The Hokage Tower was deathly quiet except for the wet, filthy sounds rising from beneath the great oak desk.
Mikasa knelt on the velvet cushion Minato had placed there weeks ago, knees spread wide, back arched. Her tiny black skirt had ridden up to her hips, exposing the soaked strip of lace between her thighs.
Every breath she took pushed her breasts against the lace bra until her nipples threatened to slip free.
Moonlight painted silver across her skin, across the sheen of sweat and saliva on her collarbones, across the obscene gloss of her swollen lips stretched wide around Minato's cock.
She took him deep, slow, reverent, throat fluttering as she swallowed him to the root. Her tongue traced every thick vein, curled under the ridge, swirled around the flushed head on every retreat.
Saliva spilled from the corners of her mouth, dripped down his shaft, coated his balls. She didn't care. She wanted him sloppy. She wanted him ruined.
He's so thick, she thought, eyes watering as she forced herself deeper. So much heavier on my tongue than Eren ever was. Hotter. Harder. Perfect.
Her pussy clenched at the thought, another rush of slick soaking her panties, sliding down her inner thighs in warm rivulets. She was dripping for him, had been since the moment he'd unzipped his pants and told her to get on her knees.
Minato's fingers threaded through her hair, gentle for now. His voice drifted down like smoke.
"Tell me who owns this pretty mouth, Mikasa."
She pulled off with a wet pop, lips brushing the tip as she answered, voice hoarse.
"You do, Hokage-sama."
Then she sank down again, moaning, the vibration making his thighs flex under her palms
.
He exhaled sharply. "And whose cock are you choking on while your husband trains in the woods like a good little soldier?"
The name wasn't a question. It was a blade.
Mikasa's heart cracked open, bleeding guilt and love and shame. She saw Eren's face (sun-kissed, fierce, smiling at her across a campfire years ago).
She saw him the night he proposed, voice cracking, eyes shining. She saw him kissing her forehead the morning he left again, whispering, "Wait for me, Mika. I'll come home to you."
She loved him.
She loved him so much it felt like dying.
And still her tongue swirled greedily around Minato's cock, still her hips rolled helplessly, grinding her aching clit against nothing.
She pulled back just enough to speak, spit stringing from her lips to his glistening head.
"Eren could never fill my mouth like this," she whispered, voice trembling with truth and venom.
"He tries so hard… but he's small, Hokage-sama. Quick. He comes before I'm even wet, then falls asleep thinking he pleased me."
Minato's cock jerked against her tongue. His grip tightened.
"Keep going."
She did.
"I have to fake it with him," she said, stroking him slowly, twisting her wrist just the way he liked. "Every time. I close my eyes and pretend it's you fucking my throat, you splitting me open. Only then do I come."
Tears slipped free, hot on her cheeks. She didn't wipe them away.
Minato groaned, low and wrecked. "Show me how wet that makes you."
Mikasa grabbed his hand, guided it under her skirt. His fingers slid beneath ruined lace without resistance, two sinking deep into her clenching heat. She cried out, hips bucking.
"Soaked," he growled. "You're flooding my fingers while you trash your husband. Tell me again who you belong to."
"You," she sobbed, riding his hand shamelessly. "Only you, always you—"
He curled his fingers, stroked that devastating spot inside her, and her vision blurred.
"Say his name," Minato ordered, voice cruel silk. "Say it while you cream on my fingers."
"Eren—" she choked, and the orgasm tore through her like lightning.
Her walls spasmed, squirting messily over his hand, down his wrist, onto the polished floor. She shook and wailed around his cock, taking him deeper through the climax, throat working frantically.
Minato snarled, fisted her hair with both hands, and fucked her mouth in short, brutal thrusts. She gagged, drooled, let him use her like a toy. Tears streamed down her face, mascara running in black rivers.
"Come down my throat while I cry for another man," she thought she heard him mutter, and then he was coming, thick, endless pulses flooding her mouth, spilling down her throat.
She swallowed greedily, desperately, until he was spent.
Only then did he pull her up.
He didn't let her stand. He yanked her into his lap, skirt bunched around her waist, soaked panties ripped aside in one motion. The broad head of his still-hard cock nudged her entrance, painted with her spit and his come.
"Look at me," he commanded.
She did, eyes red-rimmed, lips swollen, trembling.
"Tell me you love him."
The words scraped her raw.
"I love him," she whispered. "I'll love him until the day I die."
Minato's smile was slow, savage.
"Good. Now tell me you need my cock more."
He pushed in.
One merciless thrust, seating himself to the hilt. Mikasa screamed, nails raking down his back, legs locking around his waist. He was huge, burning, perfect, stretching her so wide she felt split in half.
"I need you," she sobbed. "I hate that I need you—"
He started to move.
Not gentle. Never gentle.
Deep, punishing strokes that slammed her cervix and dragged over every nerve ending inside her.
The desk rocked beneath them, scrolls crashing to the floor. He ripped her bra down, mouth latching onto one nipple, biting, sucking, marking.
Every thrust drove Eren's memory deeper and pulled her further away.
She saw him laughing when they were children.
She saw him bleeding out in her arms on a battlefield.
She saw him the night they married, whispering forever against her lips.
And still her body betrayed her, hips rising to meet every brutal snap of Minato's, pussy fluttering, milking him like it was starving.
"I love him," she gasped between sobs, even as she clawed at Minato's shoulders, begging with her body for more. "I'll always—"
Minato snarled, hand wrapping around her throat, squeezing just enough to make her see stars.
"Then love him while I breed his wife," he growled against her lips. "Love him while I ruin this cunt so thoroughly he'll never satisfy you again."
He angled his hips, hit that spot again and again, relentless.
Mikasa shattered.
The orgasm was violent, total. She squirted again, harder, soaking his pants, the chair, the floor. Her vision went white, a silent scream tearing from her throat as her body convulsed around him.
Minato followed with a guttural roar, slamming deep and spilling inside her, pulse after pulse, marking her from the inside out. She felt every jet, every throb, and sobbed harder.
When it passed, she collapsed against his chest, shaking, wrecked.
He held her close, stroking her sweat-damp hair with terrifying tenderness.
"I love him," she whispered into his neck, voice broken. "But you own me. And I hate how much I love it."
Minato kissed her temple, soft as a lover.
"I know, little Ackerman," he murmured. "And I'm never giving you back."
Somewhere in the village, Eren was swinging a sword, believing his wife was waiting faithfully.
Here, Mikasa clung to the man who had just fucked her raw on the Hokage's desk, come leaking down her thighs, heart split in two.
She was burning.
She was lost.
And she would crawl back to this office tomorrow night, and the night after, and every night after that.
Because she loved Eren with every piece of her soul.
And she needed Minato with every inch of her body.
Both truths lived inside her now, tearing her apart.
Both truths tasted like damnation and salvation at once.
And she couldn't stop.
———-
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