Riku sat cross-legged on the futon, staring at the ceiling like it'd called him worthless.
His phone blinked in the dark like a broken heartbeat. No jobs. No money. No messages. Just another day of scrolling through people who'd figured it out, who smiled at sushi dates and dropped motivational quotes over rooftop sunsets.
He'd quit his agency job like a fool, some fragile mix of pride and delusion. Thought he'd make it on his own. Thought clients would line up.
Now? Just him. Four walls. Cheap noodles. Quiet desperation.
He hadn't shaved in days. Showered this morning but didn't remember it.
When the call came, he almost didn't answer.
---
"Riku-san?"
A voice he hadn't heard in years. Low. Even. Feminine in a way that wrapped itself around your ribs. Like silk. Or smoke.
"This is Yumi Aoyama. Serenity Yoga."
His stomach tensed. Her name dropped like ice water down his back.
She wasn't just a client. She was the kind of woman you remembered. Not because she tried. But because everything about her said you should.
"I need someone to update the website. The old booking system is crashing."
Her voice hadn't aged. It had just deepened, like it'd grown more dangerous with time.
"You available?"
He swallowed. Cleared his throat.
"Yeah. I can be there."
---
Shibuya pulsed around him, all neon and sweat. Her studio was tucked in a quiet corner. No signs. Just a brushed steel plaque, Serenity etched into the metal like it was a whisper only the rich could hear.
He stepped inside, and lavender punched him in the lungs.
Clean walls. Bamboo floors. Silence that hummed.
And then...
Her.
Bare feet. Loose charcoal yoga pants. A cream blouse that clung where it shouldn't and flowed where it could.
Yumi fucking Aoyama.
Hair pinned up, a few strands curled like they were drunk off her skin. Her lips weren't just painted, they were curated. Wine red. Slow ruin.
He forgot how to blink.
She didn't smile. Just looked at him like he was late.
"Riku."
He nodded. Tried to speak but his mouth felt dusty.
---
She led him to the front desk. Her scent hit him first, lavender, again. But deeper now. Like it had touched her throat and stayed there.
The laptop was old. Her posture wasn't.
She leaned over beside him, too close. Braless. On purpose. That wasn't softness brushing his arm. That was a reminder.
"You good?" she asked, voice low.
He didn't answer. Just stared at the code and tried to pretend his cock wasn't an idiot.
She didn't move away.
"I've missed how quiet you are," she said. "You always looked like you were thinking something dangerous."
He almost laughed. Almost.
"Still am."
---
Two hours blurred past in a haze of half-coded plugins and barely followed instructions.
Riku kept his eyes on the screen, but his focus? Shot. She leaned over, close, always just close enough to test his composure. Her breath ghosted near his ear, her scent soaking into the moment like a drug.
He swallowed. Hard. His dick stirred before his thoughts could even catch up.
He finished the booking system. Saved. Checked. Done. But not calm.
She bent slightly to check the layout, biting her lower lip, eyes narrowed in concentration. His eyes traced the subtle bounce of her chest. No bra. No barrier.
Goddamn.
"It's late," she said, pouring hot tea into two ceramic cups. "If you don't have anywhere to be… the studio's warm tonight. There's a blanket in the back."
His brain screamed Yes. Every nerve in his body stood at attention.
But he paused. Made himself hesitate. Just long enough to look like he had control.
He knew what this was. She wasn't being kind, she was calling the game.
"Alright," he said, voice low. "Just until it cools off out there."
She handed him the cup. Her fingers brushed his, lingered. Intentional.
His palm was already sweating.
---
He lay on the mat, blanket over his legs, tea still warm beside him. Eyes open. Body wired.
And hard.
Her scent clung to the air, lavender and something warmer. Something hers.
His thoughts were a wildfire. The way she moved. The way she watched him like a puzzle already half-solved.
And then, Footsteps.
Soft. Bare. Unhurried.
His eyes snapped open. His heart skipped, then picked up like a drumline.
She stepped through the curtain, robe tied loose around her waist, hair down, two cups in her hands like she hadn't just lit the fuse.
No small talk. No pretense.
She knelt beside him, close enough for her thigh to brush his knee.
"I couldn't sleep," she said, offering him the cup again. "You?"
He licked his lips. Nodded. "Same." His voice cracked on the edge.
He tried to keep still, but his fingers twitched. His chest tightened with anticipation and disbelief. Was this real? Was she really doing this?
She looked at him, not with politeness, but hunger barely concealed.
"I always wondered," she said softly. "When we worked together... did you ever look at me like this?"
His jaw clenched. Something primal flashed across his face.
"Every damn time."
She smiled. Slow. Dangerous.
"Then why didn't you say anything?"
His breath hitched. "Because I was broke. Still am. And I figured if I touched something that good, I'd ruin it."
She tilted her head, pleased. "And now?"
He didn't answer. Didn't need to. Because his desire had already thrown logic out the window.
She leaned in. Kissed him.
---
Her mouth was hot, tasting of tea, lavender, and that kind of mischief that made your blood rush south.
She pushed him down, not asking. Just pressing her palm into his chest like he was hers. Like she'd already decided what she was gonna do with him.
And God, he was gonna let her.
He kissed her back, slow at first, rough a second later, his hand tangling in her hair, the other braced against the floor because the room was already spinning.
Her thighs slid over his lap. Robe slipping. Skin warm. Nipples brushing his chest.
She sat there a second. Letting him feel it. Letting him know she wasn't in a rush.
He was hard as hell. And she felt every inch.
"Fuck," he muttered, eyes locked on her.
"You sure?" she asked, breath hot, not moving yet.
"I've been sure since you opened the door."
She didn't need more.
She dropped onto him, wet, tight, slow like she wanted him to feel every second of it. His hands grabbed her waist on instinct, but he didn't guide her. He held on for dear life.
Because this woman wasn't letting him lead.
She rolled her hips, slow grind, deep drag, like she was tuning an instrument. Eyes half-lidded. Mouth parted. That lazy, dominant sex-face like she already knew he'd fall apart underneath her.
"You feel like trouble," she murmured, not breaking rhythm.
He bit down a groan. "You're the one who invited it."
She laughed, dark, low, real. The kind of laugh that made a man lose common sense.
And then she fucked him like she owned the room. Like she owned him.
Every thrust was deliberate. Deep. She used him, grinding forward with her palms flat on his chest, holding him there like he was nothing more than something warm to ride.
His hips tried to chase her rhythm. She shoved him back with her hand.
"Don't move," she whispered. "Just give it to me."
And he did. All of it. Every twitch, every inch, every drop of restraint he had left.
He came with a full-body jolt—eyes shut, jaw clenched, fingers digging into the mat.
But she didn't stop.
She kept riding. Kept grinding.
"Already done?" she breathed, dragging her hips again.
He groaned, wrecked and overstimulated, eyes fluttering open.
"I'm not."
She didn't wait. Didn't ask. Just kept fucking herself on him until her legs trembled, her body stiffened, and her nails dug into his skin like she was trying to carve her orgasm into his chest.
When it hit her, it was silent, one sharp gasp, body locked, then a shudder that rolled all the way down.
She slumped over him, still panting, her breath hot against his throat.
They didn't speak. Didn't need to.
She slid off him slow, wet, unbothered. His chest was rising and falling like he'd been in a fight.
She stood up, robe on the floor, bare and shameless in the low studio light.
She didn't say goodnight. Didn't say thank you.
She just smirked.
That "next time, I'll ride you harder" kind of smirk.
And walked out.
---
[SYSTEM BOOTING…]
[EMOTIONAL RESONANCE SIGNAL: ACTIVE]
[TARGET: AOYAMA YUMI]
[ COMPATIBILITY: 87%]
[INITIATING PROTOCOL...]