[A/N: I know, I know. Bro when j was writing i didn't even think this was a lot. But here we are ]
Izuku wiped his face casually with the back of his hand, licking the last traces of her from his lips before standing up. Without a shred of guilt, he walked back and dropped onto the couch next to
Masaru—sitting there as if he hadn't just buried his face between Masaru's wife's legs. His pulse was still racing, but all he felt was raw excitement thrumming in his veins.
Mitsuki stood frozen for a moment, her body still trembling with aftershocks. Her thighs pressed together instinctively as she tugged her thong back up, the fabric damp against her still-sensitive folds. She pulled her pants into place, but her skin still buzzed, the memory of his tongue haunting her with every step.
'I… I need to get changed,' she thought, her face burning as she hurried upstairs, every movement betraying the lingering weakness in her legs.
Izuku's gaze followed her the whole way, smirking as he admired the sway of her ass.
Masaru caught it and laughed, nudging him with a grin.
"She sure is pretty, isn't she, boy?" he asked with a knowing smirk.
Izuku's heart skipped, but he didn't falter. "Oh, you mean Mrs. Bakugo? Yeah, she is—but I wasn't looking at her. Just reflex," he replied smoothly, though the glint in his eyes told another story.
Masaru chuckled, shaking his head. "Nah, I know you were looking at her ass. Want me to show you something?"
Izuku raised a brow but leaned in, his smirk widening. "Yeah. Show me."
Masaru shifted closer, lowering his voice like they were sharing some guilty secret. He unlocked his phone, thumb moving quickly before opening a private folder. One swipe, then another—and Izuku's eyes darkened with approval.
The screen flashed with intimate shots: Mitsuki in lingerie, Mitsuki on their bed with her hair down, even a few where she was biting her lip, teasing the camera. The photos radiated heat, and Izuku didn't bother hiding the way his lips curled into a grin as he looked.
Masaru sat taller, pride swelling in his chest. "Damn right. That's my wife. Hot, isn't she?" He laughed, chest puffed as if he'd won the ultimate prize.
But as Izuku's eyes lingered on the images, a strange thought passed through Masaru's mind—another man is staring at my wife… And strangely, it didn't bother him. In fact, it made his smirk stretch wider.
Izuku finished swiping through the gallery, chuckling low as he handed the phone back.
"Yep. She's one hot lady," he said, his tone dripping with something Masaru couldn't quite place.
"I know, right? One of the reasons I love her," Masaru said proudly.
Izuku only smirked, though he cringed inwardly at the corny sincerity. Love, huh.
Upstairs, Mitsuki had stripped quickly, tossing her damp thong aside with trembling hands. Her body still burned, her skin flushed as she pulled on fresh underwear, trying to erase the evidence of what just happened.
But no matter what she wore, the ache between her thighs refused to fade. Her reflection in the mirror only made her blush harder.
She exhaled shakily, pulled herself together, and went back downstairs.
By the time she reached the kitchen, Izuku was already standing, eyes flicking to her with a faint smirk she couldn't mistake.
"Let me help you, Mrs. Bakugo," he said, his tone respectful on the surface, but heavy with the memory of where his mouth had just been.
Mitsuki swallowed hard, turning away quickly, hoping Masaru hadn't caught the heat rising in her cheeks.
"Oh, are you making dinner, love?" Masaru asked, standing up and stretching. "I should run to the store and grab some beers. Maybe I'll find Katsuki on the way."
Mitsuki froze, her chest tightening as her husband grabbed his keys.
Masaru leaned over to kiss her cheek before heading out, humming as though everything was perfectly normal.
The sound of the car starting in the driveway rang loud in the silence that followed.
The moment the engine faded into the distance, Mitsuki felt her pulse spike.
She was alone with Izuku again.
The house felt different the moment Masaru's car rolled out of the driveway. Too quiet. Too charged.
Mitsuki busied herself at the counter, pulling out vegetables, chopping board, anything to keep her hands occupied. But her grip on the knife was unsteady, her chest still rising too fast, her body still betraying her. Every time she shifted her legs, she felt the dampness of her fresh underwear sticking to her heat.
Izuku leaned casually against the fridge, arms crossed, his eyes glued to her. He didn't rush, didn't move in—just watched. That smirk lingered, dark and knowing, making her pulse hammer harder than any sudden touch could have.
"You always look this flushed when you cook?" he asked lazily, his voice smooth, teasing.
Mitsuki froze mid-slice, her cheeks heating instantly. "It's… it's hot in here," she muttered, refusing to meet his eyes.
Izuku chuckled under his breath, the sound deep, infuriatingly smug. He pushed off the fridge and walked closer, deliberately slow, his footsteps echoing on the tile. He didn't touch her—just hovered near, close enough that she could feel his presence radiating behind her.
"Mm. Must be." His voice dipped lower, brushing her ear. "Or maybe you're still thinking about what just happened."
Her hand faltered, the knife clattering against the cutting board. "D-Don't," she hissed, voice shaky, but it lacked conviction.
Izuku only leaned closer, his breath grazing the back of her neck. "Don't what? Remind you how sweet you tasted? How you shook when you came on my tongue?"
Her whole body jolted, the knife trembling in her grip. Heat shot through her core so violently she almost dropped it. "Izuku…" she warned, but it came out more like a plea than a threat.
He smirked wider, pulling back just slightly, giving her space again—teasing her with the absence of his touch. "Relax, Mitsuki. I'm just talking."
The way he said it—calm, innocent, but dripping with hunger—unraveled her faster than anything else. He didn't push her. He didn't need to.
Minutes passed with her chopping, stirring, pretending to focus, but every nerve was tuned to him. The way he leaned against the counter, the way his eyes burned into her, the smug tilt of his lips every time her hands trembled.
By the time she set the pot to simmer, Mitsuki's chest was heaving, her composure shattered piece by piece. She finally slammed the spoon down, whirling on him with fire in her eyes—anger, desperation, and something far more dangerous.
"You're playing with fire, kid," she hissed, her voice low, trembling with both fury and need.
Izuku tilted his head, calm as ever. "And you don't want me to stop, do you?"
Her silence was deafening. The tension snapped like a live wire. Mitsuki's chest heaved, her glare locked on him, though it was weaker than she wanted it to be. His smirk only made it worse—like he knew exactly how close she was to breaking.
Izuku leaned back casually against the counter, arms crossed, eyes drinking her in without shame. Calm. Relaxed. Like he had all the time in the world.
"You don't want me to stop," he repeated, his tone low, confident, almost taunting.
The words rattled around in her head, clashing against her pride, her morals, her sanity. But her body—her traitorous, burning body—was screaming something else entirely.
Her lips parted, but no words came. Just shallow breaths. She clenched her fists at her sides, nails biting into her palms. She wanted to shove him, to scream at him—anything that would wipe that smug look off his face.
Instead, she moved.
In one sharp motion, Mitsuki closed the distance, her hands fisting into his shirt. She yanked him forward, slamming her lips against his with a hunger that shocked even herself.
Izuku's eyes widened briefly before narrowing with satisfaction. His smirk melted into the kiss, and he pressed back, firm and eager, matching her desperation instantly.
Her kiss was rough, messy—born of frustration and months of buried longing. Her teeth caught his lower lip, tugging, a soft groan slipping out before she crushed her mouth to his again.
Izuku let her lead for a moment, savoring it—the way her body trembled against his, the way she devoured him like she'd been starving. Then his hands slid up, gripping her waist, pulling her flush against him, deepening the kiss until it stole what little breath she had left.
Mitsuki broke away with a gasp, her forehead pressing against his, strands of hair sticking to her flushed face. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, eyes burning with shame and desire all at once.
"Damn it…" she whispered hoarsely. " We shouldn't… Masaru will be back anytime soon"
Izuku's hand slid up her back, his thumb grazing her bare skin where her shirt had ridden up. His voice was low, almost a growl, right against her lips.
"But you wanted to. Also, we'll just have to hurry up"
Her silence was answer enough. Her lips crashed into his again, harder this time, sealing her choice.
Izuku's smirk curved against her mouth as his hands roamed lower, gripping her ass firmly. He didn't need to chase—she had given herself over, and now he could savor every second of it.
TO BE CONTINUED