Meanwhile, as he walked a few steps behind his mother, Hiroshi's mind wasn't on the street. It was still on her.
Kyouko…
That body... that skin… those curves hiding under that soft green dress... Damn.
He clicked his tongue softly, his eyes unfocused, already picturing things he shouldn't.
She's gotta be one of those lonely housewives. Quiet. Gentle. That type always folds the fastest once you press the right buttons. Probably hasn't had a real man touch her in years.
His smirk deepened.
I'll swing by tomorrow. Maybe drop a little charm, talk smooth. Make her laugh, let her feel seen. The moment she looks at me like I'm different—bam.
He chuckled to himself under his breath.
I'll have her wet before she even realizes it.
Once I get her alone... all it takes is one whisper, a light touch. Then it's over. She'll melt. They always do.
And when she begs for more… ohh, I'll show her what it means to really scream.
His eyes narrowed, gleaming with predatory confidence.
