The eastern bedchamber had become a world unto itself, sealed away from time, duty, and the entire village beyond the paper screens.
The single lamp had burned low, its flame trembling like a heartbeat, throwing molten gold across sweat-slick skin and midnight silk.
Moonlight spilled through the high lattice in silver sheets, painting Hinata's body in luminous strokes: the delicate arch of her throat, the flushed swell of her breasts, the trembling plane of her belly, the place where Minato disappeared into her again and again.
They had been moving together for what felt like hours, yet it was still not enough.
Hinata lay beneath him, utterly open, legs wrapped high around his waist, heels digging into the small of his back with every slow, devastating thrust. Her midnight hair clung to damp temples and fanned across the futon like spilled ink.
Tears of overwhelming pleasure streaked her cheeks, catching the moonlight like scattered diamonds. Every time Minato bottomed out inside her, her breath hitched on a broken moan that sounded like his name and a prayer all at once.
He was taking his time (deliberately, reverently, cruelly).
Each stroke was long and deep, dragging the thick length of his cock along every sensitive inch of her inner walls before sinking home again.
The wet, rhythmic slap of skin on skin filled the chamber, underscored by the slick sounds of her body welcoming him, stretching around him, clinging to him as though it would never let go
Hinata's small hands clutched at his shoulders, nails scoring red crescents into his skin.
"Minato… please…" she whimpered, voice raw from crying out. "It's too much… and not enough… I can't…"
"You can," he growled against her throat, teeth grazing the frantic pulse beneath her ear. "You were made for this. Made for me."
He shifted his angle just slightly, and the broad head of his cock dragged across that secret spot deep inside her. Hinata's back bowed off the futon, a sharp, shattered cry tearing from her throat as fresh pleasure slammed through her.
"There it is," he rasped, voice rough with triumph. "That's the spot that makes my princess fall apart."
He began to target it mercilessly (slow, grinding circles that pressed and rubbed and owned). Hinata's thighs shook uncontrollably, inner muscles fluttering wildly around him.
Slick poured from her, coating his cock, his balls, the inside of her thighs until every thrust sounded obscene and perfect.
"Ahhh… ahhh… I'm going to—" Her words dissolved into a high, keening wail as another orgasm crashed over her, stronger than the first. Her pussy clamped down so hard Minato had to grit his teeth to keep from coming on the spot. She gushed around him, a hot rush of wetness that soaked the silk beneath them.
Minato didn't stop. He fucked her through it, drawing out every aftershock until she was sobbing, oversensitive and clinging to him like he was the only solid thing in the world.
Only when she went limp, breath hitching on little overwhelmed whimpers, did he slow to a gentle, rolling rhythm (still buried deep, still claiming her with every lazy thrust).
"Look at me, Hinata," he commanded softly.
She forced her eyes open. They were glassy, luminous with tears and wonder and something that looked dangerously like love.
"You're mine now," he said again, voice rough with possession and reverence.
"Every moan, every shiver, every drop of pleasure I just tore from your body (mine). Say it."
"I'm yours," she whispered instantly, reverently, tears slipping free.
"Only yours… forever."
Minato leaned down and kissed her (slow, deep, claiming), swallowing the soft, broken sounds she made as he began to move again.
This time the pace was different: languid, worshipful, almost tender.
He rolled his hips in slow, grinding circles that stirred his cock inside her, pressing against her walls, her cervix, every secret place that made her gasp and cling tighter.
Hinata's hands slid up his back, tracing the flex of muscle, the faint scars, the sunburst seal that seemed to burn hotter beneath her palm.
She mapped him like she was trying to memorize him with touch alone, like she wanted to carry the shape of him under her skin for the rest of her life.
"I can feel you everywhere," she breathed against his lips, voice trembling with awe. "In my stomach… in my chest… in my heart. It's too much and I never want it to stop."
Minato's arms tightened around her, crushing her to his chest as he buried his face in her hair. "It never has to stop," he promised, voice raw. "Not tonight. Not tomorrow. Not as long as you want me."
She pulled back just enough to look at him, eyes luminous with tears and something fiercer. "I want you forever," she said simply, earnestly.
"Even if it's selfish. Even if it's impossible. I want this (you, me, this feeling) forever."
Minato kissed her then (slow, reverent, devastating). "Then you'll have forever," he whispered against her lips. "Starting right now."
He shifted again, rising up on his knees without breaking their connection. The new angle let him sink even deeper; Hinata's breath hitched on a shattered moan.
He hooked her legs over his forearms, spreading her wide, opening her completely. The sight of her (small, pale, utterly impaled on his cock) nearly undid him.
"Look at you," he rasped, voice thick with lust and wonder. "Taking all of me like you were born for it. So fucking perfect."
Hinata's hands flew to her breasts, cupping them, pinching her own nipples as she watched him watch her. The shyness was gone now, burned away by pleasure and the absolute certainty that she was safe to be utterly wanton with this man.
"Touch me," she begged.
"Everywhere. I want your hands on me while you're inside me."
Minato obeyed instantly. One large hand splayed across her stomach, thumb pressing just above where he disappeared into her, feeling the faint bulge of his cock moving beneath her skin.
The other cupped her breast, rolling the nipple between calloused fingers until she arched and cried out.
He began to move again (harder this time, faster), the slow worship giving way to raw, desperate need. The futon creaked beneath them; the wet slap of their bodies echoed off the walls.
Hinata's moans rose in pitch, broken and beautiful.
"Minato—! I'm— again—!"
"Come for me," he growled, slamming deep. "Come on my cock while I fill you up."
The command shattered her.
Hinata's third orgasm hit like a tidal wave, back bowing, thighs clamping around his hips, pussy spasming so hard she saw stars.
She screamed his name (raw, wrecked, glorious), inner walls milking him in rhythmic pulses that finally dragged him over the edge with her.
Minato buried himself to the hilt and came with a guttural roar, cock pulsing, flooding her with heat. Rope after thick rope painted her insides until it leaked around his shaft and dripped onto the silk beneath them.
He ground against her through it, drawing out both their pleasure until they were shaking, gasping, clinging to each other like survivors of a storm.
When it finally ebbed, he collapsed gently atop her, careful not to crush her, burying his face in the damp curve of her neck. Hinata's arms and legs stayed wrapped around him, holding him inside her, unwilling to let even an inch of space come between them.
They stayed like that for a long time (hearts hammering in tandem, breath mingling, bodies locked together in the most intimate way possible).
Eventually Minato lifted his head, brushing damp hair from her forehead with trembling fingers.
"Are you all right?" he asked softly, searching her face.
Hinata's smile was small, radiant, utterly transformed.
"I've never been more all right in my life," she whispered. "I feel… claimed. Cherished. Reborn."
Minato kissed her (slow, tender, full of things neither of them were ready to name yet).
"Good," he murmured against her lips. "Because I'm nowhere near done with you."
Hinata's answering laugh was breathless, delighted, and just a little wicked.
"Promise?" she asked, clenching deliberately around his softening cock.
Minato groaned, hips twitching involuntarily.
"Forever," he swore.
And outside the fusuma, Hiashi and Hana remained on their knees long into the night, listening to the unmistakable sounds of their daughter being loved (thoroughly, reverently, irrevocably) by the most powerful man in the village.
Inside, wrapped in moonlight, sweat, and each other, Minato and Hinata began the slow, exquisite process of learning every way two bodies could speak without words.
And the night stretched on (endless, perfect, theirs).
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