Re: Eyeshield 21, Hiruma/Mamori, dealing cards (cont.)
The sudden kiss and the warmth of him, caging her against the wall, made her breath quicken. "You're the one who picked it out," she said, as he set a hand at her waist and stroked it up her side. "Sometimes I think you just get a kick out of dressing me up in weird clothes."
His grin flashed at her. "So what if I do?" He cupped her breast, hand hot through the silky fabric, and she shivered with the pleasure of his thumb stroking her, slow and knowing. "I think you like being dressed up."
"Maybe a little bit," she admitted, husky in her own ears, and wound her arms around his shoulders, fingers trailing over his nape. She traced her nails over his skin, and he growled low in his throat and pressed closer, thumb circling over her nipple. Mamori tipped her head back. "Why did we need to be in the penthouse?" she asked, breathless, as Hiruma's other hand stroked down her spine.
He laughed against her throat. "Looks better if we do." His hand slid lower, finding one of the slits in her skirt, and slipped under the fabric. It stroked higher, until--"Fuck," he said, throaty. "You aren't--"
"They'd show," she said, arch, and smiled at the way he cursed, low and reverent, as his fingers traveled over the curve of her hips and rear, bare underneath the silk. "Fuck the penthouse," he said, breathless, and reached one long arm away, hitting the emergency button. The car jolted to a halt, stuck between floors, and somewhere, an alarm buzzed politely.
"Youichi," she began, half-laughing, half-scolding, but he stopped her protest with another kiss, this one scorching hot enough to melt most of her reservations.
The rest of them melted away when his mouth slid down her throat, hot and wet, and sharp teeth grazed against her earlobe and then her pulse, the delicate scrape of them making her shiver. "Youichi," she breathed, stomach tightening, and kneaded her hands over his shoulders.
"I fucking love this dress," he muttered against her throat, hands slipping under the skirt again, lifting the front panel entirely and sliding it out of his way. "Worth every fucking penny I spent on it."
"I'm starting to get a little fond of it myself--oh..." Mamori closed her eyes, gasping, as his fingers slid up her thighs and dipped between them, wickedly slow. "Youichi..."
He laughed softly, fingers stroking over the wetness of her, slipping inside her and sending sparks dancing behind her eyelids. "Kind of eager, aren't you?"
"Oh, shut up," she said, and pressed a hand between them, squeezing him through his pants. "We could be in bed by now, you know." He had her pressed against the wall of the car, and she let him hold her there as she traced a foot up the back of his calf and hooked her thigh around his hip as he groaned. "Come on, Youichi..."