Rika Kawasaki once again carried Kaoru Hoshitani, who had been ravaged into a soft, boneless mass, into the bathroom.
Her arms held his back and the crook of his knees steadily, as if holding a crumpled, utterly strengthless ragdoll.
His head hung limply in the hollow of her shoulder, damp hair plastered to his forehead, a few stray strands stuck to the corners of his eyes, swaying gently with the rhythm of her steps.
His body was still trembling slightly—not from cold or fear, but an instinctive spasm from being over-exhausted, every muscle crying out under the strain.
The bathroom light was still on. The water stains left when they left at noon had dried, leaving faint traces on the floor tiles.
Rika Kawasaki bent down and placed the person in her arms into the bathtub.
She turned on the faucet, adjusted the water temperature, letting hot water slowly fill the tub.
Then she squeezed some body wash into her palm, worked it into a lather, and began to wash him.
The movements were very gentle, very slow, forming a stark contrast to the violence she had inflicted on him earlier on the office desk or on the bed.
Her palms slid over his shoulders, his arms, his chest, not missing a single inch of skin.
Foam piled up on his body, white and fluffy like a thin layer of snow, covering the mottled marks.
She washed meticulously, even wiping each of Kaoru Hoshitani’s toes one by one, not missing the space under his nails.
When washing his hair, her fingertips massaged his scalp, working up a rich lather before rinsing it clean.
This time, Rika Kawasaki restrained herself and didn’t torment him further.
One could say she was already full. From morning until now, intermittently, she had been at it for nearly ten hours.
Her waist and abdomen ached faintly—muscle soreness from overuse.
Besides, if she did it again, she would really miss her flight.
The flight was a little after eight. There was still an hour. Driving from the hotel to the airport took forty minutes.
The timing was just right; she couldn’t waste any more time.
She turned off the faucet, picked up a bath towel, lifted Kaoru Hoshitani out of the bathtub, then helped him dry his hair and get dressed.
Since she didn’t have to work that night, she had plenty of time.
So she didn’t ask her secretary for help, deciding to take him to the airport herself. She could just fly back after seeing him off.
Carrying Kaoru Hoshitani, she walked into the terminal, passed through security, and boarded the plane—smooth sailing all the way.
Rika Kawasaki might not have thought too much about it; she simply wanted to spend a little more time with him.
But for Kaoru Hoshitani, who had just been with a woman, this moment was the most vulnerable and sensitive.
When many men evaluate their female partners’ performance in bed, what they value isn’t just technique and engagement during the act, but also the attitude afterward.
If a female partner can provide proper comfort and care afterward, it can sometimes give a man even more positive feedback than the act itself.
That feeling of being valued, of being cherished, can sometimes touch the heart more than physical pleasure.
Aina Saiten’s post-coital behavior had been excellent.
Every time they finished, she would hold him, gently kiss his forehead, whisper soft, sweet nothings in his ear, asking if he was hurt, if he was tired.
Even if Kaoru Hoshitani wasn’t fully satisfied during the act, psychologically, he still felt compensated.
That feeling of being loved made him feel everything was worth it.
As for Rika Kawasaki, Kaoru Hoshitani felt their relationship was, at most, that of friends with benefits.
Not being callously abandoned after use would be good enough; he didn’t dare hope for any post-coital care from her.
Yet the reality was, this yellow-haired woman personally bathed him every time they finished—not a perfunctory rinse, but a thorough, head-to-toe washing.
And now, she was actually taking a flight herself to send him back to Tokyo.
Not as a matter of convenience, not because it was on her way, but making a special trip to send him off and then fly back.
This patience, this attentiveness, made his feelings somewhat complicated.
He couldn’t quite articulate what that feeling was.
It wasn’t gratitude—he didn’t want to feel grateful, nor should he.
What she had done to him—those acts of coercion, violation, trampling on his dignity—couldn’t be erased by a few baths or airport drop-offs.
Yet that feeling of being cared for, of being treated as someone important, undeniably existed.
It was like a tiny thorn, lodged in a corner of his heart he didn’t want to touch.
However, when they arrived at the airport, Rika Kawasaki carried Kaoru Hoshitani onto the plane and into the first-class suite she had booked, and he saw the wide seat inside—no, it wasn’t a seat anymore; it was a real bed, with snow-white sheets, soft pillows, and even a neatly folded down quilt—Kaoru Hoshitani instantly grew wary.
His still slightly swollen little deer eyes widened, and his body unconsciously shrank back.
Various unspeakable images instantly flashed through his mind—
On a plane at thirty thousand feet, above the clouds, in this enclosed, narrow space with just the two of them, would this woman try to… He didn’t dare think further.
Rika Kawasaki noticed his reaction and leaned down to whisper an explanation in his ear.
She said she just wanted them to be alone in a private space, without being disturbed by others, which was why she booked this suite.
The other first-class seats, while spacious, were still open, with strangers potentially sitting nearby.
Her tone was natural, as if stating the most reasonable fact.
But Kaoru Hoshitani still felt that if the flight from Osaka to Tokyo weren’t only an hour—too short for her to really get going—otherwise, he would have been subjected to another round at thirty thousand feet.
In the end, during that hour, Rika Kawasaki indeed only held him, kissed and touched him, without doing anything more.
Actually, Kaoru Hoshitani was a little afraid of kissing Rika Kawasaki.
Because this yellow-haired woman’s kisses were too intense, every time feeling as if she wanted to suck his soul right out of his body.
Her tongue would always forcefully pry open his teeth, invading his mouth like a conquering army, giving him no chance to catch his breath.
Even with Aina, they had only kissed like that when they first got together.
Later, as time passed and their relationship stabilized, those intense kisses gradually turned into gentle, fleeting, dragonfly-like touches—warm, but no longer dizzying.
And every time he kissed Rika Kawasaki so fiercely, Kaoru Hoshitani would feel his brain deprived of oxygen, his vision darkening, his body instinctively responding to her.
His arms would unconsciously wrap around her neck, his fingers would thread through her hair, his body would press against hers, like iron filings drawn to a magnet.
That reaction wasn’t something he could control. He sometimes even wondered if his body had already memorized this woman, had already learned how to respond to her.
So by the time the plane landed, Kaoru Hoshitani, leaning in the yellow-haired woman’s arms, was already dazed.
His pupils were somewhat unfocused, his eyelashes lowered, his lips slightly parted, his breathing rapid and uneven.
When he met Rika Kawasaki’s gaze, his little deer eyes seemed misted over, his gaze sticky, like melted sugar pulling into fine threads.
After getting off the plane, Rika Kawasaki drove the car her secretary had parked at the airport lot that morning and dropped Kaoru Hoshitani off in a small alley next to his home.
The alley was narrow, flanked by old residential buildings, their walls covered in withered, yellowing vines.
The streetlights were dim, spaced far apart, their light cut into blocks by the shadows of the buildings, casting a patchwork of light and dark on the ground.
Rika Kawasaki parked the car under a bare tree, turned off the engine. The direction lights went out, and the surroundings suddenly darkened.
“Can you still walk?”
Rika Kawasaki asked, a smirk playing on her lips as she looked at the small man whose legs trembled uncontrollably as he stood.
Kaoru Hoshitani gritted his teeth, trying hard to keep his legs from shaking so badly.
He could feel his knees going weak, his waist aching, the muscles on his inner thighs burning with a fiery pain with every step, as if they had been torn.
But he absolutely would not let Rika Kawasaki walk him upstairs. If Aina or any neighbors saw them, it would be over.
His fingers clenched the car door handle, knuckles white. He took a deep breath, trying to make his voice sound normal.
“It’s fine.”
He said, his voice somewhat hoarse,
“I’m going back.”
But just as he had taken a few steps, the sound of a car door opening and closing came from behind him.
Then, a warm hand suddenly grabbed his wrist. The grip wasn’t strong, but it carried an undeniable certainty.
He was pulled back, losing his balance, stumbling into that familiar, scorching embrace.
His back pressed against her chest, her arm encircled his waist, his head rested against her shoulder.
He could feel her heartbeat, steady and powerful, thumping from her chest into his back.
“You…”
Kaoru Hoshitani looked up at the woman’s gray eyes, which gleamed in the dim light.
Those eyes seemed especially bright in the night, like two lit stars, intense and focused.
He quickly realized what she wanted him to do—she wanted him to kiss her.
Not forced, not commanded, but willingly, actively kiss her.
He needed a reason, one that could convince himself, make him feel this kiss wasn’t betrayal, just “unavoidable circumstances.”
‘It’s already past nine. If I don’t get home quickly, Aina might be back soon…’
He found his reason for what he was about to do.
Then, he stood on his toes, closed his eyes, and actively kissed the lips of a woman who was not his girlfriend.
His kiss was light, shallow, just lips touching lips, no deepening, no probing, like a petal falling on water, touching lightly before drifting away.
But Rika Kawasaki wouldn’t let him drift away.
Her hand cradled the back of his head, deepening the kiss.
Her tongue pried open his teeth, delving inside, entwined with his, stirring every inch of space in his mouth.
His breathing grew rapid, his fingers clutching her collar tightly, knuckles white.
The night wind blew in from the mouth of the alley, carrying the chill of early winter, making dry leaves swirl on the ground.
The streetlight above cast a dim yellow glow, stretching their overlapping shadows long and long, projecting them onto the mottled wall like a silent, wordless silhouette.
He didn’t know how long it lasted before she finally released him.
Kaoru Hoshitani gasped for breath, his cheeks flushed, his lips slightly swollen.
He didn’t dare look her in the eye, just lowered his head, wiped the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand, then turned and hurried toward the back door of his apartment building.
This time, he didn’t look back.
Behind him, Rika Kawasaki leaned against the car door, watching that staggering figure disappear into the dark elevator.
She reached up and touched her lips, which still held the warmth and scent of him.
The corners of her mouth slowly curved into a smile. In that curve was satisfaction, pride, and a trace of something even she hadn’t noticed—lingering attachment…