Minamoto Tamako had to go to work today, dressed very simply, relatively formal.
Her upper body wore a pure white Lemaire shirt, well-tailored, fitting the waistline; her lower body wore pants from Kamakura, very elastic, tightly hugging her hips and legs.
Fushimi Roku's gaze moved down, past her little hands, to see her slender waist and the triangular lines formed by her hips.
"Since you said so," he slowly lay down, resting his head on Minamoto Tamako's thighs: "I can only reluctantly agree."
It felt nice, very elastic, quite warm too.
After he laid down, Minamoto Tamako realized that this position was a bit awkward. She looked down, catching Mr. Fu Jian's gaze, and the shirt on her chest slightly obstructed her view, leaving her at a loss.
"Uh, well, you, you close your eyes first." Minamoto Tamako's face flushed: "I need to do some preparations."
"Oh, don't let any weird liquid drip on my face." Fushimi Roku closed his eyes.
