Chapter 351: Thirteen Minutes
Morning filtered through the long silk curtains like spilled honey, soft gold cutting across the bedroom's pale walls.
The great bed—a monument of tangled sheets, half-crushed pillows, and warm limbs—wasn't empty, and the two figures within it were making an unspoken game of pretending they didn't have places to be.
Malik's face was buried between the familiar, pillowy warmth of Shisui's chest, his curls tickling against her collarbone. She had one arm draped lazily over him, her fingers tracing idle circles on his back. The other hand was tangled in his hair, her thumb resting behind his ear in quiet possession.
Neither spoke.
Neither moved.
If the world wanted them, it would have to knock louder.
The room smelled faintly of cedar from the firewood, mixed with the sharper tang of Shisui's hair oil and the softer chocolate and cocoa butter scent that always clung to Malik's skin. The distant hum of the mansion's occupants vibrated like a heartbeat throughout the house on all floors.
For a long, blissful stretch, nothing existed except the rhythm of their breathing—slow, syncopated, the small shifts of fabric when one of them sighed a little too deeply.
Then: BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.
The sharp, electronic sound broke the illusion like a thrown kunai.
Shisui's eyes snapped open.
Her hand darted under the pillow.
There was a flash of movement—a silver glint—and crack! The alarm clock split in two clean pieces against the wall, smoke curling up from the remains.
Silence returned, save for Malik's muffled voice, still half-buried in her chest.
"…When," he asked slowly, "did you get an alarm clock?"
Shisui exhaled, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face. "That was my fifth one."
He turned his head just enough to look at her from the corner of one eye. "Fifth?"
"Mmh." She shrugged.
"You keep breaking them."
"Apparently," she said with complete seriousness, "they keep deserving it."
Malik laughed into her skin. "That's not an answer."
She ignored him, pulling him closer again, muttering something about how alarm clocks were "tools of the oppressors." He chuckled against her shoulder.
Eventually, though, Malik wriggled free, detangling himself from her limbs and warmth. She made a faint, wordless protest—something between a sigh and a pout—and flopped onto her back with exaggerated misery.
He sat up, stretching, arms rising above his head until his back popped. The morning light caught the curve of his shoulders, the soft definition that came from a man who spent equal time in spell circles, kitchens, and running around the world like a headless mouse. Shisui propped herself up on one elbow, shamelessly admiring the view.
"Don't look at me like that," he said without turning around.
"Like what?" she asked, voice innocent.
"Like I'm the main course after a twelve-hour mission."
"Hmm," she murmured, eyes glittering. "You say that like it's not true."
He grabbed a pillow and flung it at her. She tilted her head and let it sail past with the kind of grace that made him sigh in defeat.
"Unfair," Malik muttered. "You could dodge in your sleep, if you wanted to."
"Perks of being me," she said, stretching languidly—and, of course, that made everything worse.
The oversized sleep top she wore slid further off one shoulder, the neckline now little more than a suggestion of modesty. The loose fabric draped around her like a thin sheet; her soft drawstring shorts rode low on her hips, the small embroidered Uchiha fan near her thigh catching the light. She didn't look like a legendary warrior right then—she looked human, relaxed, radiant, and utterly impossible to ignore.
Malik put a hand over his face and groaned. "If I didn't have to leave in fifteen minutes, somebody would be punished for looking that good."
She arched an eyebrow. "Oh? You've got fifteen minutes?" She sat up fully now, smirking. "Funny. So do I."
He looked over at her warily. "Don't."
She pretended to think. "You know what we could do in fifteen minutes?"
"Shisui."
"We could clean the kitchen."
"Uh-huh."
"Rearrange the library by chakra affinity."
"Don't you dare."
"Do inventory of the training hall—"
"Ridiculous."
"—brush the cat that doesn't exist—"
"Now you're mocking me, and GrubGrub does exist; they just don't come out much, is all."
She grinned, leaning forward, hair falling in soft black waves. "You're the one who brought up fifteen minutes. I'm just brainstorming."
Malik pointed at her. "You're incorrigible."
"Big word. Compliment accepted."
He rolled his eyes, but the corner of his mouth betrayed him with a smile. Then, with a snap of his fingers, a faint shimmer of light formed in the air before him. A phone—sleek, enchanted, and slightly glowing—blinked into existence. He tapped it, set a timer, and tossed it onto the bed.
"Thirteen minutes," he said.
Shisui blinked. "Why thirteen?"
"Lucky number," he said simply.
Before she could reply, Malik climbed back onto the bed, the mattress sinking under his weight. She laughed softly as he crawled toward her, half playful, half serious.
"You're impossible," she whispered.
"And you," Malik said, catching her by the waist, "are wasting time."
Shisui's laughter melted into a smile that could stop entire wars. She looped her arms around his neck, drawing him close until their foreheads touched. "Then we shouldn't waste it."
And as the timer ticked down quietly from thirteen, the world outside their room went on—unaware, uninvited, and entirely unnecessary.
The thirteen-minute countdown begins with a soft chime, the enchanted phone's glow casting a faint blue light across the sheets of the bed. Malik wastes no time, his hands already sliding beneath her loose sleep top, fingers tracing the curve of her waist before slipping lower. She arches into his touch, her own hands moving to the drawstring of her shorts, loosening the knot with practiced speed.
"twelve minutes," the phone announces, and Malik groans in frustration.
Shisui laughs, pushing him back just enough to slide her shorts down past her hips. The thick black hair of her bush springs free, curling slightly at the edges where it meets the soft skin of her inner thighs. Malik's breathing hitches when he sees it—his fingers twitching with the urge to touch, to bury himself in that dense fur.
She smirks, knowing exactly what he's thinking. "We don't have time for that today." She pushes Malik onto his back, straddling him with a swift, commanding motion. Her hands grip his wrists, pinning them to the mattress as she leans down, her heavy breasts pressing against his chest. Her skin is warm, silky, and the soft curls of her bush brush teasingly against the hardening outline of his cock beneath his boxers.
The phone chimes again. "Eleven minutes."
Shisui doesn't waste a second. She shifts her hips, grinding down against him, her thick, hairy pussy pressing hot and wet against the bulge in his underwear. Malik's breath catches, his hips lifting instinctively, seeking more friction. She grins, biting her lip as she rocks her hips, her bush rustling against his skin, the coarse texture an intense contrast to the softness of her thighs.
Her hands move from his wrists to his sleeping shorts, yanking them down with a rough tug. His thick, dark cock springs free, already fully hard and glistening at the tip. Shisui doesn't hesitate. She lifts her hips just enough to position herself, then sinks down onto him in one smooth, practiced motion.
The sensation is overwhelming—the tight, wet heat of her, the way her thick bush rubs against his pelvis, the sheer fullness that makes Malik gasp and arch beneath her. She begins to move immediately, her powerful thighs flexing as she rides him with a rhythm that is both urgent and deeply controlled.
"Ten minutes," the phone announces, its voice cool and detached.
Shisui's eyes are locked on his, dark and intense. Her long black hair falls around her face like a curtain, swaying with each thrust. Her breasts bounce heavily with the motion, the large brown nipples stiff and prominent.
With a flick of his mind, Malik turns the phone on silent, "Don't focus on the timer, let's enjoy ourselves, while we can," he told her, his hands reaching to grab her bouncing breasts.
His palms cup the full weight of her, thumbs circling the taut brown nipples. Shisui gasps, her rhythm faltering for a single beat before she resumes with even more vigor, her hips grinding down in tight, possessive circles. She leans forward, bracing her hands on his chest, her hair brushing his face. The scent of her—sweat and that faint, sweet cocoa butter—fills the space between them.
"You talk too much," she breathes against his mouth, her voice rough with exertion.
Her internal muscles clench around him, a deliberate, practiced contraction that makes his eyes roll back. He groans, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of her hips, guiding her pace to match the frantic pounding of his own heart. The room is silent save for the wet, rhythmic slap of their bodies meeting, the creak of the bedframe, and their ragged breaths.
"Talk too Much!!" Malik said with mock anger before leaning up to bite one of her nipples. Shisui's back arches with a sharp intake of breath, her rhythm breaking completely as she cries out. Her nails dig into his chest, leaving faint red marks on his dark skin. "Nine minutes," she gasps, though she knows the timer is silenced.
Malik doesn't need to be told. He can feel it building—that familiar tension coiling in his abdomen, the heat spreading through his cock as it's buried inside her. Shisui moves faster, her powerful thighs lifting and dropping in quick, precise strokes. Her bush presses against him, the coarse texture an intense contrast to the slick heat of her inner walls.
"Eight minutes," she pants, though the phone says nothing. She knows the pace, the rhythm, the exact count needed to make this work.
Malik's hands slide to her waist, gripping tight as he lifts his hips to meet her downward thrusts. Moving his face to her neck, he kisses it, soft and gentle, "You're close," he said softly, "Very close, my love, my wife, my Shisui, let go, and cum for me." Shisui's breath hitches, her body trembling against his as his words wash over her. Her rhythm becomes erratic, desperate—her powerful muscles clenching around him in a way that borders on painful.
Her nails scrape gently down his chest as she lets out a ragged moan, burying her face in the crook of his neck. He can feel her orgasm building like a storm—a tightening in her core, a tremor in her thighs, the wet heat of her growing impossibly slick around him.
When she comes, it's with a low, guttural cry she tries to muffle against his skin. Her body convulses around his cock, her inner walls fluttering in rapid, rhythmic pulses. Malik holds her tight, his own release held at bay by sheer force of will, letting her ride the waves of pleasure until she sags against him, breathless and spent.
She doesn't linger long. Malik makes sure to wait for her intense orgasm to die completely before he cums, wanting her to feel him cum inside her, his release hot and thick. Shisui lifts her head, her eyes heavy with satisfaction. "Six minutes," she murmurs, though she knows the sound is almost silenced. She doesn't wait for confirmation—her hands slide down to where their bodies are joined, fingers curling around the base of his cock where it meets her hips.
"Your turn," she says, her voice husky with spent pleasure.
Her fingers tighten, Malik gasps, his hips jerking involuntarily at the touch. His hands clutch at her waist, pulling her down harder as he begins to thrust upward, meeting her rhythm with increasing urgency.
Shisui watches him intently, her face flushed with exertion and desire. She can see it in his eyes—the same familiar tension building, the muscles in his abdomen tightening, the way his breathing grows shallow and ragged. Her fingers move from his base to her own clit, rubbing firm, tight circles as he thrusts. The added stimulation makes her gasp, her body clenching around him again, drawing him deeper. "Come on," she urges, her voice a low, commanding whisper. "Don't make me wait."
Malik's control shatters. His hips piston upward, driving into her with a raw, frantic energy. The bedframe groans in protest, the sound echoing in the quiet room. He can feel the heat pooling at the base of his spine, the pressure building until it's unbearable. His eyes lock with hers—dark, intense, full of unspoken promises and shared history.
With a guttural groan, he comes, his release flooding into her in hot, pulsing waves. Shisui lets out a soft sigh of satisfaction, her body milking him through every last shuddering spasm. When he finally stills, his breathing ragged and uneven, she leans down and presses a kiss to his forehead. The phone has long since stopped counting, the room now bathed in the warmer light of midmorning.
"You're late," she murmurs, but there's no real admonishment in her tone.
Malik laughs, weak and breathless. "I don't care."
Shisui smiles, shifting off him but remaining close. She runs a hand through his curls, the motion absent and affectionate. "You should. You have responsibilities."
"Responsibilities," Malik repeats, rolling the word around his mouth like a foreign concept. He closes his eyes, savoring the ghost of her heat against him, the pleasant ache of well-used muscles. "I'll get to them eventually."
Shisui's eyes crinkle at the corners. "Of course you will." She moves to sit up, her heavy breasts swaying with the motion. Malik sees his wife's large tits jiggle, and Shisui can feel him growing hard inside her again. The familiar stirring sends a ripple of surprise through her, and her eyebrows shoot up in genuine astonishment. "You're—"
"I know," Malik interrupts, his voice rough with renewed interest. His hands find her hips again, fingers pressing into the soft flesh. "I can't help it."
Shisui laughs, the sound rich and musical. "You're insatiable."
"Only for you," he murmurs, his thumbs tracing circles on her skin. The admission hangs between them, simple and honest in a way that makes her chest tighten.
She considers him for a long moment, her expression shifting from playful to something more contemplative. The morning light catches the sweat-damp strands of her hair, the flush still coloring her cheeks. Her gaze drops to his lips, then lower, taking in the way his body responds to her presence even now.
"I don't have time for round two," she says finally, though her voice lacks conviction. Malik starts to thrust inside her. Shisui's breath catches audibly. "Malik-"
"Make time," he counters, his voice steady despite the way his body betrays him. His hands guide her hips, setting an unhurried rhythm that contradicts the urgency in his expression. "We can be late. For once."
Shisui hesitates, caught between duty and desire. Her body, still sensitive from their earlier coupling, responds eagerly to his renewed interest. The thick hair of her bush rubs against his pelvis as he moves beneath her, the coarse texture sending sparks of pleasure through her.
Her inner walls clench around him involuntarily, drawing a groan from his throat.
"Last time," she says finally, her voice tight with restraint. "After this, you're getting up."
Malik grins, flashing white teeth. "Scout's honor."
She doesn't believe him. She never does.