It was a new day and well....the rain hadn't stopped since morning, a soft constant drizzle that blurred the windows and made the classroom feel like it was trapped inside a dream.
Rika was sitting across from me in the café after school—no apron this time, just a soft cream sweater and ripped jeans that hugged her curves too damn well. Her hair was damp from the rain, clinging to her neck like she'd walked straight out of a slow-burn fantasy.
She sipped her coffee. I sipped her with my eyes.
"You're staring again," she said, not looking up from her cup.
"You're still beautiful," I answered.
That made her pause. Just a second. Then she smiled into her coffee, like I'd said something that cut deeper than I realized.
"Careful," she murmured. "You're starting to sound like someone who wants more."
I leaned forward, elbows on the table.
"What if I do?"
Her gaze met mine. Direct. Unflinching. For the first time, she didn't flirt. Didn't tease.
She just... looked.
"I'm scared of more," she said quietly. "Because the last time I wanted more, I got broken."
I reached across the table and touched her hand. She didn't pull away.
"Then let's build slow," I said. "But let's not lie about what this is."
She exhaled, shaky but warm.
"Come home with me," she said.
I didn't need to be asked twice.
---
Her apartment smelled like cinnamon and coffee and something that was just her. The lights were low. The TV murmured quietly in the background, but neither of us paid attention.
She dropped her bag, turned to face me, and walked straight into my arms. No preamble. No seduction game.
Just a woman who needed to be held.
I wrapped my arms around her, my hands sliding up the back of her sweater, fingers tracing the bare skin of her waist.
"I missed you," she whispered against my neck.
"I was inside you less than 24 hours ago."
"I still missed you."
I kissed her slow. No hunger. Just connection. Her lips were soft, tasting like truth and heat. She sighed into me, her body melting against mine.
Clothes came off in pieces. Her sweater hit the floor. My shirt followed. Her jeans slid down her hips, revealing black lace panties I wanted to tear with my teeth.
We made it to the bed somehow, tangled and half-laughing. The kind of laughter that's soft and nervous and full of need.
She straddled me again, bare thighs warm against my skin.
"Don't rush," she said. "I want to feel every second."
So I obeyed.
I sat up, kissing from her jaw to her collarbone, taking my time. My hands cupped her breasts, thumbs brushing over her nipples until she whimpered, arching into me.
Her fingers slid down my chest, slow and deliberate, then wrapped around my cock.
"You're already hard," she whispered, teasing.
"You exist. That's enough."
She laughed, soft and breathy, and kissed me again as she positioned herself. Her hips shifted, guiding me into her. We both gasped as I sank deep.
No words. Just heat.
Her walls clenched around me, wet and tight, her breath catching as she adjusted to the stretch.
"God, I missed this," she moaned.
I held her hips, letting her ride slow. Every motion felt sacred. Her nails dug into my shoulders. My mouth moved to her breasts, tongue circling her nipple until she gasped again.
She moved with rhythm—gentle, sensual, deliberate. Like she wasn't just fucking me—she was writing me into her skin.
I gripped her waist tighter, thrusting up into her.
"Rika," I whispered. "You feel like heaven."
She leaned down, forehead to mine.
"Then fuck me like you want to stay."
So I did.
I rolled her beneath me, kissing her hard, deep strokes making her moan louder with each thrust. Her legs wrapped around my waist, heels digging into my back.
"Don't stop," she begged. "Don't you fucking stop—"
Her climax hit like a wave. She cried out, body shaking, her pussy clenching tight around me. I followed seconds later, groaning her name into the crook of her neck as I emptied inside her.
We stayed like that—connected, panting, bodies slick with sweat.
No words. Just the sound of rain tapping on the windows again, like it had waited all day to witness this.
After a while, she rolled onto her side, pulling the blanket over us.
"You make me feel like I'm not broken," she whispered.
"You're not," I said. "You're just healing."
She smiled, eyes fluttering closed.