Miyu had always thought of herself as the careful one. The responsible one. The girl who could endure temptation with a calm smile, who could always tuck her desires neatly behind polite words and quiet composure.
But lately, that composure was slipping through her fingers like sand.
She lay on her bed, staring up at the ceiling, the faint hum of the cicadas outside filling the silence. Her thighs were still pressed tightly together, as if clamping down could hold back the need clawing at her from the inside. But it didn't. It never did.
The image wouldn't leave her mind.
Haruto leaning close, his warm breath brushing her ear. His hand, just barely grazing hers. The scent of him. The way his shoulder had pressed against hers, setting her skin alight.
Her body reacted before her mind could stop it. Her hips shifted, grinding subtly against the mattress, her face heating up with shame. She covered her mouth with her hand, stifling a small gasp as the pressure built in her core.
Stop it, stop it, you can't…
But she couldn't stop. Not anymore.
Her free hand slipped down, trembling, pressing against the thin barrier of her panties. She was already wet. So wet that her fingers slid against the soaked fabric with ease. The shame hit her like a wave—and yet, the shame only made her wetter.
Her imagination twisted cruelly, dragging her into the very memory she dreaded. She could see him—Haruto's face between her thighs, his mouth sealing over her folds, his tongue pushing inside her. She could feel it, the desperate, hungry way he would lick her pussy, drinking her down as if her need was the only thing that could satisfy him.
Her back arched, a muffled whimper escaping into her palm.
Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes. Not just from the intensity of the fantasy, but from the guilt crushing her chest.
Because every time she touched herself, every time she moaned his name into her pillow, she was betraying Ayame.
Ayame—the bright, daring friend who had never hidden her desire for Haruto, who reached for him openly while Miyu only stole scraps of closeness in secret.
And yet, Miyu couldn't stop.
Her thighs trembled violently as her fingers pressed harder, faster, her body writhing against the sheets. The wet squelch of her soaked panties filled her ears, humiliating and intoxicating at once.
"Ha—Haru—"
The name tore out of her throat before she could stop it, muffled but still audible in the quiet of her room. Her eyes widened in horror as the sound of his name on her lips made the fantasy even sharper, made her body throb even harder.
The orgasm hit her like a flood.
Her body convulsed, her hand soaked in her own wetness, her muffled cries of his name spilling against her palm as tears slid down her cheeks.
When it finally subsided, she lay trembling, her chest rising and falling with ragged breaths. Her panties clung to her skin, sticky and hot. The sheets beneath her were damp.
And all she could feel was shame.
"…I'm… disgusting…" she whispered into the dark.
She curled into herself, hugging her knees, trying to smother the guilt. But even as her tears fell, one truth screamed louder than the shame.
She wanted him.
Not in fantasy. Not in dreams. Not in shameful, hidden moments in the dark.
She wanted Haruto for real.
And that truth terrified her more than anything.
The night air was cool, but Miyu felt suffocated. Her chest was tight, her steps hurried as she walked down the empty path leading to the riverside. She had texted Haruto—Can we talk? Just the two of us.
Her fingers had hovered over the screen for five full minutes before hitting send. And the moment he replied Sure. I'll come, her heart had been racing ever since.
Now, every step toward him felt like a betrayal.
Ayame's laughter, Ayame's smile, Ayame's boldness—all of it haunted her as if accusing her with every footfall.
But she couldn't stop herself. Not tonight.
Haruto was already there when she arrived, standing by the railing, the moonlight painting him in silver. His eyes lit up when he saw her, warm, effortless, gentle.
"Miyu. You sounded… serious in your message. Is everything okay?"
Her throat tightened. She wanted to say no, it isn't. I'm falling apart. I want you so badly I can't sleep, I can't think, I touch myself to the thought of you until I cry from shame.
But what came out was a trembling half-smile.
"I just… needed to see you."
Haruto tilted his head, concern flickering in his eyes. He stepped closer, his presence wrapping around her like heat. "You've seemed a little… off lately. Are you sure you're okay?"
Miyu's breath hitched. Too close. He was too close. She could smell him again, that faint scent that drove her mad.
She forced herself to look away, gripping the railing until her knuckles whitened. "I… I've been feeling strange. About… everything."
"Strange?" he echoed softly, leaning a little closer to hear her.
Her heart pounded against her ribs. His arm brushed hers. Her lips trembled.
She wanted—God, she wanted—to just lean in. To feel his mouth on hers. To let it all spill out, the truth of her filthy, aching need.
Her whole body burned with the memory of last night, of his tongue on her in fantasy, licking her pussy until she screamed his name into her pillow. Now he was right here, and she was one breath away from shattering.
"I…" Her voice cracked. Her chest heaved with a shaky breath. "Haruto, I—"
But the words stuck in her throat.
Not because she didn't want to confess, but because the guilt slammed into her at the last second. Ayame's face flashed in her mind. Ayame, who had kissed him boldly, who claimed him without shame.
Tears welled in Miyu's eyes. She forced her trembling lips into a smile that felt like breaking glass.
"...Thank you. For being here. That's all."
Haruto blinked, taken aback by her sudden retreat, but then he gave her that warm smile again—the one that melted her every defense. "Of course. You can always talk to me, Miyu. Anytime."
He reached out, gently brushing his hand against hers in comfort.
The simple touch was enough to send shockwaves through her. Her breath caught, her knees weakened, her body screaming to pull him into her arms and never let go.
Instead, she choked back a sob and whispered, "…You don't know what you do to me."
Haruto frowned slightly. "Miyu?"
She shook her head quickly, forcing herself to turn away before she shattered completely. "Goodnight, Haruto."
And then she fled.
Her tears blurred the moonlit path, but nothing could wash away the burn of his warmth lingering on her hand.
Miyu slammed her door shut behind her, her back pressed against the wood as if she were holding back a flood.
Her chest rose and fell with ragged breaths, her hand still trembling from the faint touch Haruto had given her. Just his fingers brushing hers—and she was already coming undone.
She slid down against the door, knees pulled to her chest, eyes wide with the weight of her failure.
I almost told him. I almost—
Her face flushed scarlet, and hot tears stung her eyes.
"…I can't… I can't resist him anymore…"
The words spilled out of her, hoarse and broken.
For so long she had convinced herself that what she felt was controllable—that she could bury it beneath politeness, beneath Ayame's claim, beneath her own shame.
But tonight proved otherwise.
The moment she'd seen him in the moonlight, waiting just for her, every wall had cracked. The memory of Ayame kissing him only twisted the knife deeper. It wasn't just Ayame who wanted him. She did too.
And her body refused to let her deny it.
Her thighs pressed together desperately, heat spreading mercilessly between them. She had touched herself to him before—but this was different. This was raw, wild, terrifying.
She stumbled to her bed and collapsed face-first into the pillow, muffling a broken whimper.
"Haruto…"
His name left her lips like a prayer, like a curse.
Her imagination betrayed her again, filling her head with the memory of how she imagined him tasting her. His tongue sliding between her folds, licking her pussy slowly, deliberately, as if savoring her guilt-ridden surrender.
She writhed against the sheets, clutching the fabric tight, her breath growing uneven. The fantasy was too vivid now—his mouth hot, his hands pinning her down, his voice whispering her name as he pushed her over the edge.
"No… I can't… I can't do this anymore…" she gasped, her body trembling with both shame and uncontainable need.
Her climax hit suddenly, fiercely, tearing a muffled cry from her lips into the pillow.
But when it passed, only the emptiness remained.
She lay there, shaking, drenched in sweat and tears, her heart pounding so violently it hurt.
"…I need him." The words came out in a whisper, half-mad, half-resigned. "I can't… stop."
Her nails dug into the sheets. The thought of sneaking down the hall, of knocking on Haruto's door, of confessing everything and letting him ruin her completely—it burned in her mind like a fever.
She even stood halfway up, her legs weak beneath her, before collapsing back down, clutching her chest.
Not tonight. She wasn't ready. The shame still had enough power to chain her.
But she knew, with terrifying certainty, that those chains were breaking fast.
And when they finally snapped, nothing—not Ayame, not guilt, not even her own pride—would stop her from reaching for Haruto.