing this because I feel guilty," she whispered fiercely, voice cracking. "I really do love you, Jack. Please believe ." Another trembling breath. "I am willing to do anything... even if you want... that. I’m willing to give it to you. Right here. Right now. If that’s what you need."
Her words hung in the small, bleach-scented space like smoke.
I lifted one hand—slowly, gently—and threaded my fingers into her dark hair. I caressed the strands behind her ear, then down the nape of her neck, feeling the fine tremor that ran through her.
"I know," I murmured against her lips. "I believe you."
I pulled back just enough to look into her eyes—searching, serious.
"But I don’t want to push you. Not like this. Not rushed, not in a hospital bathroom because of so stupid injury and so stupid guilt." I brushed my thumb along her jaw.
"I want to take my ti with you, Sister Yuko. I want to go on dates. Real ones. Walks in the park. Late-night ran stands. Holding hands under the table at family dinners. I want to court you properly... so there’s no regret. Not for you. Not for ."
Her eyes filled—tears brimming but not falling.
"You... you really an that?"
I nodded.
"More than anything."
For a long mont, she just stared at —searching my face like she was trying to find the lie and couldn’t.
Then she let out a small, watery laugh that turned into a sniffle.
"You’re... impossible," she whispered.
She rested her forehead against mine, closing her eyes.
"Okay," she said softly. "Then... take your ti. I’ll wait." A tiny, shy smile curved her lips. "But... I’m still going to help you pee. Because you still can’t pee."
She opened her eyes again—still flushed, still nervous, but steadier now.
"So... tell
what to do. Teach . Slowly."
I smiled—small, real this ti.
"Turn
back around," I said quietly. "Hold the gown like before. And... maybe just stay close. Talk to . That’ll help more than anything."
She nodded.
Carefully—tenderly—she guided
back to face the toilet. Her arms ca around
again from behind this ti, one hand steady on my hip, the other still clutching the parted gown. Her cheek pressed lightly against my shoulder blades. I could feel her heartbeat against my spine—fast, but calr now.
"Breathe," she whispered against my back. "I’ve got you."
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