Only one gentle wall lamp was lit in the bathroom, casting a warm, cozy glow.
She first set Kaoru Hoshitani gently onto the cushioned low stool, letting him lean almost entirely on her for support to stand steady, then freed her hands to twist open the switch on the wall.
Picking up the showerhead, she carefully rinsed away the dried sweat and other traces from both their bodies with warm water.
The stream of water was comforting, washing over their skin, taking away the stickiness, and seemingly diluting the lingering intensity from the earlier storm of passion.
Her movements weren’t particularly skilled, but they were exceptionally attentive.
She avoided the bruises on his body, her fingers threading through his soaking wet long hair, ensuring every strand was saturated.
Once the initial rinsing was complete, she turned off the showerhead and moved to fill the bathtub.
She adjusted the hot and cold faucets until the water was just right—warm but not scalding.
Then, she lifted Kaoru Hoshitani again, stepping into the tub herself and sitting down first, before carefully cradling him in her arms, letting his back rest against her as they both soaked in the warm water.
The heat of the bath enveloped their exhausted bodies, steam rising slowly and fogging the bathroom mirror with a layer of white mist.
Even now, the sincere, satisfied, and peaceful smile on Rika Kawasaki’s face had not faded.
She leaned back against the edge of the tub, one arm wrapped firmly around the slender waist of the boy in her lap, keeping him steady so he wouldn’t slip into the water, while the other hand slipped below the surface, gently massaging the muscles that had stiffened and even cramped from long hours of tension and pressure.
From his thin shoulders and back, to the supple sides of his waist, down to the elegantly lined legs.
Her massage technique was unstructured, but carried an unmistakable intent: to ease his discomfort.
After a while, she lowered her head, brushing her lips gently over the top of Kaoru Hoshitani’s damp hair.
A faint scent lingered between the strands, but she seemed unbothered. Instead, as if to confirm her claim of ownership, she leaned in to take a light sniff.
She knew Kaoru Hoshitani had always been fastidious, even a touch of a clean freak.
So, she squeezed a modest amount of delicately scented shampoo into her palm, worked up a rich, fine lather, and began to wash his black hair.
This was her first time ever washing someone else’s hair, so her movements were inevitably a bit clumsy and cautious.
She used the pads of her fingers, not her nails, to gently massage his scalp, avoiding any possible pulling, making sure the foam penetrated every lock.
Her expression was one of deep concentration, as if she were performing an extremely important task.
She wasn’t rushed or impatient; and even when suds slid down onto his forehead or cheek, she promptly washed them away with warm water, without any mishaps.
When the washing was finished and every trace of foam was thoroughly rinsed away, she checked once more to make sure nothing remained.
Then she turned off the faucet, lifted Kaoru Hoshitani from the tub, and stepped out carrying him.
She wrapped him fully in a wide, soft towel, gently patting away every bead of water from his skin, paying special attention to his long hair until it no longer dripped.
Only then did she quickly towel herself dry.
At last, with him bundled in the towel, she held him securely in her arms as though cradling the most precious and fragile treasure, walking barefoot into the bedroom that still lingered with fading traces of earlier passion, but had quieted.
In the dim light, her steps were steady, her silhouette casting a large shadow on the wall…
Rika Kawasaki did not carry Kaoru Hoshitani back to the original, ravaged Master Bedroom.
There, the sheets were tangled and wrinkled, and the carpet was stained, with hardly a place left to step.
Instead, she turned to the Second Bedroom on the opposite side of the hallway.
This room was much more simply decorated, just as spacious, but crisp and fresh in its atmosphere.
She carried him to the bedside, gently laying the boy—still wrapped in a towel—in the center of the bed with its deep gray velvet cover.
The soft mattress dipped slightly under their weight.
Then, she lay down beside him herself, on her side, propping her head with a bent elbow, and without question, pulled the boy—who had his back to her—into her arms, letting his slightly damp back press against her warm chest.
Her gaze lingered greedily over his delicate profile—long, faintly curling lashes casting shadows beneath closed lids, a high, sculpted nose, lips that were pale pink but still a little swollen.
Lower, the towel was not tightly wrapped, exposing a small patch of collarbone and shoulder, the skin there gleaming like pearls in the dim light.
It was not only enticing to look at, but was also the very body she had just fully savored and possessed—wonderful beyond imagination.
The more she looked, the more her heart surged with overflowing satisfaction and affection.
Unable to help herself, she bent her head again, planting tender, lingering kisses on his cheek, ear, and the side of his neck—his skin smooth, cool, and carrying the fresh scent of their bath.
“Don’t leave tonight,” her lips brushed his ear, her voice low and possessive, her warm breath brushing his skin.
“From now on, just live here with me. Later, I’ll take you out for dinner. Whatever you want to eat, it’s yours.”
At this moment, in Rika Kawasaki’s heart, she had already claimed Kaoru Hoshitani as her own without reservation—her man.
Thus, she naturally abandoned any previous plans tinged with the game or anything temporary; inside, there was only one strong, pure desire: from now on, never let this young man leave her sight or her grasp, not for a moment.
As for that earlier wild thrill and savage joy of snatching a boyfriend from another woman, it was now overwhelmed and replaced by a much softer, far more turbulent emotion.
It was a mixture of powerful possessiveness, the ultimate ecstasy of tasting forbidden fruit for the first time, and a deep infatuation with the body and even the person in her arms—something she herself had never expected.
Yes, who said that just because she looked tough and wild, with her tanned skin and dazzling blond hair, that deep inside she couldn’t harbor a dream of Pure Love so naïve it bordered on childishness?
In just a single day, not only did she savor a man for the first time, but she was also struck by a lightning-bolt love so hot and possessive that it sent her floating on fluffy, warm clouds, her mind brimming with dazzling, unreal pink bubbles.
Her chest was filled with countless burning vows, impatient to pour them out for the boy in her arms, her mind racing with plans—if only she could pile all the world’s precious things at his feet in exchange for a single devoted glance.
Of course, as the saying goes, the promises a woman makes in bed are the most unreliable, not to be taken seriously.
So this surging, overwhelming feeling in Rika Kawasaki’s chest—how much of it was just fleeting dizziness after satisfaction, how much was a twist on her desire to conquer, and how much was true love—probably not even she could untangle.
The emotion was real and intense, but like a mirage, founded on violent conquest and the other’s utter helplessness, with roots so fragile as to be terrifying.
“Break up with that woman.” Her voice was low, resolute, and brooked no refusal.
At the same time, she gently gripped his chin, turning his averted face so that those once empty, misty doe eyes were forced to meet hers.
Her thumb brushed his lower lip, her gaze deep and focused.
“Whatever she can give you—and whatever she can’t—I can give you all of it, and even more, even better.”
She paused, as if searching for words or reinforcing her persuasion: “With me, I promise you’ll live a life you never even imagined. All the comforts, all the emotional… dependence and fulfillment you could wish for. And besides…”
Her tone gained a hint of almost childlike pride and intimate certainty.
“Even our bodies fit so perfectly, don’t they? You felt it, right? That… Seamless Compatibility…”
A faint blush crept over her cheeks, but her eyes shone all the brighter, lost in longing for the future she was painting, a world with only the two of them.
Yet, as she indulged in this fantasy of warmth she’d built herself, those previously blank, dazed doe eyes flickered, pupils contracting ever so slightly at the words “that woman.”
As if a pebble had been dropped into a deep pool, the smallest ripples spread.
A sliver of focus—fragile but real—forced its way through the fog clouding his mind, gathering in the depths of those beautiful eyes.
No longer empty, they now held pain, the reflexive response of memories stirred, and a faint… gradually sharpening resistance.
“In a bit we…” Rika Kawasaki was still lost in her thoughts, planning dinner and what would come after, her voice gentle and filled with anticipation.
“Pa!”
A sharp slap shattered the bedroom’s false tranquility and warmth.
Rika Kawasaki’s words broke off instantly.
She felt a brief, sharp, burning pain on her left cheek. The force wasn’t especially strong, but it was sudden—impossible to ignore.
The arm supporting her head froze; her whole body seemed to solidify in an instant.
Those gray eyes, usually wild and unruly, now widened in disbelief, pupils constricted as she stared straight at the face so close before her.
Kaoru Hoshitani’s hand still hung in the air, fingers trembling, palm red.
He was still in her arms, position unchanged, but his eyes—just regaining a trace of vitality—now stared back at her fiercely, mixed with lingering fear, intense pain, and at last, the frail but unyielding anger that had broken through numbness.
Tears came without warning, streaming down from his eyes in big drops, sliding over his pale cheeks and soaking into his temples and the pillow.
His chest heaved violently, broken sobs spilling from his throat, as if that single slap had exhausted all the strength he’d just managed to muster.
The air seemed to freeze.
The warmth from the bath was utterly shattered by that one slap.
The tenderness, satisfaction, and hope on Rika Kawasaki’s face ebbed away like the tide, replaced by a cold, stunned shock—and beneath that, darker, more turbulent emotions rapidly surged up.
The red mark on her cheek began to show.
She did not erupt in fury at once. She simply stared at him in silence, gaze razor-sharp, as if she wanted to cut through his skin and see the faint spark of rebellion flickering in the depths of his soul.
The arm around his waist unconsciously tightened, making him stifle a pained sound.
Silence spread, broken only by Kaoru Hoshitani’s ragged, broken sobs—so painfully clear, so fragile in the suddenly cold, tension-filled bedroom…