The office was a cocoon of heat and shadow, the late afternoon sun spilling through the blinds in golden slats that danced across Minato's polished oak desk. The air carried the faint scent of leather and ink, mingling with the heady musk of desire that seemed to pulse between them.
Minato sat behind his desk, his fingers pausing over a stack of paperwork, his sharp blue eyes flicking up to devour the sight of Mikasa standing before him. His voice, low and teasing, cut through the quiet like a velvet blade.
"That's quite the development in your relationship, Mikasa," he said, leaning back in his chair, the leather creaking under his weight. His gaze was unrelenting, tracing every curve of her body with a hunger that made her skin prickle. "So, Eren's been indulging himself with other women now? And last night, you and this… Pieck, was it? Both of you, writhing together with him, skin on skin, tangled in some deliciously wicked tryst?" A slow, predatory smile curled his lips, his eyes glinting with a mix of envy and arousal. "I'll confess, I'm jealous. Two women at once, their bodies pressed against his? Eren's living a fantasy that'd make any man weak."
Mikasa stood poised before him, her presence a potent blend of defiance and allure. Her tight black skirt clung to her hips, ending just above her knees, accentuating the taut lines of her thighs with every subtle shift of her weight.
As per Minato's private decree—a rule that sent a thrill through her every time she obeyed—her upper body was bare save for a lacy black bra, the delicate fabric straining against the swell of her breasts. Her raven hair cascaded over her shoulders, brushing against her exposed skin, and her dark eyes smoldered with a quiet challenge, daring him to act on the tension simmering between them.
She tilted her head, her lips parting in a slow, knowing smile. "It was… overwhelming," she murmured, her voice a sultry caress that seemed to stroke the air itself. "Eren's relentless, you know that. Pieck brought something else—her touch was softer, teasing, her fingers tracing places that made me shiver. But I'm here now, Minato. Just for you." Her words dripped with intent, each syllable a deliberate invitation as she stepped closer to the desk, her hips swaying with a rhythm that made his breath catch.
Minato's eyes darkened, his fingers tightening around the pen until it nearly snapped. He set it down with deliberate care, his gaze never leaving her—lingering on the curve of her collarbone, the shadow of her cleavage, the way the skirt hugged her like a lover's hands. "You're a dangerous woman, Mikasa," he growled, his voice thick with desire.
"Coming in here, dressed like that, knowing exactly how it unravels me. That little rule of mine—taking off your top when we're alone—it's not just for show. It's a reminder of who owns this moment." His lips twitched into a smirk, but the raw edge in his voice betrayed the fire building inside him.
Mikasa's smile deepened, a flicker of defiance in her eyes as she leaned forward, resting her hands on the edge of his desk. The movement pushed her breasts together, the black lace barely containing them, and Minato's jaw tightened, his breath hitching audibly. "Own it?" she purred, her voice a velvet challenge. "Maybe. But you're not the only one who craves this." Her eyes locked onto his, bold and unyielding, as she let the silence stretch, the air between them crackling with unspoken need.
Minato stood, his tall frame unfolding with a predatory grace as he rounded the desk. The space between them vanished, his body heat radiating against her bare skin. He didn't touch her—not yet—but his presence was a tangible force, his breath hot against her ear as he leaned in close. "Tonight, it's just you and me," he whispered, his voice a dark, molten promise. "No Eren, no Pieck, no one else. I don't share, Mikasa. Not here. You can have your little escapades, but when you're with me…" His fingers finally grazed her arm, a slow, electric touch that sent shivers cascading down her spine. "It's my hands, my mouth, my everything claiming you."
Mikasa's breath caught, her lips parting as she tilted her head back to meet his gaze. The intensity in his eyes was a storm, raw and possessive, making her pulse race. She nodded, her voice a husky whisper. "I understand," she said, her tone laced with submission and a spark of defiance.
Then, with deliberate slowness, she bowed slightly, her movement graceful yet provocative, offering him a tantalizing view of her cleavage framed by the delicate lace. The gesture was both an acknowledgment of his dominance and a bold enticement, her body screaming what her words left unsaid.
Minato's control snapped like a taut wire. His hand shot out, cupping her chin and tilting her face up as his thumb traced her lower lip, slow and deliberate. "Good girl," he murmured, the words dripping with heat. His other hand found her waist, pulling her flush against him, her bare skin pressing against the crisp fabric of his shirt.
The contrast sent a jolt through her, her nipples hardening against the lace as his fingers dug into her hip. "Let's see how well you keep that promise."
Without warning, he spun her around, pressing her against the desk, her palms splaying across the cool wood. The paperwork scattered as he leaned over her, his lips brushing the nape of her neck, sending a shiver through her core.
"You're mine tonight," he growled, his hands sliding up her sides, teasing the edges of her bra before unclasping it with a deft flick. The lace fell away, baring her breasts to the warm air, and she gasped as his hands cupped them, his thumbs circling her sensitive peaks with maddening slowness.
"Minato…" she moaned, her voice trembling with need as she arched into his touch. His fingers pinched lightly, drawing a sharp gasp from her lips, before one hand trailed lower, slipping beneath the waistband of her skirt.
He tugged it down in one smooth motion, leaving her in nothing but her panties, the black lace a stark contrast against her flushed skin. His fingers teased the edge of the fabric, dipping just beneath to graze her inner thigh, so close to where she ached for him.
"Tell me you want this," he demanded, his voice rough as he pressed himself against her back, the hard evidence of his arousal unmistakable through his trousers. His fingers slipped lower, finding her slick heat, and he groaned softly against her ear. "Fuck, you're already so wet for me."
"I want it," she gasped, her hips bucking against his hand as he stroked her slowly, his fingers sliding through her folds with expert precision. "I want you, Minato. Only you tonight." Her words were a plea, a surrender, and they ignited something primal in him.
He didn't hesitate. With a swift motion, he pushed her panties down, letting them pool at her ankles, and nudged her thighs apart. The desk creaked as she leaned forward, her breasts pressing against the wood, her body open and vulnerable to him.
Minato's hands gripped her hips, his fingers digging into her flesh as he positioned himself behind her. The sound of his belt unbuckling was a sharp, thrilling promise, and then she felt him—hot, hard, and insistent—pressing against her entrance.
"Hold on tight," he murmured, and then he thrust into her, deep and unrelenting, filling her completely. Mikasa cried out, her fingers gripping the edge of the desk as waves of pleasure crashed through her.
Minato set a relentless pace, each thrust driving her higher, his hands roaming her body—gripping her hips, teasing her breasts, sliding down to circle her clit with deft, practiced strokes.
The office faded away, the world narrowing to the heat of their bodies, the slick rhythm of their joining, the gasps and moans that filled the air.
Mikasa's climax built fast, her body trembling as Minato's fingers and thrusts pushed her over the edge. She shattered with a cry, her walls clenching around him, and he followed moments later, his own release a low, guttural groan against her neck.
They stayed like that for a moment, panting, bodies pressed together, the desk a silent witness to their passion. Minato's lips brushed her shoulder, a soft counterpoint to the intensity of what they'd just shared. "Mine," he whispered, a possessive edge to his voice that made her shiver anew.
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