It was as if she knew exactly what her lover was thinking—or maybe it was just that rubbing her toned leg against Kyousuke's wasn't nearly enough anymore.
The moment his large hands brushed the inside of her thigh, Utaha's soft, round buttocks tensed slightly.
She raised her long, shapely leg—clad in elegant high heels—letting Kyousuke pull it down toward him and cradle it against his body.
In his arms, her body felt almost unnaturally hot, like the black dress she wore was completely trapping her heat.
He thought about helping her out of it to let her cool off, but his hands were far too busy.
That flawless leg—so carefully maintained and trained every day—now lifted with strength, the firm muscle beneath becoming even more defined.
Compared to when she was lying on the bed, touching it like this brought a whole new sensation.
With one arm wrapped around that thigh, Kyousuke brought up her other leg with ease, holding it securely.
Utaha had originally had both arms around his back, but now she wrapped them around his neck instead.
Her long, slender legs coiled around Kyousuke's solid waist like a serpent, not caring one bit if the expensive dress she wore might tear from the movement.
To her relief, the dress proved to be the work of a true designer.
Perhaps it had even been tailored with moments like this in mind—the silky fabric slid effortlessly upward, bunching around her hips and exposing her thighs wrapped in sheer black stockings.
At a price tag of 300,000 yen, it was worth every penny.
Kyousuke paused when the hem of her dress reached his palms, but his hesitation quickly gave way to delight.
He eagerly helped slide the garment further up.
Perfect.
Now this was a dress made for real people—one that understood the moment, responded to need, and offered comfort for everyone involved.
Naoka, apparently, had already realized this.
That high-slit gown she wanted Yukinoshita to wear—the one that could magically boost a cup size by three grades—wasn't just a gimmick.
Even the suit Kyousuke himself wore was excellent.
It moved freely with his body, without the slightest restriction, no matter what position he took.
Her toned legs locked tightly around his waist.
His hands slid over the sheer stockings, feeling that impossible contrast of smoothness and texture.
He traced the defined muscles along her thighs.
Kyousuke's "partner" reacted instantly—pulsing with a fierce, almost indignant energy, like it was demanding justice for the humiliation it had suffered in his dreams the night before.
He had always looked out for the subordinates in his crew.
So how could he possibly ignore a "brother" that had been with him through thick and thin?
Despite the hesitation crowding his thoughts, in this moment—here and now—how could he refuse?
His large hands could easily grip a basketball, let alone these beautiful legs.
As his palms slid along her stockings, he felt the burning warmth radiating from the flesh beneath.
He fought back the urge to tear them off just to feel her bare skin directly.
Instead, he let his hand wander further down her calf.
Thigh, calf, ankle, the arch of her foot peeking out from the edge of her high heels.
As he lovingly caressed every inch, his mouth didn't stay idle either.
Utaha's body temperature kept rising, her moans now coming in pained whimpers from somewhere deep in her throat.
Kyousuke did his best to perform a kind of makeshift mouth-to-mouth—an attempt to drink in every drop of her sweet breath, so she wouldn't accidentally choke on it.
When his fingers touched the cold surface of her heel while caressing her foot, a random thought popped into his mind.
Both his thumbs were brushing along the hem of her dress.
Just a moment ago, he'd thought it was the perfect garment—but now, it was being annoyingly stubborn.
Can't it just inch up a little higher on its own?
Even though her legs gripped his waist with a force strong enough to snap him in half—making it impossible for her to slip off—Kyousuke kept his left arm tightly around her right leg.
With his right hand, he slid beneath her dress and grabbed hold of her firm, not-so-soft backside. Compared to before, it felt surprisingly toned.
Their current position was the kind you rarely even saw in Eriri's doujinshi.
If she ever wanted to draw something like this, she'd definitely have Kyousuke model for it.
Not that he'd mind—it felt great, but if she used him too often, it might start to look like she was the one obsessed with him.
Utaha's moans were heartbreaking, almost tearful, echoing from either her throat or her nose—it was hard to tell.
Her eyes were already shut tight.
Though Eiri scolded her daily as a shameless seductress, the truth was, there was only one man in the world she would ever allow this close.
How did she have such confidence—such audacious pride in herself?
Simple. She was perfect.
Whether it was intelligence, emotional insight, or artistic talent, Utaha had always been the best.
Unlike Yukinoshita Yukino, who lived in her fantasies, Utaha never hesitated to turn talent into results.
Just by showing her face, men lost their minds and fell over themselves to profess their love.
Beauty might be a gift from her parents, but maintaining a flawless body like hers took extreme discipline and dedication.
Her family owned the second-largest furniture store chain in Saitama Prefecture, and while she wasn't a corporate executive, she still contributed to the business in real ways—an impressive feat for someone not yet an adult.
Across all of Japan, no teenage girl could even begin to compare.
She remained at the top of her class academically, even while spending most of her time sleeping or reading novels. Her novels were...
With all this perfection, of course annoying flies would buzz around her.
Yukinoshita didn't know how to interact with people, but Utaha—Utaha simply chose not to, out of pride.
She had no interest in those boys who couldn't even beat her in academics.
Sports stars, the so-called future legends of Japanese football? Laughable.
Even the children of her father's business partners—graduates of elite universities, CEOs of startups making billions within a year.
Or heirs to ancient noble families who became governors at 28 and were named "Global Young Leaders" by the World Economic Forum…
Whether they chased her for her beauty, her background, or both—they all came buzzing like desperate bees, kicking up noise, throwing themselves at her.
And yet, all it took was a single glance or a sharp word to send any of those high school boys running home to their mommies.
For those so-called social elites, a brief flash of her true ability was enough to make them back off in defeat.
She wasn't some kid who just badmouthed everyone—no, like Aunt Mikiko once said, she was the ideal wife: graceful, intelligent, and utterly irreplaceable.
At home, she was the picture of grace and warmth—gentle, respectful to elders, loving to children.
The kind of woman who could soothe her husband's fatigue after a long day, who would create a perfect life for their children.
In public, she was poised and elegant, her presence refined like an orchid in bloom.
Whether attending formal banquets with Kyousuke, smoothing over his social ties, or even stepping in to handle business matters—she could do it all.
Smart and capable.
Graceful in society, passionate in the bedroom—who else could that describe but her?
And now, finally, she and Kyousuke were about to take that final step together.
She didn't care for fair competition.
After all, there was no such thing as fairness in this world.
As Sakura always said, "The key to winning a fight is striking first."
Utaha happened to agree.
Better than fighting was winning before the war even started.
It was perfect—Kyousuke's family and friends had all been invited to Tokyo.
She hadn't expected things to progress so smoothly, but if she could help it, she wanted them to stay just long enough to witness their wedding.
Once that final step was taken, she'd gain the ultimate weapon.
Eriri? She'd shatter like glass. Even Sakura and Mitsuha wouldn't be able to challenge her anymore.
By then, if Kyousuke wanted to keep those girls as mistresses on the side, so be it.
Utaha had long grown used to the filth beneath high society's surface.
She knew even her own father often frequented clubs in Ginza or Roppongi. None of it bothered her.
At least she was dealing with people she knew, not some random girl who came out of nowhere.
That thought only made the fire in her chest burn hotter.
The moans rising from her throat grew sweeter, more sultry, more intoxicating.
Kyousuke could feel her desire blazing against him—hot, urgent, undeniable.
His own chest surged with adrenaline. After all, honor was said to be the ultimate aphrodisiac for a man.
And what was a victory podium but a half-meter-tall stage, one that so many people poured their sweat and blood into, yet never managed to stand upon?
Only those who stood beneath the spotlight, bathed in the collective gaze of the entire crowd—only they knew how incredible that feeling really was.
And now, with that same adrenaline still coursing through him, his body hadn't even had a chance to cool down before it was pressed against a body hotter than fire.
How could he possibly resist?
With a sharp tug of his right hand, he reached for Utaha's dress, trying to pull it higher—to reveal those round, full breasts he couldn't get out of his head.
The ones he had longed for so badly, they nearly made him forget about the award ceremony entirely.
Sensing his movements, Utaha's upper body trembled slightly, as though encouraging him to keep going.
But then, without warning—the heavy wooden door creaked open.
Kyousuke's senses were sharp beyond measure.
Normally, he tried to tune out irrelevant distractions, like a superhero filtering background noise.
But in a moment like this, he wished for four more arms—two for her breasts, two for her hips, and two more to caress her black-stockinged legs.
Every sense was heightened to the extreme.
He'd already scanned the room for hidden cameras the moment they entered.
He was the kind of person who could sense when someone was pointing a camera at him—even in his sleep, it would jolt him awake.
That faint, prickling awareness of being watched?
Most people dismissed it as imagination.
Not Kyousuke.
His memory was as crisp and detailed as flipping through the pages of a book.
That's why he had no hesitation letting go with Utaha like this.
The thick door muffled outside sounds, but the slightest shift in its position couldn't escape his eye.
With a swift motion, his hand pressed down the hem of Utaha's dress.
At the same time, he wrapped both arms around her thighs.
She let out a soft, surprised gasp at the sudden movement—but before she could speak, her vision blurred, then turned completely dark.
Kyousuke moved.
Even when locked in close combat, his footwork could seem like teleportation.
Strong, explosive muscles combined with techniques pulled from kendo, boxing, tennis—even ancient martial arts—formed his own unique movement style.
Now, his eyes fixed on the door, his feet slid across the ground.
Even carrying a woman, he moved like lightning—vanishing behind a deep crimson curtain in the blink of an eye. What was most impressive: the curtain didn't even sway.
That was why, after his last national kendo championship, he'd earned the title "Thunderflash Ichirou."
By the time his opponent saw his feet stop moving, his bamboo sword had already landed the blow.
Even lightning, by the time you see it, already splits the heavens. No wind, no warning—only the boom remains.
That was the secret behind his movement.
Darkness lasted only a heartbeat.
Utaha, who had already been enjoying the sensations with her eyes closed, adjusted to the new environment instantly.
Being the flawless beauty that she was, her first instinct was spot-on: someone must've opened the door.
Otherwise, Kyousuke wouldn't have suddenly moved like that.
She didn't make a sound.
Instead, she tilted her head back slightly, gazing at the face now so close to hers.
That same face—once wild with passion—was now utterly calm.
Not the least bit flustered by the interruption. His dark eyes had turned serious, sharp, watching intently through the heavy curtain.
Utaha followed his gaze.
The fabric offered no visibility, no gaps. Not even a ray of light could sneak through.
And still, here he was—caught between her legs, his handsome face so close.
She thought of the many expressions he'd shown her: on stage, while kissing her, and now. So different, yet all part of the same man.
The man only she knew.
She ran her pink tongue lightly over her lips.
God, he was irresistible.
She didn't care who was outside.
She didn't care what Kyousuke was doing.
Lifting her chin and leaning in, she pressed her warm, luscious lips against his—bold and unhesitating.
"Mmm?"
Kyousuke had been trying to concentrate—listening for footsteps, trying to gauge who had entered, whether it was a man or woman—but Utaha had other plans.