Jaiko had always been a good girl, but in the dark between breaths, she realized she liked the bad things best. Nobita's hands were rough on her, squeezing her chest until she arched, a soft gasp escaping before she could bite it back. He caught the sound and twisted her nipple, sharp and almost cruel, but then his mouth was at her ear, hot with the secret: "You're enjoying it, huh?"
She wanted to say no. She wanted to say yes. Instead, she shivered, her knees pressed together as if that could hide the sticky heat gathering below. Nobita didn't wait. His palm slid under her shirt, fingers splayed, and her skin prickled with the touch, cold with fear and something else. When she whined—barely a noise—he pulled her close, his breath sour with instant ramen and the threat of something she'd never tasted.
"Don't utter a word," he said. His fingers pinched her nipple hard enough to make her yelp. She felt the tremor in her legs and the flush in her cheeks, and knew she was blushing all the way to her toes. Nobita's other hand cupped her breast, clumsy but insistent, and she let herself lean into it, just a little, just enough so he wouldn't call her a coward.
His hands were on her, and so was his gaze, greedy and mean and beautiful. He pushed her back so she was almost sitting, her skirt rucked up, the air cold against her thighs. His knee nudged them apart and she froze, staring at the ceiling and counting the cracks so she wouldn't have to look at him.
Nobita's fingers trailed down her stomach, slow and teasing. He fumbled with the waistband of her panties, tugging until they bit into her skin. She breathed in, out, in, out, but her hips bucked all on their own. "See?" he said, voice lower than she'd ever heard it. "You want it."
He wasn't asking. He slipped his hand between her legs, his palm warm, and she jerked, but there was no strength to her resistance. She was slick, embarrassingly so, and when his finger slid inside, she bit her own hand to keep from crying out. Nobita laughed under his breath. "Slut," he said, and that word, ugly and sharp, made her insides twist in a way she didn't hate.
He moved his hand in little circles, never quite enough, and she writhed, desperate for more but too proud to beg. She could barely breathe. He leaned in, his lips grazing her ear, and whispered, "If you want me to stop, say it."
She didn't say anything. Not a word. Nobita rewarded her silence with another slap, this one softer, almost a caress, and then his mouth was on her, tongue greedy and wet, and she was lost—just a girl on a mattress, learning how to be ruined.