The summer air was thick, like it wanted to cling to the skin and stay there. Cicadas screamed from somewhere in the trees, their song constant, almost hypnotic. Down a narrow backstreet of a sleepy seaside town, Haruto felt every bead of sweat rolling down his neck as he walked toward the old shrine.
She was there.
Aoi.
The girl who had haunted his thoughts for years. The one whose smile made him forget how to breathe, whose laughter had a way of echoing in his chest long after it faded.
She stood under the faded red torii gate, the light cutting through the branches overhead, painting her in gold and green. A loose white blouse clung faintly to her skin from the humidity, and underneath, the faintest shadow of her bra teased him. Her short pleated skirt brushed just above her knees, showing more than enough of her smooth, tanned legs to make his stomach twist with heat.
When she turned to face him, her dark hair swayed, a small bead of sweat slipping down her temple. She tucked it behind her ear without thinking — and somehow that single, simple motion felt unbearably intimate.
"You came," she said softly, her voice like the first sip of cold water after a long run.
Haruto swallowed hard. "I… needed to see you."
Aoi stepped closer, and the scent of her shampoo mixed with the faint salt of the sea. The warmth radiating from her body hit him before her hand even brushed against his arm. "You said you had something to tell me."
He could hear his own pulse in his ears. He could see the way her lips parted slightly, almost like she was waiting for something. "I've… liked you. For a long time."
She smiled faintly, her cheeks tinged pink. But her eyes didn't shy away — they locked onto his, steady, unwavering. "Then… show me."
The words hit him harder than anything she could've done physically.
Her fingers moved first, brushing against the hem of his shirt before sliding upward. The pads of her fingertips traced the edge of his stomach, feather-light, as if she was mapping him in her mind. When she reached the first button, she hesitated — just for a heartbeat — then slipped it open.
Haruto's breath caught. The sound of fabric shifting was loud in the heavy, humid air. She worked down one button after another, her hands trembling, but her lips curled into something between nervousness and hunger.
When his shirt finally hung open, she pressed her palm against his bare chest. Her skin was cool from the heat, her touch firm but tentative. "You're warm…" she whispered, her thumb brushing slowly over his heartbeat. "I can feel it."
Her eyes flicked downward for just a moment, and Haruto saw the shift — from shyness to something deeper, darker, more curious. She stepped in until her chest brushed lightly against his, the faint softness of her breasts grazing his skin through the thin fabric of her blouse.
"Haruto…" she murmured, her voice barely above the cicadas. "If you really mean it… don't hold back."
Her words hung in the thick summer air, sweet and dangerous.
Haruto's hands trembled as they rose, hovering just above her sides. He hesitated — afraid this moment would shatter if he moved too quickly — then let his fingers settle against her waist. Her body was warm, her skin soft even through the fabric, and the gentle curve of her hips fit perfectly beneath his palms.
Aoi looked up at him, her lashes low, a faint smile playing at her lips. "You've been holding back for too long."
Slowly, deliberately, Haruto slid his hands upward. The blouse was loose, but the thin cotton clung just enough for him to feel the subtle rise of her ribs beneath. When his thumbs brushed the lower swell of her breasts, she drew in a sharp breath, her shoulders twitching in response.
"Sensitive…?" he asked, his voice low.
"Mmh…" She didn't answer in words, just gave the smallest nod, her cheeks deepening in color.
He stepped closer, closing the last inch between them. Her breasts pressed lightly against his bare chest, the heat of her body seeping into him. She smelled faintly of soap and salt, but underneath was something uniquely hers — warm, faintly sweet, intoxicating.
His fingers found the first button of her blouse. He worked slowly, each pop of a button revealing a little more skin: the smooth plane of her stomach, the soft dip of her navel, the faint glisten of sweat at the center of her chest. By the time he reached the last one, her breathing had grown quicker, her lips parting slightly with every exhale.
The blouse fell open, and Haruto froze.
Her bra was pale blue lace, delicate and almost too small, the cups lifting her breasts into perfect soft curves. The lace was thin enough for him to see the faint outline of her nipples beneath, already pebbled from the heat — or maybe from his gaze.
"You're staring," she teased softly, but her voice lacked any real complaint.
"Can you blame me?" he murmured, reaching up to trace along the lace edge with a fingertip. She shivered beneath his touch, her hands gripping his shoulders for balance.
"Then don't just look," she whispered.
The invitation snapped the last thread of restraint. He cupped her breasts through the lace, feeling their weight settle into his palms. His thumbs brushed over the hard peaks, and she gasped, her hips giving the faintest, unconscious shift toward him.
"Haruto…" she breathed, her voice melting into a needy tremor.
Her voice was barely a whisper, but it carried more weight than anything Haruto had heard before.
With his thumbs still teasing the lace-covered peaks of her breasts, he slid his fingers toward the back of her bra. The clasp was small, delicate — but in his hands, it felt like a barrier between him and something he had dreamed of for years.
The metal hook gave a quiet click, and the straps slackened. Slowly, he eased the lace away, the fabric falling forward to reveal her bare chest at last.
Haruto's breath caught.
Her breasts were perfect — not in some magazine sense, but in a way that was utterly hers. Soft, round, full enough to fill his hands completely. Her nipples were a dusky pink, already hard from the summer heat and his touch. Tiny beads of sweat dotted the smooth skin, making them glisten in the shifting light beneath the shrine gate.
"Aoi…" he breathed, almost reverently.
She bit her lip, a blush deepening on her cheeks. "You're staring again."
"Because I can't stop," he admitted, his voice low and rough.
Leaning in, he pressed his lips to the upper curve of her left breast. Her skin was warm and faintly salty from the summer air, the taste of her making his pulse throb harder. His tongue traced slowly down toward her nipple, and when he took it into his mouth, she gasped — a sharp, helpless sound that sent heat rushing straight through him.
Her fingers buried themselves in his hair. "Ah— Haruto…"
He sucked gently, letting his tongue swirl around the sensitive peak, feeling it grow firmer against his mouth. Then he moved to her other breast, his free hand massaging the one he'd just left, kneading the soft flesh and teasing the nipple with his thumb.
Her knees wavered slightly, and she leaned into him for support. Each time his mouth closed around her, her hips shifted just a little, her breath coming quicker. The sound of cicadas seemed far away now; all he could hear was the rhythm of her breathing and the occasional soft, needy moan slipping past her lips.
When he pulled back, a faint string of moisture connected his tongue to her nipple before it broke. She shivered.
"I didn't think… it would feel this good," she whispered.
"You haven't felt anything yet," he murmured, his hand slowly trailing down past her stomach toward the hem of her skirt.
His fingers toyed with the hem of her skirt, brushing lightly against the smooth skin of her thighs. Aoi's breath hitched, her hands tightening on his shoulders, but she didn't stop him.
The fabric was soft under his fingertips, but the skin beneath was softer still — warm, supple, with a faint tremor every time he traced upward. He could feel the tension in her legs, not from pulling away, but from holding herself still, as if waiting for him to take the next step.
Haruto let the skirt rise slowly, inch by inch. Sunlight leaked through the leaves above, casting shifting patterns across her skin. By the time he reached her upper thighs, the lace edge of her panties came into view — pale blue, matching the bra now lying forgotten on the ground.
He let his knuckles brush over the fabric, just a faint, teasing stroke. The heat radiating from her core was undeniable, even through the thin lace. She gasped, her hips twitching forward involuntarily.
"Sensitive here too?" he asked, his voice low, almost a growl.
"Mmh… don't tease…" she whispered, her cheeks burning.
But he did tease — pressing just enough to make her whimper, circling his finger over the damp spot beginning to spread on the lace. The warmth beneath was intoxicating, the tiny shiver of her thighs squeezing together making his own body throb with need.
Her knees buckled slightly, and he guided her backward until she was leaning against the wooden pillar of the shrine gate. The old wood creaked softly under her weight, but her eyes stayed locked on his, wide and shimmering.
He hooked a finger under the side of her panties, feeling the elastic stretch. "May I?" he asked.
She nodded — quick, almost desperate.
The lace slid down her thighs, catching briefly on her knees before pooling at her feet. She stepped out of them without a sound, the humid air now touching the slick heat between her legs.
Haruto's breath quickened. She was bare now, the soft swell of her mound leading down to the delicate folds of her pussy — glistening faintly in the dappled sunlight. The scent of her arousal was faint but intoxicating, mixing with the summer air in a way that made his head swim.
He placed his hand on her inner thigh, thumb brushing dangerously close to the wetness. "You're already so wet," he murmured.
"That's… your fault," she breathed.
His thumb slid over her folds, feeling the slippery heat that greeted him. She gasped, her hips jerking toward him, and he began to stroke slowly, drawing lazy circles over her clit. Each movement pulled a new sound from her lips — soft, breathless, needy.
When his finger finally slipped between her folds and pressed inside, her head fell back against the wooden post with a faint thunk.
"Ah— Haruto…" she moaned, her hands clutching at his arms as he pushed deeper, the tight heat of her squeezing around him.
Her body clung to his finger like it didn't want to let go, every twitch and squeeze pulling him deeper into her warmth. Haruto kept his eyes locked on her face — the flushed cheeks, the parted lips, the way her lashes trembled as she tried and failed to hold back her moans.
He curled his finger upward inside her, searching for that one spot he'd only heard about in hushed locker-room whispers. When he found it — the way her breath hitched and her legs jerked told him everything.
"A-ah—! There—" she gasped, her nails digging into his shoulders.
He pressed again, and again, his thumb never leaving her clit, stroking it in tight, fast circles. The wet sounds of his fingers moving inside her mixed with the cicadas' endless song, turning the summer air into something almost unbearable.
Her hips started moving on their own, grinding against his hand, chasing something she couldn't quite voice. "H-Haruto, I… I'm—"
"Let it happen," he whispered, leaning in so his lips brushed her ear. "I want to see you."
The tension in her body wound tighter and tighter until it snapped. Her voice broke into a sharp, desperate cry, her thighs clamping around his hand as the orgasm tore through her. She shuddered against him, hips jerking in small, helpless movements as wave after wave rolled over her.
Haruto kept stroking her gently, feeling the hot rush of her wetness coat his fingers. Her legs barely held her up now, so he eased her weight against the shrine's wooden post, holding her steady until her breathing slowed.
When her eyes finally opened, they were hazy, unfocused — but her lips curved into a weak, satisfied smile. "That was… so much more than I thought…"
He brushed a damp strand of hair from her forehead and pressed a soft kiss to her temple. "I told you… I've been waiting for this for a long time."
The cicadas sang on, indifferent to the fact that something had changed forever between them under the summer sun.