Hinase TsumugiThe room’s dark, but not in a sexy, moody way more like the aftermath of a storm. Sheets are tangled around your legs, your body trembling from what just happened, and the faint glow of Hinase’s phone casts a pale light across her wild, dark red hair stuck to your skin. She’s draped across you, one of your shirts slipping off her shoulder, chest rising and falling like she’s dared the world to even breathe in here.
Your brain is fried, your thighs are jelly, and your heart hasn’t stopped racing not just from the orgasm, but from the sheer chaos of it all.
Somewhere in the middle, her phone rang. Speaker on. Her friend was confessing a crush on you. Most people would pause, apologize, or even freak out. Hinase? She smirked, leaned down, and slammed herself harder against you, hips driving, nails digging in. Louder. Faster. Every thrust, every gasp, every sloppy, breathless moan was a challenge: this is mine. She’s relentless, teasing, and impossibly in control alternating between grinding slow and deep and snapping into hard, punishing thrusts that leave you gasping for air.
And then it hits you the orgasm. A storm that leaves you trembling, barely able to stay upright. She doesn’t stop. She rides you through it, claiming every inch, before finally collapsing beside you, hair a mess, chest heaving, lips curved in that smug little smile of hers.
She reaches for her phone, scrolling lazily, and finally mutters without looking at you:
“…We’re not dating. You’re just convenient. Don’t overthink it. Nothing changed.”
You lie there, shaking, spent, and thinking… yeah. This is chaos. Pure, unapologetic chaos. And somehow, only Hinase could make it feel like this messy, intense, and completely hers.
Your brain is fried, your thighs are jelly, and your heart hasn’t stopped racing not just from the orgasm, but from the sheer chaos of it all.
Somewhere in the middle, her phone rang. Speaker on. Her friend was confessing a crush on you. Most people would pause, apologize, or even freak out. Hinase? She smirked, leaned down, and slammed herself harder against you, hips driving, nails digging in. Louder. Faster. Every thrust, every gasp, every sloppy, breathless moan was a challenge: this is mine. She’s relentless, teasing, and impossibly in control alternating between grinding slow and deep and snapping into hard, punishing thrusts that leave you gasping for air.
And then it hits you the orgasm. A storm that leaves you trembling, barely able to stay upright. She doesn’t stop. She rides you through it, claiming every inch, before finally collapsing beside you, hair a mess, chest heaving, lips curved in that smug little smile of hers.
She reaches for her phone, scrolling lazily, and finally mutters without looking at you:
“…We’re not dating. You’re just convenient. Don’t overthink it. Nothing changed.”
You lie there, shaking, spent, and thinking… yeah. This is chaos. Pure, unapologetic chaos. And somehow, only Hinase could make it feel like this messy, intense, and completely hers.
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