The steam from our morning shower lingered in my mind like a fog as I headed to campus, Miko's parting kiss still tingling on my lips. She'd waved me off with a mischievous wink, her tail swishing behind her as she promised to "behave" while I was gone. But behaving wasn't exactly her strong suit—or mine, anymore. Every class felt like a distraction, my notes scribbled half-heartedly while flashbacks of her slick body under the water played on repeat. By midday, I was counting the minutes until I could get back to that old Victorian house and whatever teasing awaited.
I texted her during a break: "Lunch? Meet me at the quad?"
Her reply was instant: "On my way. Bring treats?"
I grabbed sandwiches from the campus cafe—tuna for her, because, well, cat girl—and found a shady spot under an oak tree. She arrived fashionably late, slinking through the crowd in a cropped hoodie that showed a sliver of her midriff and jeans that hugged her curves. Her ears were hidden under a beanie (a clever disguise for public outings), but her tail was tucked away, making her look almost fully human—if you ignored the graceful, predatory way she moved.
"Hey, stranger," she purred, plopping down beside me on the grass. She leaned in close, her shoulder brushing mine, and snatched the tuna sandwich with a grin. "Miss me?"
"More than I should admit," I said, unwrapping mine. Our knees touched as we ate, a simple contact that felt charged. She "accidentally" bumped her foot against mine, her eyes sparkling with feigned innocence.
Around us, students milled about—laughing, studying, oblivious. But Miko's presence turned the ordinary into something electric. She stretched out on her side, propping her head on her hand, the hoodie riding up just enough to reveal the soft fur trail on her belly. My gaze lingered, and she noticed, her lips curving into a sly smile. "See something you like?"
I cleared my throat, glancing around. "You're trouble in public."
"Only for you." She shifted closer, her hand resting on my thigh under the pretense of reaching for a napkin. Her fingers traced lazy circles, inching higher, claws retracted but the pressure teasing. I felt myself harden, shifting uncomfortably as heat pooled low in my belly. "Relax," she whispered, her breath warm on my ear. "No one's watching."
But I was—watching her, the way her golden eyes darkened with playful hunger. Lunch dragged on in delicious torture: her foot hooking around my ankle, her tail (hidden but I swear I felt it brush my leg through her jeans?), subtle nips at her sandwich that mirrored how she'd nipped at me in the shower.
After eating, we wandered the campus paths, her arm linked with mine. "Show me your world," she said, ears twitching under the beanie at the sounds of lectures spilling from open windows. We ducked into the biology building, where I had a free period. The halls were quiet, and I led her to an empty lab room I'd used for study sessions.
"Impressive," she teased, hopping onto a counter, legs dangling. "This where you dissect things?"
"Sometimes." I stepped between her knees, hands on her thighs. "But right now, I'd rather dissect you." Our lips met in a slow kiss, her rough tongue exploring mine as her hands fisted my shirt. I pressed closer, feeling her heat through our clothes, my fingers slipping under her hoodie to stroke the fur on her back. She arched, a soft purr vibrating between us, her hips tilting invitingly.
I trailed kisses down her neck, nipping at the sensitive spot where fur met skin. Her claws extended slightly, grazing my scalp as she guided me lower. "Careful," she gasped, but her body said otherwise, legs wrapping around my waist to pull me flush against her. I ground against her slowly, the friction through denim agonizingly sweet, her moans muffled against my shoulder.
We were building something here—not just heat, but a connection. Her vulnerability from last night's whispers mixed with this bold playfulness, making every touch feel intimate, layered. But as things heated up, a group of students passed by the door, voices echoing. We broke apart, breathing heavy, her cheeks flushed and eyes dilated.
"Tease," she accused, hopping down with a swat at my arm.
"You're one to talk." I adjusted myself, grinning. We slipped out, the rest of the afternoon a blur of stolen glances and brushes—her hand in my back pocket during a walk, my thumb stroking her palm in line at the coffee cart.
By evening, back home, the teasing continued over dinner. She cooked this time—stir-fry with a kick—and we ate on the couch, her feet in my lap. "Massage?" she asked innocently, wiggling her toes. I obliged, thumbs pressing into her arches, but my hands wandered up her calves, kneading higher until she squirmed, tail (now free) flicking in excitement.
"Bed?" I suggested, voice low.
She nodded, leading the way upstairs. In my room, clothes shed to underwear, we tangled under the covers—kisses turning fervent, hands exploring. I teased her breasts with my mouth, tongue circling her nipples until she writhed, her claws raking my back lightly. She returned the favor, her rough tongue licking down my chest, stopping just above my waistband with a wicked grin. "Not yet," she echoed from before, but her hand dipped lower, stroking me through the fabric until I was aching.
We edged each other like that—teases building to near-breaks, bodies slick with sweat—before collapsing into exhausted cuddles, her purr lulling us to sleep. The slow burn was intoxicating, each moment stacking anticipation. But as I drifted off, her earlier skittishness at the door knock replayed. How long until her past interrupted this bliss? For now, though, with Miko in my arms, I savored the tease, knowing the payoff was coming.