[Hirose Residence, Living Room / Bedroom — Riku POV]
---
The soft click of Yoru's bedroom door echoed through the hallway.
Lady Hirose exhaled—a shaky, trembling breath she'd been holding since her daughter appeared. The tension drained from her shoulders, replaced by something far more urgent coiling low in her belly.
She lowered herself back down.
Her body began to move—a slow, deliberate roll of her hips that made the leather couch creak beneath them. The scent of her arousal mixed with sandalwood air freshener and the faint musk of sweat.
Riku finally understood what those isekai protagonists felt when they conquered a nobleman's wife.
This is what it means to be the villain.
Heat enveloped him completely—wet, silken, impossibly tight. Lady Hirose's inner walls squeezed around his length with each undulation of her waist, her rhythm perfectly measured. Not too fast, not too slow. Just enough friction to make his toes curl against the hardwood floor.
"Mmph—" She bit her lower lip, muffling the moan that tried to escape.
Her bare thighs whispered against his own as she worked herself up and down. The hem of her hiked-up skirt bunched around her waist, exposing the pale curve of her ass and the thin strip of her displaced panties pushed aside.
After a few minutes of letting her set the pace, Riku grabbed her hips and flipped their positions.
Lady Hirose's back hit the floor with a soft thump. Her eyes went wide—pupils blown, lips parted, chest heaving. The buttons of her cream blouse had come undone somewhere along the way, revealing the lack of a bra and the generous swell of her breasts.
Riku drove into her.
Plap.
Plap.
Plap—
Then he stopped.
Completely.
Buried to the hilt inside her, his cock twitched against her cervix, but he didn't move.
Lady Hirose's whole body shuddered. She'd been right there—teetering on the edge of release—and now she was freefalling into nothing. Her inner muscles clenched desperately around him, trying to milk out any friction she could.
"Wh—why did you—"
Riku leaned down, his lips brushing against the shell of her ear. His breath was hot and deliberately slow.
"Madam Hirose," he whispered, "do you prefer it from the front... or from behind?"
What kind of question is that?!
She didn't answer. Couldn't answer. Her hips bucked upward on instinct, trying to fuck herself on him since he refused to move.
Riku pressed a soft kiss to her earlobe.
Then—
SMACK.
His palm connected with her ass. Not hard enough to truly hurt, but enough to send a jolt of sensation straight to her core. The flesh rippled under his hand, her ass catching the red imprint of his fingers.
"Ahhn—!"
The dual stimulation—the kiss, the slap—broke something in her. Her voice came out trembling, pitched higher than she'd ever heard herself speak.
"D-don't... don't make noise... Yoru will hear—!"
"Then maybe you should answer my question, Madam."
His cock pulsed inside her. A cruel reminder that he was still there, still filling her completely, and still refusing to give her what she needed.
Lady Hirose squeezed her eyes shut.
This brat... this insufferable brat...
"...B-behind."
The word came out small. Shameful. Her face burned crimson as she said it—admitting something she'd never told anyone, not even her late husband.
Riku's smile pressed against her neck.
"Good girl."
He pulled out slowly—torturously slowly—letting her feel every ridge and vein of his shaft dragging against her sensitive walls. Then he flipped her over with practiced ease, pushing her face-first onto the floor.
Her ass rose into the air, still stinging from his slap. The wet lips of her pussy glistened, swollen and desperate. A thin strand of arousal connected her to the tip of his cock, catching the light.
He positioned himself at her entrance.
And began to move.
Slowly at first. Languid, rolling thrusts that made her bite into ther hand to keep from crying out. Each stroke pushed deeper than the last, his balls slapping wetly against her clit with every forward motion.
"Nngh—mmph—hahh—"
Lady Hirose's fingers clawed at the bare floor. Her legs trembled. Her back arched.
But it wasn't enough.
It wasn't fast enough.
"Riku-kun..." Her voice was muffled against the cushion, thick with need. "Could you... go faster...?"
He paused mid-thrust.
"Madam Hirose," he said, amusement dripping from every syllable, "are you begging me?"
She started moving on her own—rocking her hips backward, trying to impale herself on his length. Her ass bounced against his pelvis in desperate little motions, her pussy making obscene squelching sounds with each self-inflicted thrust.
Riku grabbed her hips and held her still.
"Nnngh—please—"
"I'll ask again." He leaned over her back, his chest pressing against her spine, his lips at her ear. "Are you begging me, Madam Hirose?"
A long pause.
Then, barely audible:
"...Mmn~"
---
Inside her bedroom, Hirose Yoru couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong.
She sat on her bed, phone forgotten in her lap, replaying the last few minutes in her head.
Mother's voice sounded... off.
That wasn't how her mother usually spoke. The breathiness. The distraction. The way she'd practically refused Yoru's offer to help.
Something isn't right.
Yoru stood up abruptly. She didn't call out—didn't announce herself. She simply walked to her bedroom door and pulled it open.
The first thing she saw was Riku.
He stood in the living room, calmly setting dishes on the dining table. Steam rose from freshly cooked rice. The kitchen beyond him was empty.
Her mother was nowhere in sight.
"Oh, Yoru-chan!" Riku looked up with an easy smile. "You came out just in time. Lunch is ready."
Yoru's eyes narrowed. She scanned the room—living room, kitchen, hallway—
"Where's my mother?"
"Ah, some sauce splashed on her clothes while we were cooking." Riku gestured vaguely toward the master bedroom. "She's changing in her room."
As if on cue, the bedroom door opened.
Lady Hirose emerged in a fresh outfit—a different blouse, a different skirt. She walked stiffly, her movements careful and measured.
Her face was flushed bright red.
"Mother." Yoru stepped closer, frowning. "Why is your face so red?"
The color deepened.
No, no, no—
Lady Hirose's mind raced, grasping for excuses. A wave of shame washed through her—not just embarrassment, but something sharper. The phantom sensation of Riku's hands on her hips, his breath on her ear, his—
Stop. Stop thinking about it.
"I..." She couldn't meet her daughter's eyes.
Riku cut in smoothly. "We were both crammed in that tiny kitchen. Got pretty warm in there."
That's not why I'm flushed, you insufferable—
Yoru walked past her mother and stopped directly in front of Riku. She leaned in close, her expression twisting with undisguised disgust.
"Listen here, scum." Her voice was low, venomous. "You better behave yourself."
Out of Lady Hirose's line of sight, Riku caught Yoru's wrist.
His grip was firm. Possessive.
"You already called me scum," he murmured, equally quiet. "Might as well do what scum does." He tilted his head, studying her face. "You came back pretty early. Trouble with your boyfriend?"
His smile sharpened.
"Or did you confirm what I told you was true?"
Yoru yanked her hand free. "Don't flatter yourself. Shirou and I are fine."
"Sure you are." Riku's voice dropped even lower. "But if the school finds out about what Satou Shirou did... what do you think happens to his spotless record? I hear he's quite the model student."
Yoru's blood went cold.
He wouldn't.
"What do you want?"
Riku spread his hands innocently and turned back toward the table.
"Let's eat. Food's getting cold."
He sat down at the head of the table—moving like he owned the place, like this was his home—and gestured for the two women to join him.
….
The meal was suffocating.
Yoru kept her head down, chopsticks moving mechanically. She didn't touch any of the side dishes.
What is he planning? What does he want from Mother? From me?
Lady Hirose shot glares at Riku every few seconds. Her expression cycled through irritation, confusion, and something else she didn't want to name.
That brat, acting so casual after what we just—
Then her eyelid twitched.
Something brushed against her thigh.
Under the table, hidden by the tablecloth, Riku had extended his foot. His sock-clad toes traced along the curve of her calf, sliding upward.
Lady Hirose nearly choked on her rice.
She ducked her head and shoveled food into her mouth, trying to ignore the heat spreading across her cheeks.
What is he doing?! We're eating lunch! Yoru is right there!
Riku's foot continued its ascent.
Past her knee.
Along her inner thigh.
Lady Hirose's expression grew increasingly strained. Her chopsticks trembled. She pressed her thighs together, but that only trapped his foot between them, the pressure somehow making it worse.
Stop—stop it—
She shot him another glare, silently pleading.
Riku didn't even look up. He just kept eating, perfectly calm, as if his foot wasn't currently sliding toward the junction of her thighs.
Lady Hirose stole a glance at her daughter.
Yoru was still staring at her bowl, lost in her own thoughts.
Good. She hasn't noticed.
Relief lasted exactly one second.
Because Riku's toes pressed directly against her core.
Through her thin panties—still damp from earlier—she could feel every movement. He rubbed slow circles against her clothed slit, dragging his foot up and down, applying just enough pressure to make her legs shake.
"Ahh—!"
The sound escaped before she could stop it.
Both Yoru and Riku looked up.
"Mother? Are you okay?"
Riku beat her to the punch. "Madam, what's wrong? Your face is really red again."
Lady Hirose dropped her chopsticks. Her hands flew to her cheeks, pressing against the burning skin.
"I think... I'm a little overheated," she managed. "Let me get some water."
She stood abruptly—perhaps too abruptly—and fled toward the kitchen.
….
At the table, Yoru and Riku sat in silence.
He continued eating as if nothing had happened.
Yoru's brow furrowed. Today her mother was acting strange—first in the kitchen, now at the table. She'd never seen the composed Lady Hirose so... flustered.
Could it be Riku?
She studied his profile. He looked completely unbothered. Innocent, even.
No. He wouldn't. There's no way.
She dismissed the thought and went back to her meal.
I need to talk to Mother later. Something is definitely going on.
---
Around the corner, out of sight from the dining room, Lady Hirose pressed her back against the wall.
Her heart hammered against her ribs.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
The ghost of Riku's touch still lingered between her thighs—the teasing friction under the table, his knowing smirk, the way he'd looked at her like he owned her.
And underneath that table, with her daughter mere feet away, she'd almost—
No.
She pressed her thighs together. A wet warmth spread through the fabric of her panties, soaking into her fresh pair.
This can't be happening.
She remembered the kitchen. His hands. His voice in her ear. The way he'd made her beg.
"Are you begging me, Madam Hirose?"
"...Mmn~"
Her legs trembled.
She gripped the wall for support, her breath coming in short, shallow gasps. The desire she'd thought she could suppress was roaring back, stronger than before. Every nerve ending felt raw. Exposed.
This is insane. He's young enough to be my son. He's my daughter's classmate. He's—
"I've actually..."
Her voice came out as a whisper.
"...developed feelings for that brat...?"
The realization hit her like a physical blow.