The Lives We Didn't Choose (AJS Roleplaying x Kita-san)

[AJS Roleplaying]

The Lives We Didn't Choose A Roleplay Brought to You By: ​

Adrian 'AJ' Carlson Jr. written by AJS Roleplaying ​

Verena "Rena" Bristol written by Kita-san ​

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[AJS Roleplaying]

AJ murmured his agreement, his voice low and warm, echoing her sentiment about the timing. Just a day's difference, a mere twenty-four hours, yet it had somehow meant everything. It was strange, how a single turn of the sun could shift things so entirely, how a moment waited for could bloom into something richer, deeper. The edge of anticipation had sweetened the reality. As their eyes locked, AJ felt a quiet surge of appreciation for the patience they had both chosen to exercise.

A slow smile played across his lips - not rushed, not performative. It was something genuine, something born of connection rather than conquest. He found himself memorizing her face again in that stillness, the glow of intimacy softening the shadows of the room around them. The silence between them was not empty. It was full of things unsaid, of breath shared, of understanding that needed no translation.

They remained like that, just standing - bare, skin to skin - for long moments that felt suspended in time. Both of them were stripped down in every sense, not only in body but in guard, in pretence. The air was thick with the heat of spent passion, and yet AJ sensed something simmering beneath it still, something unfinished. Despite the soft aftermath of their orgasms still lingering in their limbs and lungs, he knew instinctively that the night wasn't over. Not even close.

Without breaking their embrace, he nudged them slowly toward the bed. There was no urgency in it, no scrambling or rush. It was simply a shift of gravity, a silent agreement between their bodies. Their arms stayed wrapped around each other as they moved - an awkward, shuffling glide that made both of them let out a soft laugh at the ridiculous intimacy of it all. It wasn't elegant, and that made it even more perfect.

When they finally reached the edge of the mattress, they all but tumbled onto it, a tangled, breathless heap of limbs and warmth. The mattress dipped beneath them, taking their weight with a soft groan, and they sank into it like a shared exhale. The laughter they exchanged in that moment was light, affectionate - an acknowledgement of how hard it had been to let go of each other, even just enough to lie down.

AJ turned his face toward her, brushing a kiss to her lips. It wasn't greedy or demanding, just a gentle seal on the closeness between them. He felt the way her breath hitched faintly at the contact, and he responded with another, slower kiss - longer this time, more certain. Time began to lose its shape again as their mouths met and parted in soft waves, kisses growing deeper by degrees. There was no script to it. Just need and instinct and a hunger that hadn't been fully satisfied.

Heat began to rise again between their bodies, subtly at first, like the earliest stirrings of a storm. AJ felt his pulse respond, felt a low, steady thrum awaken in his chest and slide lower. His hand moved slowly, almost reverently, gliding along her hip, tracing the curve of her waist, reacquainting itself with skin he'd already explored but hadn't yet had enough of. There was something intoxicating in the way desire rebuilt itself from embers, in how their bodies seemed to know each other better now, readier to pick up the rhythm again.

He didn't rush. There was no need to. The earlier urgency had softened into something more deliberate, more confident. His fingers moved with purpose now, stroking, teasing, finding those spots that made him feel her shift closer. Her body, so pliant and eager, responded with a quiet intensity that urged him on. He kissed her jaw, then her collarbone, then lower still - each press of his lips a promise, a slow build toward the inevitable.

As their kisses deepened and their bodies aligned once more, AJ let himself sink fully into the moment. There was something different now. Not just lust, though that was undeniably present, sharp and demanding. But beneath it, or perhaps alongside it, was something that felt dangerously close to tenderness - an unfamiliar ache in his chest that had nothing to do with physical need. He didn't want to analyse it. He didn't want to name it. He just wanted to feel it. All of it.

He let his hands wander again, exploring her with a reverence that bordered on worship. Every inch of her skin seemed to beckon, to beg for attention, and he gave it willingly, eagerly. Her breath quickened against his ear, and that alone made his arousal surge again. He hadn't thought it possible to want this much, not so soon after release, but there it was - raw and undeniable.

Their bodies moved closer still, friction sparking where skin met skin. AJ bit down a moan, his control already beginning to fray. He held her tighter, kissing her with the kind of urgency that tasted like surrender, like wanting to crawl inside her and never surface again.

They were far from finished.​

 

[Kita-san]

Verena didn't speak. She couldn't—not with the way her throat tightened, not with the way the air had thickened between them like a storm just beginning to break. Instead, her body became the language. Her breath, her fingertips, the tremor running through her limbs—all of it spoke for her.

She kept her arms wrapped around AJ, even as they collapsed onto the bed, refusing to let go for even a second. It wasn't clinginess—it was need. Raw, consuming, wordless. Her fingers curled into the fabric at his back like she needed to anchor herself, to ground the heat threatening to overtake her. She let herself be touched and kissed by him. His actions soon matched hers, their bodies just couldn’t seem to get enough of each other. He matched the storm she'd been holding in her chest, the one only he seemed able to summon, and soothe.

Her hands moved before her thoughts could catch up—slow, intentional, reverent. One glided up the length of his spine, nails dragging just enough to draw a shiver from him. She memorized each vertebra beneath her palm, like she was mapping him for the last time, like she didn't trust the moment not to vanish if she blinked too long.

Then, deliberately, she slid her hands higher, threading her fingers into his hair, gripping gently, not to pull—but to feel. To keep him close. She guided his mouth back to hers with a soft, sure pressure, and kissed him like it was a vow. Not frantic. Not greedy. Just devastatingly present. She kissed him like she had nowhere else to be in the world—like he was the only real thing left in it.

And when their mouths broke apart for breath, she didn't retreat. She shifted beneath him with a slow, deliberate roll of her hips, dragging him closer until the friction between them sparked something that burned low and primal in her belly. Her eyes didn't flinch away from his—they burned into him, wide and unguarded, dark with the gravity of everything she didn't say.

Her body was soft against him, pliant, eager—but her touch carried weight, carried meaning. She dragged her palms down one of his sides, fingertips skimming over every plane of his body like she was sculpting him from memory. When she reached his waist, her hand paused and gave it a gentle squeeze—not just in hunger, but in claiming. This wasn't about taking. It was about knowing. Knowing he was hers, even just for this moment.

Then she leaned up—pressing her mouth to the underside of his jaw, then to the hollow of his throat, her lips hot and lingering. She whispered nothing. Just breathed against him like the heat between them might collapse the distance entirely. Her mouth mapped a trail lower—across his collarbone, the curve of his shoulder—each kiss more desperate in its devotion, each one a brand of intent.

And as their bodies shifted again, aligning with that slow, inevitable rhythm, Verena's breath caught—but she didn't hide it. She hooked her leg to his hip while they laid on their sides kissing and touching one another. She could feel the heat between their bodies as she pressed even closer to him. It wasn’t a surprise to Verena that AJ was as stiff again. A small smirk formed and she lightly bit her bottom lip, that delicious anticipation growing again.

Verena didn’t dare hide away her wants or needs from AJ. She let him see it. Let him see her, all of her, stripped down to that trembling, sacred vulnerability that she gave to no one else. Her eyes, wide and searching, locked on his. There was fire in them, yes. Hunger. But beneath it—beneath the burn and the ache and the exquisite torment of want—was something far more dangerous.

Trust. Complete. Unspoken. Terrifying in its depth.

And when she reached for him again, it wasn't just to pull him deeper. It was to fall with him. To let the moment consume her completely.

To let herself be undone.

 

[AJS Roleplaying]

AJ almost had to pinch himself. Even as he lay there, skin against skin, the afterglow of their shared release still humming low in his muscles, a part of him refused to believe it was real. He wasn't just in bed with a beautiful woman - though her physical allure alone was enough to leave him speechless - he was with someone who captivated him in ways far deeper than flesh. Her mind, her energy, her sheer presence drew him in like gravity, something irresistible and inevitable. Every time her hands moved over his body - fingers trailing along his waist, across the small of his back, threading gently into his hair - his breath caught like he was being lit from the inside. It wasn't just touch; it was ignition.

He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt so entirely present, so awake in his own skin. Each nerve seemed tuned to a higher frequency, a burning awareness coiled beneath the surface of his body. There was no rush, no frantic scrambling toward climax - just the deep thrum of wanting, of connection, of something wordless but soul-deep.

Despite the fact that their bodies had already reached that peak once together, his arousal had returned, unrelenting. It didn't creep back; it surged - swift, undeniable, impossible to hide. He could feel himself hardening between them, the heat of it unmistakable as it pressed lightly against her thigh. It was painfully obvious. There was no need for words. No plea, no request. When she shifted, when her leg slid up and hooked at his hip, the silent invitation carried more meaning than anything spoken aloud.

His pulse pounded in his ears as he adjusted his position, guiding himself with slow precision. The tip of his cock brushed the slick warmth between her thighs, and the sensation alone made his breath stutter. The heat of her was overwhelming, even before he was inside her. He paused, savouring the weight of the moment. There was no frantic need to rush; he wanted to feel every inch of it, every second of this union.

Carefully, deliberately, he pressed forward. His hips rolled, slow and steady, until the head of his cock slipped past the resistance and nestled deep in that wet heat. The gasp that tore from his throat was raw, unguarded - a sound stripped of civility, of manners. It was primal. Instinctual. A sound he hadn't known he could make. His fingers dug into the sheet for a heartbeat, grounding himself against the sensation.

God, she felt unreal. Like heaven and sin and salvation all in one.

He kept going, inch by inch, each slow thrust forward met with the tight, perfect grip of her body pulling him in. When he finally bottomed out - when he was fully, deeply buried inside her - his eyes locked onto hers. He didn't look away. He couldn't. There was something reverent in the moment, in the way his body sank into hers, in the way they became one without a single word exchanged. Her gaze held him in place, and in that moment, he understood a hundred things he'd never been able to articulate before. The weight of intimacy. The significance of true, raw vulnerability. The miracle of being fully seen, fully accepted, and still wanted.

He stayed there for a moment, motionless, letting the intensity wash over him. The tightness of her around him was maddening. Perfect. He hadn't expected it to feel like this - so consuming. His body was already humming, every muscle tensed in anticipation, in hunger, in awe.

Slowly, he began to move. Each stroke was deliberate, measured - not from restraint, but from a place of reverence. He wasn't just fucking her. He was worshipping her. His hips rolled into hers with a rhythm born not of urgency, but of something deeper, older, rooted in the primal need to feel her, to be inside her, to lose himself and find himself all at once.

Every time he pulled back, her body clung to him. Every time he sank in again, it felt like a wave crashing through his entire being. It wasn't about chasing another orgasm - though he could already feel it building again, low and powerful - it was about the sheer glory of the moment. The physical perfection of the way their bodies fit together. The emotional weight behind every thrust, every shared breath.

AJ didn't speak. There was nothing to say. His body did the talking - through the way he pressed closer, through the rhythm of his thrusts, through the reverent way he kept his eyes locked on hers as he moved. Everything about him in that moment said one thing clearly: You are everything.

And with each pulse of pleasure, with every deep, grinding motion of his hips, AJ surrendered further to that truth. He was utterly lost in her - and never wanted to be found.​

 

[Kita-san]

Verena's eyes locked onto his, a soft, knowing smile playing on her lips as she saw the look of sheer ecstasy on his face. Inch by inch she could feel him press deeper inside of her. The pressure of him making room to fit pushed a tingly sensation throughout her body. Verena arms rested down by her sides as he fully entered her. The feeling of being connected with him like this felt unreal yet scared.

With each thrust, with every movement felt not only pleasure but a sense of happiness that could not be achieved with James. As much as she tried to make it work with him it was now clear that it would never work. Her mind, her body was fully AJ’s.

Gently she gripped the sheets as her body responded to his, her hips moved in sync with his, matching his deliberate, measured pace, her touch gentle yet firm. Her own breath hitched, her body aching with a growing need that mirrored his, her heart swelling with emotions she rarely allowed herself to feel.

She felt the searing intensity of his gaze, unwavering and full of unspoken emotion, as if he were trying to memorize every nuance of her expression. His eyes locked onto hers with such depth and purpose that it sent a tidal wave of feeling crashing through her—raw, overwhelming, impossible to contain. Her chest tightened, she was caught between vulnerability and surrender. Each movement between them carried a gravity far beyond the physical—every thrust was weighted with longing, with history, with an ache that spoke louder than words ever could. Their breaths mingled in the space between gasps, each exhale trembling with something sacred, something devastatingly real. It was more than passion—it was connection, deep and consuming. And in that moment, the sheer emotional intensity stole the air from her lungs.

She could feel it—every unspoken word, every promise etched into the way he touched her. His body said things his lips never had to. And she heard it all.

Her hands moved up his sides and wouldn’t his back. Her fingers curled into his back, needing to anchor herself to something real as the world around them dissolved. The way he moved inside her, slow and deep and knowing, left her utterly undone. It wasn't just pleasure—it was worship. It was surrender. It was love without the safety net of language.
She met his gaze again, not flinching, not hiding. Those bright hazel eyes said it all. Then don't ever look away.

Their lips found each other again, and the spark that had ignited earlier reignited with a smoldering intensity. It wasn't frantic or desperate now—it was measured, deliberate, the kind of heat that came from knowing exactly how to touch, exactly how to devour. Their mouths moved in sync, slow but ravenous, tasting, claiming, savoring every second like it might be the last.

Verena's body responded instinctively, legs parting further without thought, inviting him in even deeper, welcoming the exquisite pressure and fullness with a soft gasp against his lips. The pleasure was no longer building—it was rising, rolling through her like a warm tide. Each slow, powerful thrust sent a ripple of sensation radiating from her core, electrifying every inch of her skin, making her toes curl and her breath stutter.

That familiar, delicious tension began to coil inside her, thick and undeniable, and her back arched as if her body were chasing the pleasure before it fully arrived. Her hands slid along his body, gripping the taut lines of his back before fisting into the sheets beneath her, grounding herself against the wave of sensation threatening to pull her under. Then back again—fingertips dragging along his shoulders, his sides—as if she needed constant reassurance that he was real, that this was real.

In that moment, she didn't just belong to him. He belonged to her. Completely. Irrevocably.

 

[AJS Roleplaying]

AJ felt it in the moment their bodies aligned - not just the slick heat of Verena's body accepting him fully, but something deeper. It wasn't simply about the pleasure, though that was nearly overwhelming in itself. It was about the silent understanding that passed between them, the kind that didn't need to be spoken to be understood. There was no hesitation, no resistance, just pure, unfiltered openness. The way her body welcomed him wasn't just about sex. It was about trust. About surrender. About connection. This was intimacy, in its truest, rawest form - unshielded, honest, and complete.

His breath caught as he began to move, hips rolling with a deliberate rhythm. Every time he sank into her, he felt a jolt shoot up his spine. Her body was tight and hot, gripping his cock with a pulsing need that threatened to pull him over the edge far too quickly. He tried to hold back, to prolong it, but it was difficult - God, it was fucking difficult - with how good she felt, how perfectly their bodies matched.

And yet, it was more than that. More than the sweat-slicked friction or the intoxicating slide of skin against skin. There was something sacred in the silence, something profound in the way they didn't speak. Words would have been insufficient here. What could he possibly say that wouldn't ruin it? That wouldn't make it smaller than it was?

So instead, he let the sounds between them tell the story. The wet slap of bodies colliding. The gasps, the moans, the deep, ragged breaths torn from his chest. The rising pitch of pleasure that filled the room like a crescendo. Every movement he made into her - every deliberate, deep stroke - was a sentence. Every shudder, a confession.

He tried to pace himself, but his body had other plans. That fire was building again, rapidly, uncontrollably. His orgasm loomed just ahead, rushing toward him like a wave too big to escape. He could feel it coiling in his belly, tightening in his thighs, making his rhythm more desperate, more erratic. He buried his face in the curve of her neck for a moment, teeth gritted, trying to breathe, to hold on. But she felt too good. Too tight. Too warm. Too damn perfect.

His fingers dug into her hips, holding her in place as he thrust harder, deeper. Every part of him was alive with sensation, overstimulated, electrified. His body was on fire, his nerves lit up like a live wire. He was losing himself in her, drowning in the exquisite sensation of being buried so completely inside someone who met him not just with heat, but with heart. It was a kind of madness, this act between them. An unravelling. He could feel himself coming apart with every movement, each thrust sending him closer to that precipice. His balls tightened, his breath hitched. He was almost there.

And then he looked at her—eyes open, locked on hers. He didn't say a word. He didn't need to. Everything he felt was in that look.

Finish with me.

It was a plea, a promise, a prayer. His eyes told her what his voice couldn't - that he wanted her there with him, not just in body, but in climax, in collapse. He wanted them to fall together. To lose themselves at the same time, in the same way, so that the moment would be complete.

His rhythm faltered as the orgasm crashed into him. It tore through him like a storm, brutal and blissful. His body jerked, muscles clenching, cock pulsing as he spilled into her with a low, guttural groan that came from somewhere deep in his chest. His eyes stayed on hers the entire time, unblinking, anchoring him to her as his body surrendered. It felt endless. Shattering. As though all the tension and ache and longing he'd carried for so long finally found its release. He rode it out, gasping, shaking, utterly undone.

And even as the wave receded, he stayed there - deep inside her, heart pounding, breath ragged - refusing to look away. Because this wasn't just about coming. It wasn't just about the sex. It was about something far more terrifying and beautiful: connection. Not the kind forged in casual pleasure, but the kind born in silence, in shared breath, in a gaze that said more than any word ever could.

He didn't speak. He didn't move. He just felt - all of it. All of her. And it was enough.

 

[Kita-san]

She felt it too.

Not just in the press of his body against hers, or the way he filled her so completely that her breath caught with every deep, deliberate thrust—though that was impossible to ignore. The stretch of him inside her, the molten heat where they joined, the slow, steady friction that sent shivers spiraling up her spine with each movement—yes, her body felt every inch of it. But the real sensation existed somewhere deeper. In the space between heartbeats. In that breathless hush where skin met soul and something more took root.

It wasn't just sex. It wasn't even just pleasure.

It was recognition.

Verena hadn't braced herself for this—hadn't needed to. She'd let him in, not just with her body, but with everything else she usually kept guarded. There were no layers between them now. No clever detachment or rehearsed restraint. She was bare. Honest. And somehow, it didn't feel like losing control. It felt like coming home.

There was no performance here. No attempt to be alluring or desirable. She simply was. And he met her there—not as someone reaching to possess, but someone choosing to receive. In his touch, she didn't feel consumed. She felt held. Seen in a way that made her ache, because it was so unfamiliar… and yet so desperately needed.

As his rhythm changed—hips beginning to falter, breath coming faster, more ragged—she felt that urgency rise in him like a wave about to crest. It pulled something from her in return, something primal and instinctive, something that lived in the marrow of her bones. Her body moved with him, against him, around him. Thighs trembling. Hands grasping. Fingernails scraping softly down the sweat-slick muscles of his back, grounding herself even as she came unmoored.

And then… he looked at her.

Really looked. Eyes wide and dark and aching, locked onto hers like they were the only thing keeping him tethered to the earth.

That look shattered her.

It wasn't lust. It wasn't even longing. It was a plea. A confession. A promise. All at once.

Finish with me, he said, without saying a word.

She didn't hesitate. She was already there.

Her climax broke through her like a thunderclap—sudden, searing, complete. It wasn't a slow rise but a sharp detonation, ripping through her with such intensity that she gasped, mouth falling open, neck arched back as pleasure tore through every fiber of her. Her inner walls clenched around him, spasming, clutching, welcoming. Her moan came low and rough, a sound dragged straight from the depths of her, too full of emotion to be elegant. She felt herself splinter and fuse all at once—pleasure and meaning, body and heart, everything tangled in the heat and the ache and the trust.

He spilled inside her at the same time, the warmth of it flooding her, deep and irrevocable. She felt his body seize, heard the guttural sound ripped from his chest, and it only pulled her deeper into the moment. Her arms wrapped tight around his back, not just to hold him in place—but to hold him. All of him. She needed that connection to last, to be etched into her skin and memory alike.

And still, she didn't look away. Neither did he.

Their eyes stayed locked as they trembled through the aftershocks together, hearts racing, chests heaving, bodies still entwined in slick heat and shared breath. There was no need to speak. Words would've only cheapened the silence, would've made something so sacred feel small.

She didn't need him to say what it meant.

She knew.

She saw it in the way he looked at her—not with hunger, but with awe. With a reverence that made her breath catch even now, in the stillness. And she let him see her, all of her: raw, messy, vulnerable, radiant in her unraveling. There was no fear left. No shame. Only the quiet power of being truly known.

I'm still here. She thought.

Not just physically. Not just for tonight. But in the way that meant everything. She was still with him. Because this wasn't just the aftermath of pleasure. This was the echo of something real. Something rare. Something worth staying for.

 

[AJS Roleplaying]

AJ's breath came in slow, uneven waves as he tried to calm the ragged thrum of his heart. His body trembled faintly with the aftershocks of release, his limbs heavy, as if the culmination of everything they'd built between them had siphoned the last of his strength. He buried his face into the crook of her neck, his nose catching the faintest scent of her skin - warm, soft, slightly sweet, and unmistakably hers. That scent would stay with him. It clung to the inside of his lungs like something sacred.

He couldn't hold himself up anymore. The tension in his arms gave out completely, and he let himself collapse against her fully, chest to chest, hips still locked with hers, his cock still buried deep inside her. He felt every inch of her beneath him - her warmth, her breath, the softness of her body. There was a quiet intimacy to the stillness, something profound and grounding. He didn't want to move, didn't want to pull away, not even an inch. If he could, he would have frozen time right there, preserving the heat of her body, the press of her curves, the way their skin clung with a sheen of sweat. Every detail of this moment carved itself into his memory with perfect clarity. He had imagined what this might be like - fantasized, even - but reality had eclipsed everything. Not just the sex, which had left him undone in a way he hadn't experienced in years, but the meaning of it. The weight. The depth. The truth of what they'd created.

When he finally gathered the strength to lift his head, his gaze found hers. There was no rush in the movement, no urgency. It was reverent. Slow. The air between them pulsed with residual heat, but the fever of lust had passed, if only for now. In its place, something far more dangerous had taken root: tenderness. His eyes searched hers, drinking her in like a man who'd spent too long in the desert without water. He wasn't looking for lust anymore. He wasn't even looking for reassurance. He simply looked to see her. Fully. Entirely. And in doing so, he felt himself come undone all over again - this time not in the body, but in the soul.

The realization struck him hard. There would be no going back after this. Not emotionally. Not physically. Not spiritually. What had begun as a fragile bond built on long conversations and guarded confessions had finally flared into something irreversible. Something terrifying. Something vital. It was no longer a question of attraction or compatibility or shared pain. This wasn't about filling a void. This wasn't a reaction to heartache or abandonment. This was something else.

AJ had spent months ensuring that what they felt wasn't just trauma clinging to trauma, desperate for something to hold onto in the wake of brokenness. He'd been cautious - perhaps too cautious at times. He'd needed to be certain, to know with conviction that what they were building wasn't just an echo of what they'd both lost. But now, with her body still wrapped around him, her presence enveloping him in a way that went far beyond flesh, he understood. It had never been about replacement. She didn't patch the holes in him. She made him want to be whole.

He thought of Serena then, the coldness that had taken over their marriage in its final years. The distance. The absence that had somehow grown even when they were sitting side by side. There had been a slow erosion of something sacred in that relationship, and he hadn't realized how dead inside he'd become until Verena had touched him and made him feel alive. Not just wanted, seen. Not just loved, chosen.

There was no denying it now. His marriage was over. Emotionally, it had been for a long time. Legally, it would follow. He would never disrespect Serena by pretending she hadn't mattered - she had. But this… what he felt now, with his heart laid bare and every guard lowered… this was something he hadn't thought himself capable of feeling again. And yet here it was. Irrefutable. Inescapable.

He kissed Verena slowly, reverently, letting his lips brush against hers with a tenderness that bordered on worship. There was no urgency, no hunger left to sate - only the need to tell her, wordlessly, what his voice could barely contain. And when he finally did speak, the words came out in a whisper, raw and full of wonder, as though they had been waiting in his chest for a lifetime.

"Where have you been all my life?"

He didn't expect an answer. He didn't need one. The question wasn't meant for her lips - it was meant for the stars, for fate, for whatever strange and beautiful force had finally brought her to him.​

 

[Kita-san]

He was still inside her. Still pressed to her like he belonged there—like her body had been shaped over time with him in mind. AJ didn't move, didn't rush, didn't break the stillness between them. And in that silence, Verena felt the sharpest kind of clarity cut through her chest.

This is what it was supposed to feel like.

Not just the physical—though, God, her body had never known this kind of language before—but the emotional weight of it. The soul of it. It wasn't fireworks or fantasy. It was something deeper. Grounded. Quiet. True.

Her fingers ran through the hair at the base of his neck. She held him there, not to possess him, not to keep him, but simply to feel. And as his breath evened out, warm and slow against her collarbone, she knew with startling certainty: she had never been loved like this before.

James had never touched her like this—not even at the beginning. His hands had always been more about control than connection. He saw her more as an accessory to his ambition than a partner. She was pretty beside him, polished enough to be brought to networking dinners, quiet enough not to embarrass him with inconvenient opinions. He liked the idea of her. The image of her. But not her.

Not really.

With James, love had come with conditions. Expectations. Corrections. But with AJ, love felt like permission.

She thought of all the moments AJ had seen her unravel and hadn't turned away. The way he listened, not to respond, but to understand. The way he remembered the smallest details about her life—how she took her coffee, what her favorite color was, and the way he noticed when she didn't wear that ring.

James hadn't noticed that at first and when he did it didn’t seem to bother him at all.

AJ noticed everything.

He didn't just want to take her body—he wanted to know her. And tonight, he had. In every sense that mattered. Verena's eyes shimmered with tears that she refused to have fall as she held AJ tighter, her palms resting over his back. This man beneath her, against her, inside her—he had never raised his voice at her. Never made her feel small. Never belittled her dreams or dismissed her fears. He had never called her "dramatic" when she whined or thought pasta would solve all her problems, never walked away from a hard conversation, never punished her with silence. He had only ever met her with tenderness, even when her heart was armored and afraid.

James, though? He had broken her by inches. He had convinced her that she was difficult. That her emotions were burdens. That love meant compromise—but only on her part. She had excused it all as "stress," as "pressure," as "normal couple problems." But it wasn't. It was neglect wrapped in a diamond ring.

And she was done lying to herself.

Her engagement had become a beautiful, gilded cage. One that had once felt like security, but now? Now it was suffocating her.
She didn't know how she would face James—how she would explain this, end this. She didn't know how to navigate this guilt free feeling that was always present. But what she did know was this:

She didn't feel safe with James.
She felt safe with AJ.

AJ, who had held her and was present when she needed him the most. AJ, who hadn't tried to fix her, just stood beside her while she stitched herself back together. AJ, who made her laugh in a way that made her feel like her soul was waking up after a long sleep.

She had crossed a line tonight. Yes. But it wasn't the betrayal that defined her—it was the truth she had uncovered on the other side of it. This was what she had been starving for. And no part of her, not even the one still clinging to duty and past, could deny it anymore.

When he whispered, "Where have you been all my life?" she nearly broke.

Because the answer was too painful and too simple.

Trapped.

She had been trapped in someone else's idea of a life, of love, of who she was supposed to be. But here, with AJ, she was herself—messy, whole, tender, wild. And for the first time in a long time… she wanted to be herself.

She kissed him then. Gently. Reverently. Her heart in her mouth. Not because it was easy.
But because it was real. Because it was right.

 

[AJS Roleplaying]

AJ finally softened, the aftershocks of release still pulsing gently through his limbs. As he slipped from inside her, he became distantly aware of the inevitable mess between them - wet, sticky, the raw physical evidence of what they'd just shared. But he didn't care. The sweat drying on his skin, the tremble in his thighs, the faint pounding in his chest - none of it mattered compared to the feeling still humming inside him. This hadn't just been sex. It hadn't even been fucking. That word, vulgar and quick, too sharp and careless, didn't belong here.

No, this was something else. Something more deliberate, more intimate. More… sacred. They hadn't just touched bodies; they had crossed a threshold. Made love. As cliché as the phrase might have seemed to him in the past, there was no other word that suited what had just happened between them. There had been hunger, yes, and a primal, impatient need - but there had also been care. Reverence. The way she had looked at him, the way he had moved within her… it was more than chemistry. It was connection.

His hand reached out blindly, searching the bed for the duvet that had been shoved away, twisted and crumpled at the bottom during their earlier frenzy. His fingers found the fabric and dragged it upward with effort, tugging it over both their cooling bodies. The weight of it settled around them, sealing them in a private cocoon, soft and warm and separate from the rest of the world. He shifted slightly, careful not to disturb her too much, and gathered her close into his arms. She came willingly, her body pliant and trusting, nestling in against him. He tucked her head into the curve between his shoulder and his neck, breathing in the scent of her hair - faint traces of shampoo, sweat, skin. His arms enveloped her, protectively, possessively. His entire body ached with a pleasant fatigue, but he wouldn't trade it for anything.

He pressed a kiss to her forehead, lingering. The tenderness of the gesture felt natural, instinctive, like it had been imprinted on his soul long before this moment. His lips rested there for a breath, maybe two, before pulling back. She was still quiet - content, perhaps, or just as lost in the moment as he was. Or maybe already drifting off. He couldn't tell, and he didn't mind. But the silence between them suddenly felt too empty. Words were fragile things, often failing to carry the weight of what he truly felt, but he couldn't let the moment pass without saying something. He needed her to know. Needed to cast these feelings into something more permanent, even if it was just in the shape of a few uncertain syllables.

"Promise me tonight is only the beginning," he whispered, his voice low and hoarse, still thick from exertion.

The words hung in the dim room like smoke, fragile but undeniable. He didn't know if she'd respond. He didn't even know if she was still fully awake. But it didn't matter. He had to speak the truth aloud, even if only once. What they'd shared wasn't casual to him. Not anymore. Not after this.

As he lay there with her pressed against him, AJ felt something inside him shift. Something unspoken, something deep. It was more than just the afterglow. This wasn't just the calm after lust had burned itself out. This was… clarity. Stillness. A kind of peace he hadn't felt in a very long time, maybe not ever. He let his hand slide gently over her back, fingertips tracing the warm curve of her spine beneath the duvet. Her skin was still flushed from their earlier exertions, a reminder of just how much they'd given to each other. How fully they'd surrendered.

The tension he didn't even know he'd been carrying in his chest slowly began to ease. Every breath came deeper now, slower. The bed, still warm from their bodies, seemed impossibly comfortable. Their mingled scent clung to the sheets, and the faint hum of the world outside - the distant city sounds, the rustle of wind - faded into insignificance. His mind began to blur around the edges, sleep pulling at him with soft, insistent fingers. He didn't fight it. Couldn't, really. He was spent, in every way a man could be spent - physically, emotionally, soul-deep exhausted.

But as the darkness crept in around the corners of his awareness, he clung to one last thought: if this night was the beginning, he didn't want to know how it would end. He just wanted more. More of her. More of this. Again and again. Forever, if she'd let him.

And with that thought cradled softly in the back of his mind, AJ let sleep take him.​

 

[Kita-san]

The first sensation Verena registered was the cool, silky press of hotel sheets against her bare skin. The next was AJ's arm, warm and heavy across her waist, anchoring her to the center of a moment she hadn't quite stepped out of. She blinked slowly, eyes adjusting to the soft, golden spill of morning light streaming through the massive floor-to-ceiling windows that lined the far wall of the suite. The city beyond glowed under the haze of early sun, glass towers catching the light like steel fire.

It was quiet. Too quiet, maybe—but not in a hollow way. The room felt suspended, like the outside world had paused itself for her to decide what came next.

AJ adjusted a bit in his sleep but he didn’t wake. His breath fanned warm across her skin. She watched the slow rise and fall of his chest against her back, the subtle twitch of dreams still clinging to the corners of his rest. The urge to stay curled against him—to delay thought and consequence just a little longer—was overwhelming. But her mind was already awake. Racing. Rewinding.

Last night had unraveled something inside her. Or maybe revealed was the better word. As if the person she had been hiding beneath "good choices" and "safe promises" had finally exhaled.

Verena slipped from the bed slowly, delicately untangling herself from the nest of limbs and linen without waking him. She moved with the care of someone not wanting to break a spell.
AJ's shirt was draped over the arm of the nearby chair—half-on, half-off from when he'd shrugged out of it between kisses. She pulled it on without thinking, the fabric cool against her skin, the scent of him clinging to it in an almost unbearable way. Earthy. Clean. Intimate.

She crossed the suite barefoot, the morning light warming the hardwood under her feet. Her breath caught as she reached the windows. The view was stunning. Below them, the city stretched endlessly—cars like slow-moving ants, the early sun washing everything in a soft golden wash. Planes skimmed the clouds in the distance, and somewhere far below, someone was probably late for work, spilling coffee, cursing the traffic.

And here she was. Standing in borrowed clothing, skin still carrying the imprint of last night, her heart completely and irreversibly not where it had been the day before.

Coffee. Was the first thing that popped into her head. Once she got the coffee going she took out her sketch book and a charcoal pencil and a regular pencil. Slowly she sank into one of the comfortable plus couches by the window and curled her legs beneath her. The silence was full now—not empty, but weighted. Sacred.

Slowly arms wrapped around her knees, AJ's shirt slipping off one shoulder, and she stared out at the city.

I said yes to James because it made sense. Because it looked and felt right at the moment. Because I wanted to please my mother. But then AJ touched me—and it wasn't about answers. It wasn't about fixing something broken. It was about seeing. About being seen.

The stillness pressed in around her, not suffocating—just present. Her chest rose slowly, her breath syncing with the skyline.

She thought of James. She thought of how small she'd made herself around him. How she'd started apologizing for things that weren't wrong. How love had turned into negotiation, into performance, into… survival.
She had always been careful. Graceful. Strategic.

Last night with AJ hadn't been any of those things. It had been messy and breathless and raw. Sacred. He hadn't worshipped her like an idol—he had worshipped her like a woman. Real. Flawed. Entire. And when it was over—when they were tangled in sheets and silence—he hadn't turned away.

He had held her. Like he meant to keep doing it. She felt him stir again, a rustling behind her. She didn't turn. She wasn't ready to leave this moment yet. Her reflection stared back at her, eyes wide, mouth soft, heart awake.

Behind her, the low hum of the coffee machine finally sputtered into silence, its mechanical sigh signaling the end of its work. The room, high above the restless city, returned to stillness. Verena rose slowly from the chair by the window, her muscles languid from sleep and memory. The morning light spilled across the hotel suite like liquid gold, warming the pale wood floor and catching in the delicate wisps of her hair as she moved.

She crossed the room in AJ's oversized shirt, the hem brushing the tops of her thighs. The scent of him lingered faintly on the fabric—amber, cedar, a trace of last night. It wrapped around her as intimately as his arms had just hours earlier.

The coffee carafe was half-full. She poured herself a mug with careful hands, added a splash of vanilla creamer, then stirred. The scent bloomed into the air—warm, comforting, sweet and sharp all at once. It reminded her of quiet mornings she used to dream of, the kind where no one expected anything from her, where she could just be.

She padded back to the armchair and tucked her legs beneath her as she sat. The cityscape stretched endlessly beyond the glass, but her attention was pulled inward now. She cradled the mug between her palms, took a slow sip, and let the heat fill the hollow behind her sternum.

Then she set the mug gently on the glass coffee table beside her, reached for the sketchbook, and opened it to a fresh page. Her fingers found the pencil like it was instinct, like the graphite itself was an extension of her pulse.

She didn't plan what to draw. She never did—not when it mattered.

Instead, she let herself slip beneath the surface of thought, let her hand move on its own. The pencil danced and scraped against the paper in fluid strokes, some sharp, some soft. She didn't chase perfection. She chased truth. Her truth.

The first sketch was a profile—delicate, almost androgynous. A line for the jaw, a shadow for the mouth. On the next page, a curled hand, fingers half-tensed, as if gripping something invisible. Then a tangle of bedsheets. The corner of a mouth. A city skyline distorted as though seen through tears.

Page after page, image after image poured from her like breath—nothing coherent, nothing connected. Yet every line held something sacred: the echo of a touch, the weight of silence, the stretch of time between two heartbeats. Then she found herself drawing his eyes. She hadn't meant to.

It started as a shape. A crease. The curve of a brow. But as her pencil moved with more certainty, she realized who they belonged to.

AJ.

She focused in—subtle shadows beneath the lids, the thickness of his lashes, the faint edge of the crinkle near the corners when he smiled. But it was the gaze that caught her. That haunted her. Eyes not wide with hunger or desire, but heavy with the kind of tenderness that stripped her bare. She spent the most time on that sketch. Layering detail. Adjusting contrast. Capturing the light, the depth. As if drawing them allowed her to hold the moment a little longer, to reach back into the night and keep part of it with her.

When she finally stopped, she stared down at the page, her pencil hovering just above the lower lid.

It was him. Unmistakably him.

But more than that—it was her reflection in him. The way he had looked at her as though she wasn't just beautiful, but real. Like he saw every fractured piece and wanted to trace each one with reverence, not fix it.

Verena exhaled.

Her hand lowered. The pencil rolled from her fingers to the edge of the sketchbook. She curled one knee tighter against her chest and leaned her cheek against it, just… looking. She didn't know how long she sat there, studying the drawing. The quiet was unbroken except for the distant murmur of the city outside and the occasional drip of condensation from the windows.

Eventually, her eyes fluttered shut. Not from exhaustion, but saturation. Emotion brimming too full inside her chest to do anything else.
The drawing remained open on her lap—AJ's gaze forever caught in graphite.

Watching her. Seeing her. Loving her without saying the word.

And in this quiet place, wrapped in a hotel morning, warm coffee, and the memory of skin on skin, Verena didn't run from it. She let herself be seen.

 

[AJS Roleplaying]

AJ stirred awake slowly, the soft warmth of the sheets pressing against his skin. At first, everything felt still - silent, suspended in that quiet moment where dreams haven't quite let go. He reached out instinctively, hand sliding across the mattress to find her… only to be met with absence. The sheets were empty beside him. Still warm, but empty. For a split second, he felt that familiar jolt of anxiety, the primal lurch in his gut that something precious had disappeared. But it passed almost immediately. He didn't panic. He didn't need to. She was still here - he could feel her, the same way you feel the sun through closed curtains or the tremble in the air before a storm. Presence without touch. His body knew before his eyes confirmed it.

He sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, breath slow, mind still fogged by the weight of rest. Morning sunlight spilled into the room through the wide windows, casting a soft golden wash across the floorboards. The quiet was serene. The world outside their suite had not yet invaded the space they'd created here - —sacred, intimate, just theirs.

His gaze wandered until it found her. Verena was perched on one of the low couches by the far windows, silhouetted against the soft grey light of a new day. His shirt hung from her frame, far too big, the sleeves dangling past her elbows. He felt a smile curl at the corner of his mouth - barely eight hours since they'd crossed that once-uncertain threshold, and already she was stealing his clothes. A gentle kind of domesticity. Something sweet and surreal. She looked beautiful, sitting there quietly, as if the chaos of the world had no claim on her. Legs folded beneath her, back slightly hunched as she leaned over something in her lap. A sketchbook. Of course.

AJ swung his legs over the edge of the bed and reached for a pair of boxers, pulling them on without taking his eyes off her. He moved slowly, careful not to disturb the gentle quiet of the morning, the almost holy silence that still lingered in the aftermath of the night they'd shared. Every step he took toward her felt deliberate, reverent, like he was approaching a masterpiece in a gallery - something fragile, something he didn't want to ruin with noise. She hadn't noticed him yet. Her eyes were closed, brows slightly drawn as if lost in concentration or a moment of stillness. The sketchbook lay open in her lap, and from where he stood behind her, he could see the pages fluttering slightly in the breeze from the barely cracked window.

And then he saw them. The drawings. Page after page of them - fluid, detailed, alive. Her pencil had captured motion and emotion alike, inked desire and softness into every curve, every line. Some were abstract, others more literal. A few made his breath catch. One sketch in particular - two bodies entwined, intimate, a curve of muscle he recognized as his own, the angle of a jaw he knew belonged to her. The kind of art that wasn't meant to be flaunted but cherished. Private. Personal.

He stared for a moment longer, quietly awed. It wasn't just that they were beautiful. It was the way they felt. Like her hands hadn't just drawn with graphite and paper, but with memory. With emotion. Every stroke seemed to echo what they'd done, how they'd felt. And then, gently, he reached out. His fingers brushed her shoulder, resting there softly. The contact was warm, grounding.

"Good morning," he said, voice low, still hoarse from sleep - and maybe from everything else, too.

He saw her stir, slow and calm, like a stone dropped into still water. But he said nothing more just yet. There was no need to fill the space. Morning was enough. The sunlight. The sketches. Her in his shirt. The remnants of passion still lingering in the air like perfume and heat. AJ stood there quietly, savouring the moment - the kind of moment you didn't realize you were waiting for until it was already here. He could have watched her forever, lost in the rhythm of her breathing, the soft turn of pages, the art that poured from her hands like truth.​

 

[Kita-san]

She didn't hear him at first. Not really. The world was hushed around her, the early morning light draping itself across the floor in long, silvery ribbons, her mind still half-lost in the curves and shadows she'd committed to the page. The pencil moved on instinct now. It always did after something real—something that felt like it would echo inside her long after it passed. That's what last night was. Not just a moment. A shift.

When his voice reached her, low and quiet and still carrying the weight of the night before, she felt it before she registered it. Like warmth soaking into skin after cold. His presence wrapped around her gently, not demanding, just… there. Like he belonged there. Like they did.

She opened her eyes slowly, letting the pencil fall idle in her fingers, and looked up at him.

"Hey," she whispered, voice still touched with sleep and something softer, something more vulnerable. Her eyes met his, and for a moment she just let herself look. He was beautiful like this — hair a mess, boxers slung low on his hips, eyes watching her like she was something more than just a girl in his shirt. Something sacred. “Good morning.” Her tone instantly perked up and small smile formed on her face. Happiness was still present within her. It was all because of him.

A breath escaped her, quiet, almost reverent. "You move like you're afraid you'll wake a dream," she murmured, a small smile curling on her lips. "You didn't." She shifted slightly, unfolding her legs to make space beside her. An unspoken invitation but she ten pointed to the coffee machine. “I made coffee if you want some. It’s really good. I need to invest in such a fancy coffee maker.” A soft chuckle left her lips.

Verena would always be Verena — a truth that felt more certain now than it ever had. Whatever shift had taken place between them overnight hadn't changed the core of who she was. It had, instead, clarified something deep and quietly powerful. She wasn't different. They were.

There was no more space for second-guessing. The air between them no longer crackled with hesitation or the weight of unspoken questions. Instead, there was clarity — the kind that didn't require words to be understood. She knew now, with a certainty that settled in her bones, that neither of them wanted to be without the other. And that was enough. That was more than enough.

She wanted to stay by his side.

Her fingers drifted over the pages of the sketchbook still balanced on her lap, brushing gently across the charcoal and graphite lines. She wasn't trying to conceal them — not really. It was more a gesture of recognition, a quiet acknowledgment of what the drawings held. What he had inspired. Each image was a fragment of something felt, something lived — a captured breath, a remembered touch. They weren't just studies of form or motion. They were confessions.

"I didn't quite realize how much time I spent on these," she said softly, her voice carrying the weight of a small surprise. The admission wasn't just about time, though. It was about attention. Devotion. She'd sketched him more times than she cared to count, even before they'd crossed that invisible line. And now, after last night… her work carried a different kind of intimacy. A deeper layer.

"They all respect you — more than you probably know," she continued, voice growing more thoughtful. "But last night…" Her words trailed off, and a warm flush crept across her cheeks. Not shame — never that — but a quiet vulnerability. The kind that comes from being fully seen, fully felt. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, eyes dipping for a heartbeat before they found their way back to him.

And when they did — when her gaze met his again — whatever trace of embarrassment there had been dissolved. His presence had a way of settling her, grounding her in a way few others could.

After a lingering moment, Verena rose from the couch with the slow, graceful ease that was so uniquely hers. AJ's shirt hung loose on her frame, falling just above her knees, the sleeves still too long and the collar slipping gently off one shoulder. But it felt like the most natural thing she could be wearing — soft, worn, and carrying the faintest trace of him. She didn't need anything else.

Crossing the space between them, she moved with unhurried intent, her bare feet silent against the floor. She came to stand near him, leaning lightly against the back of the couch for balance, close enough to feel the warmth radiating off his skin.

"So," she asked, her voice curious but light, "what are your plans for the day? What kind of work do you have ahead of you?" There was no accusation in her tone, no disappointment. Just genuine interest. She knew this was a work trip — she hadn't forgotten that. And even though every part of her wanted to steal more of his time, she also respected what he came here to do. Who he was beyond just being hers.

Still, she stayed close, her fingers idly toying with the hem of the shirt as she studied him, letting herself enjoy this rare, quiet morning. Her posture was casual, but her presence was unmistakably intimate — as if, even without words, she was asking him not just about his schedule, but about his space. His rhythm. His willingness to let her remain a part of it.

Whatever came next, she was here. And she hoped — quietly, fiercely — that he wanted her to be.

 

[AJS Roleplaying]

AJ's smile lingered, a slow, confident curve that hinted at both amusement and the genuine pleasure of her company. Her question had drawn him back - back from the haze of flirtation, the quiet current of desire simmering just beneath the surface, back to the actual reason he'd flown into San Francisco in the first place.

"I do have a conference. It's downtown - fairly high profile, and I'm delivering one of the keynote addresses."

He paused, eyes lingering on her face, savouring the ease with which she drew him in. "You're welcome to come," he continued, his tone suggesting more than just polite obligation. "Could be boring as hell, to be honest. Or maybe not. Depends how much you like lectures on economic resilience and tech ethics. But either way, you're invited."

There was a softness in the way he spoke to her now, a subtle warmth that edged away from the smooth polish he wore like armour in most professional settings. Verena had a way of peeling it back without trying, without even realizing she was doing it.

"Of course," he went on, "if that's not your scene, I wouldn't blame you in the least. There are some galleries - smaller, independent ones tucked into the Mission and along Valencia. Old spaces, textured and raw. They show local artists, indigenous voices, a kind of grit that's hard to find in the more curated corners of the city. Might be more your style. Might be more fun, too."

He reached for his drink and took a slow sip, watching her over the rim of the glass. She hadn't said anything yet, but her presence alone was enough to steady him, and that alone was rare. More than rare. Setting the glass down, he leaned forward just slightly, his gaze holding hers now with more purpose.

"There's something else," he said, quieter now. "Something tonight."

He paused again, this time not because he was unsure of what to say but because he wanted her to feel the weight of it, the personal edge to what he was about to offer.

"There's a charity gala," he said. "One of those formal affairs that the city loves to host under the guise of good intentions. This one's for the reservation society - a fundraiser for language preservation, land protection, and the like. Usually, I skip them. Truth be told, they always feel a little hollow when I'm there alone. A room full of polished smiles, polite applause, and overpriced wine - it's tolerable at best when you've got no one to share the evening with."

He let out a breath, low and thoughtful. "But this time… I don't want to go alone."

The words settled between them like something half-confession, half-invitation. "I'd like you to come with me," he said, his voice softening with a rawness he rarely let anyone hear. "As my date."

He let the word linger, conscious of its implications. Not a companion. Not a plus-one. A date. There was a vulnerability in saying it aloud, wrapped in layers of unspoken meaning. He wasn't asking her to dress up for some stiff black-tie event just to play arm candy. It wasn't about optics. It wasn't about appearances. It was about her. The way she moved through a room like she owned it, and yet somehow, never seemed to need the attention. The way her laugh felt honest. The way her silence didn't feel empty.

He wasn't sure what to call the thing pulling him toward her. It wasn't love - too soon, too bold. But it wasn't lust either, though desire twisted in his gut every time he looked at her. No, this was something else. A quiet gravity. A kind of want that bled through the skin and left its mark.

He thought about how she'd look in that setting - elegant and unbothered by the stiff social games being played around her. He could already imagine the flash of her eyes catching the light of the chandeliers, the slow, deliberate lift of her glass to her lips. She'd command attention without needing to ask for it. She always had. And, selfishly, he wanted her there with him. Not just to elevate the night, though she undoubtedly would - but because something about her presence made him feel grounded, seen. Like he wasn't just another name on a program or a face in a crowd.

He leaned back slightly, fingers absently circling the base of his glass. The invitation had been made. Not out of obligation, not as a strategic gesture. It was personal. Intimate. An offering.​

 

[Kita-san]

Verena blinked slowly, her breath catching somewhere between his words and the way he looked at her when he said them. As my date. Three simple words, but they moved through her like a ripple, soft and deep, impossible to ignore. She could feel the sincerity behind them, the weight of something unspoken but very much alive. Not just a gesture. Not for show. He meant it.

For a moment, she didn't answer — not because she didn't want to, but because something warm and disarming had unfurled in her chest. She glanced down, fingers brushing across her thigh, then back up at him with a smile that was equal parts flattered and flustered.

"I want to come," she said at last, the words quiet but certain. "To both. The conference and the gala."

Her voice carried that blend of resolve and quiet curiosity that always lingered just beneath her surface — the part of her that wanted to know the people she cared about, to witness them in their own worlds, to understand the spaces that shaped them. "I want to see you do what you do — stand in front of a room and make it listen. I want to see the part of your life that you don't always show."

She exhaled, a soft, warm laugh slipping out as her eyes searched his again. "But you're going to have to help me figure out what on earth I'm wearing to all of this. Conference, much easier but the gala…I don’t think I have anything for that.”

She turned, drifting towards the suitcase she had brought. “I have some dresses that I brought but definitely not gala worthy I don’t think.” She stood in front of the open suitcase, hands on her hips, brow furrowed in quiet panic. She'd packed light, assuming a short trip, assuming maybe gallery walks, maybe coffee shops and lazy mornings. She hadn't imagined this. Black-tie charity galas with chandeliers and designer gowns.

Her fingers sifted through the soft folds of fabric, lifting one thing, then another. Linen pants. Worn denim. A few simple dresses, mostly bohemian cuts, loose and draped with ease. She pulled one out — deep plum with a high neck and open back — elegant in its own way, though it lacked the crisp formality of the gowns she'd seen in magazines or red carpet photos.

She held it up in front of her, turning slightly to catch her reflection in the mirror. It wasn't that she didn't feel beautiful — she did, in her own way. But a voice in the back of her mind whispered doubt. Would it be enough?

Verena didn’t dress up often so when she got to she liked to look the part. Fancy parties weren’t always her thing but this was a dare and this was special. She let out a quiet breath, then heard her own voice, gentle but firm. You're being ridiculous, she whispered to herself.

Still, doubt in the dress lingered. She turned to face AJ and threw the dress down into her suitcase. "Do you think I will have time to find something for a gala after the conference? I can look up a store. I’m sure there’s a place that sells formal dresses. I don’t need a big gown or anything. Maybe something satin, form fitting, midi or maxi in length.” She suggested with a smile. “I'm not exactly a designer-label type." Her laugh was soft but honest. She didn’t want to miss the conference but if there wasn’t enough time maybe she should go dress shopping while the conference took place.

She wanted to be there. She wanted to walk into that room on his arm. Not as a placeholder. Not as a guest. But as his.

 

[AJS Roleplaying]

AJ could see it - the subtle flicker of panic in her eyes, that barely masked hesitance. It tightened something in his chest. Maybe he was asking too much of her. Maybe this was too fast. The rational part of his mind chimed in, reminding him they'd only really known each other for a handful of weeks. A month and some change, if he was being generous. They were still navigating the awkward, blurry edges of whatever this was. Still learning what it meant to be near each other, to wake up tangled in unfamiliar sheets, to touch without flinching and speak without fear.

And beyond that - the mess they'd left behind was still smouldering. He was still, in the cold eyes of the law, married to Serena. A wife in name only, one whose presence in his life had long since become more ritual than reality. And Verena... Verena still had a ring from another man. James. That name barely felt real when AJ thought about her now. It was like trying to imagine her in a stranger's clothes, speaking someone else's lines. The truth was clear as day: those relationships were shells, ghosts of choices made out of expectation and convenience. Both of them had stepped out of those cages. But just because they'd left something behind didn't mean they needed to throw themselves into the next thing full-throttle.

Still, he wanted her. That much was undeniable. He wanted to wake up beside her without guilt threading through his spine. Wanted to introduce her to his world, not as a secret or a scandal, but as someone who mattered. He wanted her to see his life - unvarnished, chaotic, strange as it was - and decide to stay.

He softened his expression as he looked at her, trying to reassure without pushing. "My speech is in two hours, and the gala isn't until this evening," he said gently, his voice coated with warmth. "You'll have plenty of time to hit the shops if that's what you feel like." There was a quiet joke buried in there, a bit of levity meant to defuse the tension he sensed in her posture. "I'll have to stay on at the conference for a while after I'm done talking, but I'll meet you back here later."

His gaze lingered as he spoke. She was perched on the edge of the couch, his shirt hanging loose on her frame, the hem brushing just below the tops of her thighs. It was such a simple sight, but it lit up something primal in him. That particular brand of temptation that had defined the entire previous night surged back again - raw, shameless, beautiful. The way she wore his clothes made him feel territorial in a way he hadn't expected. Like some ancient, animal part of him was pleased by the sight of her wrapped in something that smelled like him.

Deviant thoughts crept in with ease. He remembered the sounds she made when she lost herself under him - the low moans, the urgent gasp of his name on her lips, the way her back arched as she came around his cock. That last time, just before they collapsed into sleep, had felt different. Slower, yes, but more intense. Like it wasn't just about getting off. Like they were testing something deeper, even if neither of them said it aloud.

He sat down beside her on the couch, close enough to feel the residual heat radiating from her skin. For a moment, he did nothing. Just took her in. The slope of her thighs, the way his shirt hung open at the top, hinting at the swell of her breasts. He didn't move to touch her again - not yet. There was no need to rush. They had time. He could afford to be patient, to let this thing between them unfold at its own pace. There was something thrilling about the restraint, too. About knowing he could take her again - have her squirming, begging - but choosing instead to just be near her. He leaned in, brushing a kiss against her lips. Not hurried. Not demanding. Just enough to taste her. A reminder, maybe. A promise.

Pulling back, he murmured, "I'm going to get ready." His voice was lower now, laced with something darker. A suggestion. A thread left dangling between them. "Maybe we can grab breakfast on the way to the conference."

He stood, hesitating a second longer than he needed to, letting his eyes trace one final path across her body before he turned away. That urge to take her again - it pulsed just beneath the surface - but he kept it in check. They had all day. All night. He didn't need to have her again just yet.

But fuck, he wanted to.​

 

[Kita-san]

Verena watched him as he spoke — the gentle cadence of his voice, the careful way he threaded warmth into every word. She saw the caution in his eyes, the thoughtfulness behind his tone. He was giving her space, offering her a way out, if she wanted it. That stirred something deep in her chest. A man like AJ didn't often ask. He offered. And this invitation — both the spoken and unspoken parts of it — meant something more than he was ready to name.

"I'll come to the speech," she said, her voice smooth, casual, as if this were any other morning and not one charged with everything they'd left unsaid. "And after that, I'll do a little damage downtown. Try on a dozen dresses, hate eleven of them, maybe fall in love with one."

When he kissed her, she leaned into it without hesitation, the press of his lips igniting a slow, deliberate heat that settled low in her stomach. It wasn't rushed, but it was there. That wanting. Still alive in the air between them, pulsing like electricity under the skin.

She smiled softly against his mouth as he pulled away, her fingers twitching with the instinct to tug him back. But she didn't. Not yet. “Mm ok.” She numbered softly when he got up off the couch. She watched as he paused which caused her lips to curl, not quite a smile — something more like a challenge, laced with affection. She let it sit there for a beat before standing up.
Verena stepped closer, closing the space between them until there was only a breath's worth of room. She tilted her chin up, her eyes locking onto his with a knowing spark.

She didn’t say anything, not yet. After being so close for a few seconds she turned to walk towards the bathroom. She let her hand drift down, brushing against his arm as she passed him, trailing her fingers lightly along the edge of his wrist. Barely a touch.

At the door to the bathroom, she paused. Her hand rested on the frame for a moment before she glanced back at him over her shoulder. The light caught the curve of her cheek, the glint of something mischievous in her eye.

"You said you were going to get ready," she said lightly, like it was just an observation. Then, after a breath, she added — entirely too casual, too offhand to be innocent —
"Shower's big enough for two, you know." She didn't wait for a response, just slipped into the bathroom with the sound of water running a few seconds later, the door left slightly ajar.

The bathroom was quiet except for the soft hiss of water as Verena turned the shower on, steam beginning to fog the edges of the mirror. She stood for a moment with her hand resting on the sink, as she looked herself over in the large bathroom mirror.

Verena braced her palms on the cool edge of the countertop and looked at herself in the mirror — his shirt still clinging to her, collar slightly askew, legs bare. She looked… not elegant. Not poised. Just real. Rumpled from sleep, soft from everything they'd done the night before, and still flushed with something quiet and alive. And she liked how she looked like this. In his shirt. In his space.

Verena smirked to herself , the water now warming the space like a cocoon. The mirror was clouded over, her reflection gone.
Her fingers moved to the hem of the shirt — slowly, not out of hesitation, but ceremony. She wasn't sure if he would come. She hadn't looked back after her invitation. She hadn't wanted to. Leaving the door open had been a gesture — not just about sex or even the teasing temptation of sharing a shower. It was about letting him in. About saying: I'm not going anywhere. Not yet. Maybe not for a while.

She pulled the shirt over head and rested on the bathroom counter before she stepped into the shower, the hot water cascading down her spine, steam curling around her shoulders like a veil. The heat was grounding, soothing — but it didn't erase the low, simmering ache that had been humming in her since he kissed her. Verena closed her eyes, letting the water wash over her, letting the morning soak into her skin. She wouldn't call to him. Wouldn't press.

But if he came through that door?

She knew exactly what she'd do.

 

[AJS Roleplaying]

"Shower's big enough for two, you know."

Those words echoed in AJ's mind like a bell struck too close to his ears, the kind of invitation that lingered long after it was spoken - suggestive, casual, but laced with undeniable heat. The water had already started running by the time she disappeared behind the bathroom door, the sound of it muffled but clear enough to make his imagination go into overdrive. Verena was in there now - naked, slick, surrounded by steam - and he was still standing here, half-dressed and fully stunned, wondering how the hell he got this lucky.

It wasn't just about sex. Not entirely, anyway. Sure, her body was outrageous - curves that didn't quit, lips he couldn't stop thinking about, and a confidence that practically dripped from her every move. But it was more than that. There was something about Verena that got under his skin, something that made him feel like he was always a step behind, trying to catch up to whatever game she was playing. Unlike Serena, who had once recoiled the moment he hinted at anything remotely adventurous, Verena was a storm wrapped in silk. She didn't need coaxing. She led.

And God, was he ready to follow. AJ didn't waste time second-guessing himself. Whatever this was, whatever it might turn into - or burn out as - he knew better than to leave that door unopened. Literally. He pushed it open with a slow, steady hand, and warm steam billowed out in a lazy wave that kissed his skin and beckoned him inside. His pulse ticked higher, blood buzzing just beneath the surface of his skin as he stepped into the fog-filled bathroom. The mirror was already fogged up, the edges of the glass blurred and dripping, and all he could see through the haze was the vague outline of her figure moving behind the glass panel of the shower.

But when he opened the door, clarity hit like a punch to the gut. There she was - back to him, skin glistening under the cascading water. The soft hiss of the spray filled the space, but it didn't drown out the wild rhythm of his heartbeat. His eyes traced the lines of her body, every dip and curve like a roadmap he already knew by instinct. The way her spine dipped into the swell of her lower back, how her hips flared out with unselfconscious grace, the round, perfect shape of her ass - it was all too much, too good. The kind of vision that made restraint feel like sacrilege.

He peeled off his boxers without ceremony, and stepped into the shower behind her. The warmth enveloped him, but it wasn't the water that sent the shiver through him - it was her. Just her presence. Her nearness. The scent of her body wash mixing with steam, the slight sway of her stance, the faint movement of her arm as she rinsed shampoo from her hair. AJ leaned in, close enough that he could feel the heat radiating off her, and pressed a slow kiss to her shoulder. The taste of her skin, warm and wet, made him groan low in his throat.

"You should be careful with invitations like that," he murmured against her flesh, letting his lips linger. "I might start thinking you like having me naked around you."

It was a tease, but there was an edge to it. He wanted her to hear it in his tone - that playful arrogance laced with honest hunger. Verena didn't make empty offers. She knew what she was doing when she said that, and he was going to take her up on it in full.

He slid his hands slowly over her hips, letting his fingers savour every inch. There was reverence in his touch, but no hesitation. He wasn't here to worship from a distance. He was here to claim. To show her just how much she'd ignited in him with a few simple words.

AJ let his palms explore - over her waist, down the sides of her thighs, up the smooth plane of her stomach. The water ran in rivulets between them, but the heat that built in his chest and groin had nothing to do with the temperature. His cock was already hard, already aching, brushing just barely against her ass with every small shift of his stance. The proximity was killing him. He leaned in again, closer this time, lips ghosting over the nape of her neck, breathing in the intoxicating mix of warm skin and dripping wet hair.

"God, you have no idea what you do to me," he whispered, his voice a little rough now, less composed.

This wasn't about control - it was about abandon. He was letting go, letting himself get swept up in her again, just like he had the night before. Only now it was wetter, hotter, and even more dangerous. Because with Verena, nothing was ever just physical. There was always a look, a pause, a smirk that said she knew exactly how far into her orbit he'd already fallen.

And AJ? He wasn't even trying to pull away.​

 

[Kita-san]

The moment Verena heard the quiet sound of the door opening behind her, something in her chest fluttered. It wasn't surprise — she knew he'd follow. She'd felt it in the weight of his gaze, in the tension strung between his words and the quiet hunger simmering beneath his restraint. But hearing him choose her space, step into it, felt like more than just desire. It felt like trust. Like intention.

The warmth of the water coursed over her skin, the scent of eucalyptus and citrus lingering from her shampoo as she leaned into the stream, eyes closed. She didn't turn around. Didn't rush. She wanted him to see her like this — bare, quiet, completely unguarded. This wasn't a performance. This was her, stripped of everything but the morning and the man she was beginning to let in.

When she felt the heat of his body behind her, the closeness of him in the steam-thick air, her breath caught — not from nerves, but from that low, coiling satisfaction that came from being wanted. He didn't touch her right away, but she felt him — his energy, his gaze, the almost reverent pause before his lips pressed to her shoulder.

The kiss sent a shiver racing down her spine, though the water was already hot. She tilted her head slightly, allowing him more access, her lips curving into a slow, secret smile as he spoke.

God, he was insufferable — and irresistible.

Verena bit back a laugh, letting it pool behind her lips like honey. He had no idea how much she liked it. Or maybe he did — and that was the game they were playing now.

"Mmm," she murmured, tilting her head back so her wet hair clung to her shoulders like ribbons. "Who said I don't?"

She kept her voice low, silky, but didn't look at him. Not yet. Let him linger in the not-knowing, in the build. Let him wonder just how far she'd let this go. Her body shifted slightly when his hands found her hips, and her breath hitched again at the slow, worshipful way he touched her. She wasn't used to this kind of attention — the kind that wasn't hurried or purely hungry, but intentional. Each pass of his fingers felt like a promise, like he was learning her shape the way a blind man learns the lines of a sculpture: slowly, carefully, with awe.

And then she felt him — his cock brushing against her, hard and hot and unmistakably ready — and a slow, delicious tension coiled low in her stomach.

The second kiss came at the nape of her neck, and this time, her knees nearly buckled. Not because he was taking, but because he wasn't. Because he was still holding back, still reverent even as his want made the air thick between them. His voice wasn't smooth anymore. It was rough. Raw. And real.

Verena finally turned her head, just enough to glance back at him, the corner of her mouth curling with that same quiet confidence she always wore when she knew the upper hand was slipping back into her. "I think I'm starting to," she whispered, her eyes locking onto his — wet lashes, damp cheeks, pupils dark with desire. "And I like it."

She reached back then, slow and sure, finding his thigh with her fingers, letting her hand slide up, teasing along the edge of where he met her — not quite touching him fully, just enough to tease. Her own hunger was building, yes, but this moment wasn't about rushing. It was about having.

And she had him.

Here in this moment — wet, breathless, undone — she felt something like joy stir beneath the surface of her skin. Not just from his body pressing against hers or the heat curling low in her belly, but from this, from the softness of morning and the sheer rightness of him being there. AJ, with all his quiet control, was unspooling in her hands.

And God, she loved watching him.

Her hands moved slowly, deliberately, trailing up the length of his forearms—wet, sinewed, powerful. She felt the subtle tension beneath his skin, the way he held her with both care and possession, and her fingers rested lightly over his where they gripped her hips, anchoring her in place.

She let her palms settle there for a moment—simple, quiet contact—and then leaned back into him fully, giving in to the welcome weight and warmth of his body. His chest pressed against her back, hard and unyielding, every breath syncing with hers like an invisible rhythm drawn between them. The curve of her ass fit against his hips as if molded by design, and when she shifted ever so slightly, she could feel the full effect of his arousal—a thick, unmistakable presence nestled right where her body had already begun to ache.

The wet slide of skin against skin made the moment feel even more intimate, elemental. It wasn't just arousal—it was closeness. It was comfort. It was that dangerous but thrilling sense of being wanted without condition.

Verena turned her head again, slowly, her eyes searching his. There was something quiet in her gaze—tender, unguarded. No coyness, no veils. Just the simple, quiet truth of her wanting him too.

Her lips met his in a kiss that was firm and intentional, but unhurried. She let it build from the initial press—warm and lingering—into something deeper. Her mouth moved against his with a kind of confidence that came from knowing exactly what he needed before he even asked. Her hand slipped up, fingers curling around the back of his neck, drawing him closer as water ran in rivulets down their bodies.

 

[AJS Roleplaying]

When Verena stepped back and the last inch of space between them vanished, AJ felt her ass press flush against him, the firm curve fitting perfectly against his groin. The contact sent a jolt through his entire body, intensifying the ache already simmering in his cock. He was already hard - had been since the moment he'd joined her under the warm cascade of water - but now he felt himself thicken further, swelling with the kind of urgent tension that begged for release. Still, he wasn't about to let his body dictate the pace. Not yet. His restraint held strong, if only just. His mind was in control for the time being, determined to savour this moment rather than surrender to the primal impulse clawing its way through him.

The kiss came next. Soft at first, a mere press of lips, then deeper, wetter - more demanding. AJ responded with a hunger that surprised even him, meeting her mouth with fervour, his tongue sweeping over hers, tasting the warmth and need that radiated from her. Their mouths moved together with a rhythm that felt almost instinctive, a shared language forged in heat and mutual desire. He had come to relish this part of their connection more than he expected - the way their kisses carried a silent conversation, revealing things words could never quite capture. Every movement, every breath, every subtle shift of her lips told him just how much she wanted him. Just how much she needed this.

His hands moved instinctively, sliding from her hips, gliding over slick, wet skin as they travelled upward. Her body was warm beneath the falling water, slick and inviting. His fingers curved along her sides, tracing the contours he was already so familiar with, and yet never tired of discovering. When his palms found her breasts, he let them rest there for a long moment, appreciating the full weight of them in his hands. They fit perfectly. Full, firm, and impossibly soft. He cupped them, thumbs brushing gently across the tips until they stiffened under his touch. Then he gave them the attention they deserved - kneading slowly, deliberately, rolling her nipples between his fingers and eliciting a quiet satisfaction from the way they responded.

The kiss deepened in tandem with his touch, their mouths now moving with a need that couldn't be hidden. There was a growing urgency in everything - the way they breathed, the way his hands explored her body, the way their lips seemed reluctant to part. The teasing was giving way to something hungrier, a more pressing desire that pushed them closer to the edge.

One of his hands left her chest, sliding downward again with purpose. It moved across her belly, slow and deliberate, each inch heightening the anticipation that buzzed between them. His fingers dipped lower, brushing through the neatly trimmed patch of hair that framed her sex. He could feel the heat radiating from her, even through the wash of water. It only made him more eager. His fingers found her clit with a practiced certainty, immediately rewarded by the subtle twitch of her body against him.

He began to stroke gently, letting the water from the shower cascade between them, providing a natural, sensual glide that enhanced every movement. The slickness made each circle of his fingers more fluid, more intimate, and he adjusted his pressure with a precision born of experience. He wasn't trying to rush this. Quite the opposite. Every slow, deliberate pass of his fingers was meant to linger, to make her feel everything. His cock ached against her, pressed firm and unrelenting into the soft curve of her ass, but he didn't move to enter her yet. This moment - the tease, the build-up - was too good to waste. He was going to draw it out, for both their sakes.

AJ's breaths came heavier now, not from exertion, but from the overwhelming intimacy of the moment. The steam from the water thickened around them, turning the shower into a cocoon of heat and sensation. His mind danced between control and desperation, constantly reining himself in while every nerve in his body screamed to give in. But he held steady, letting the moment stretch.

His hand worked with measured intent between her thighs, fingers slipping through her folds, coaxing more from her with each careful touch. He could feel how ready she was - how her body responded to every small movement with shivers and shifts he could sense even without looking. And still, he didn't let himself rush. There would be time to slide into her, to bury himself in the tight, wet heat he knew so well. But this was about more than just fucking. This was about making her melt before he even got that far.

He leaned in again, brushing his lips along the curve of her neck, feeling the droplets of water collect and slide down her skin. Everything about her invited him in - the scent of her, the heat, the way her body responded so beautifully to his touch. His cock throbbed insistently against her ass, and he knew it wouldn't be much longer before his restraint finally broke.

But for now, he let his fingers speak for him, kept his pace steady and deliberate, determined to make her come undone in his hands before anything else. He had time. Not forever - but enough to make this a shower neither of them would forget.​

 

[Kita-san]

Verena, with a confident and deliberate motion, pressed herself against AJ, ensuring that every inch of her body connected with his. She could feel the rigid length of his erection against her ass, a testament to his arousal, and it sent a thrill through her. She knew he was already hard, but the way he thickened further as she ground against him only intensified her own desire. His restraint was evident, but she could sense the primal urge just beneath the surface, waiting to be unleashed.

Verena's tongue explored his mouth with a fervor that matched his own, their breaths mingling in a dance as old as time. The way their bodies communicated in a language that words could never capture. Every movement, every breath, every subtle shift of their lips told a story of desire and longing.

With every slow, deliberate touch, Verena's body responded with a near-frantic sensitivity—like every nerve was tuned only to him. The way his hands moved over her skin, firm but reverent, set off a cascade of heat low in her belly, and each subtle shift of his fingers drew out a new wave of pleasure she couldn't quite contain. Her breathing grew uneven, lips parting in a quiet gasp as her head tilted instinctively to the side, offering him her neck like it was the most natural thing in the world. The moment his lips brushed that tender stretch of skin, she felt the pleasure bloom and scatter through her like sparks catching fire.

She wasn't thinking about the shampoo bottle on the ledge or the stream of water pouring down from above. The original reason for stepping into the shower had all but vanished—cleansing was no longer the goal. This had become something else entirely. A slow burn. A quiet surrender. A moment she didn't want to rush.

One of her hands drifted back, fingers threading wetly through the short hair at the nape of AJ's neck. She let her palm rest there, grounding herself in him. She didn't tug or pull—just held him close, letting the warmth of her touch speak where words weren't needed. It was encouragement. Permission. A soft, silent plea for more of the exquisite torment he was giving her.

AJ's mouth moved over her neck with infuriating patience, trailing wet kisses down to the dip of her shoulder and back again. Every breath he took sent a shiver down her spine, every shift of his body against hers made her knees feel just a little less certain. Her legs were starting to tremble, the tension curling through her muscles like a storm building, and she had to plant her feet more firmly to stay upright.

She was losing her ability to stay still, to breathe evenly, to think straight—and she loved it.

Still, Verena held on to the moment with surprising control. There was a hunger growing between them, something raw and undeniable, but she wasn't ready to give in. Not yet. There was power in the tease, in the way his hands made promises without rushing to fulfill them. Her body ached for more, but she was determined to stretch the space between almost and enough just a little longer. There was magic in the waiting—in this slow, delicious unraveling.

This wasn't just foreplay.

This was worship, discovery, connection—all of it wrapped in steam and the rhythm of their bodies drawing closer, tighter, deeper into each other.

And Verena, biting back a moan as his fingers resumed their slow, perfect path, knew one thing with certainty: She never wanted this shower to end.

 

[AJS Roleplaying]

AJ wanted to stay in this moment longer. The slow burn between them, the lingering teasing, the languid rhythm of bodies orbiting each other just out of reach - it was intoxicating. He craved more of it, the way anticipation curled low in his abdomen, the way every near-touch set his skin aflame. He wanted to stretch the morning into eternity, to remain in this suspended state of yearning and playful denial. But time was not on their side, and reality - annoying, insistent, and inevitable - was already nudging at the edges of the moment.

Still, he reminded himself, this wouldn't be their last encounter. Not even close. What had sparked between them was not a fleeting indulgence; it had substance, gravity, the promise of recurrence. Their chemistry wasn't fragile or tentative. It had surged to life fully formed, unrelenting in its demand. Whatever came next, this was merely the beginning.

His lips stayed busy as his thoughts drifted. He trailed kisses down the delicate column of her throat, adding soft licks and the occasional playful nip with his teeth. He was intoxicated by the scent of her skin - clean, warm, touched with something unmistakably feminine and just a little wild. His cock, painfully hard, now nestled between her thighs, was rewarded with slick warmth as it slid along the length of her slit. The heat of her arousal, unmistakable and unabashed, coated him with proof that she was just as ready as he was. There was no hesitation in her body, no uncertainty. Only invitation. That was all the permission he needed.

With care, he slid one of her legs into the crook of his arm, lifting it slightly and shifting his hips for a better angle. The movement wasn't rushed; it was confident, steady. He gripped her firmly to hold her in place, savouring the intimacy of the moment just before connection. Then, slowly, he began to press into her.

The resistance was minimal. She welcomed him easily, her body yielding with such ease it made him groan aloud. Inch by inch, he sank into her, the tight heat of her pussy enveloping his cock until he was fully buried inside her. He paused, not out of hesitation, but to appreciate the full-body jolt of pleasure that came with being so completely joined with her.

It was impossible to believe that this was still so new between them. Less than ten hours ago, they'd crossed the boundary from flirtation to something much more raw and consuming. And yet, the way their bodies moved together, the way they found rhythm without words or signals, suggested a kind of familiarity that usually came only with time. He felt no awkwardness, no fumbling. There was only instinct. Only need.

He adjusted his footing, widening his stance for better leverage, and began to thrust. Not roughly, not with haste, but with a purposeful cadence that built heat with every stroke. One hand gripped her hip, steadying her and guiding her in sync with his movements. The other supported her leg, the bend of her thigh opening her up to him in a way that allowed deeper, more precise penetration.

Each thrust drew a groan from his throat, the sensation of her wrapped so tightly around him teetering on the edge of unbearable. She was impossibly wet now, each motion accompanied by the slick, sinful sound of sex. Her body welcomed him, clenched around him, moved with him. It was everything he had imagined, and somehow so much more.

He looked down to where they were joined and felt a surge of possessive desire that made his thrusts deepen. She took every inch of him, over and over, her body moulding around his cock like it was meant to be there. The way her hips tilted, the way she angled herself to meet his rhythm - it all fed the fire raging through him.

Their pace built gradually, the tension twisting tighter with each movement. Sweat began to bead on his brow, and his breath grew more ragged. Still, he held back, savouring every second, dragging it out because he didn't want this to end. He wanted to fuck her until she trembled from the force of it. He wanted her to remember the way he felt inside her, the way he moved, the way he filled her so completely that nothing else could compare.​

 

[Kita-san]

Verena's breath hitched as AJ carefully lifted her leg, positioning himself for entry. Time seemed to slow down as he positioned her. Her heart pounded in her chest, anticipation coursing through her veins as she waited for that first initial feeling being penetrated. When it came, it was slow and deliberate, a deliberate invasion that made her gasp. Her eyes fluttering closed as she focused on the sensation of him filling her. Inch by inch, he sank deeper, her body yielding to his with an ease that surprised even her. She was incredibly wet, her body more than ready to accommodate him, and the feeling of being stretched and filled was intoxicating. She could feel every vein, every ridge of his cock as he slid into her, and it sent shivers of pleasure down her spine.

When he was fully sheathed inside her, he paused, and Verena could feel the tremor that ran through his body, a testament to the control he was exerting. She opened her eyes and stared at the tiled shower wall in front of her. She couldn’t believe how good she felt already. She hoped she had the same affect on him as he had on her.

His movements started slow, a purposeful rocking of his hips that sent waves of pleasure crashing through her. Each thrust was precise, hitting all the right spots, and she could feel her body responding, clenching around him, begging for more. The hand on her hip held her firmly in place, guiding her to meet his thrusts, while the other supported her leg, opening her up to him completely. Soft gentle moans left Verena lips which each thrusts. The way he moved inside of her felt different than last night, each position offered a different type of pleasure.

When AJ increased the pace Verena couldn’t help but reach forward, placing the palm of her hands flat against the shower wall. This allowed for her hips to behind, body arch and give AJ the ability to thrust a bit deeper with more ease. The force of his thrusts making the bathroom echo with the wet, slapping sounds of their bodies coming together. Verena's eyes closed again as she gave herself over to the sensations.

Every nerve in her body was alight, every touch, every movement sending her higher and higher. She could feel the tension building in her, the fire was growing in her lower stomach. She listened to AJ’s breathing, his low growls and grunts were all so tempting to Verena. She noticed he was drawing out this situation and his pleasure. A small smirk formed on her lips at the thought of this. He savoring every second, and it only heightened her own pleasure, knowing that he was so deeply affected by her.

Verena's own body was winding tighter, the pressure building in her core, threatening to explode. Their bodies moved in sync, their breaths mingled, their hearts pounded in unison. It was primal, it was raw, and it was perfect.

The last time she had sex in a shower was many moons ago. Again she couldn’t remember it being this passionate, this good. AJ’s hips moved with a relentless rhythm, his cock hitting all the right spots, sending her spiraling towards the edge. She could feel it building, the orgasm that was going to shatter her. Of course she would welcome it and embrace it when it arrived.

 

[AJS Roleplaying]

AJ's groans deepened, resonating with a raw, primal edge as the dynamic between their bodies subtly shifted. When Verena leaned forward and braced herself against the cool, tiled wall, the change in angle was immediate, tangible. He felt it - the way her body opened for him just a fraction more, how the new position allowed him to drive deeper, burying himself into her with a fullness that bordered on overwhelming. Every inch of him was enveloped in velvety heat, her slickness offering no resistance, only welcome. Her pussy gripped him with a divine pressure that seemed almost unreal, clinging to his length with a rhythm of its own, pulsing and fluttering around him like a secret promise.

It was the kind of sensation that teased the edge of self-control. He could fuck her harder, faster - the wetness between them made it possible - but he resisted the urge to rush, knowing that the build-up, the deliberate cadence of his thrusts, would be all the more rewarding in the end. His hips rolled with purpose, each stroke a deliberate claim, his cock dragging along every sensitive ridge inside her. The friction was bliss, the kind of physical intoxication that turned thought to static.

There was power in it - not just the act, but in how freely she gave herself to him. She wasn't submitting out of weakness or obligation; it was something else entirely, something purer. She let him take her this way because she wanted to. Because she trusted him. Because she knew he wouldn't misuse what she offered so willingly. That truth settled somewhere deep in his chest, even as lust continued to dominate his senses. He never took that kind of surrender for granted. It wasn't just sex. It was connection, it was intimacy laced in sweat and heat and the quiet understanding that came from two people giving in to something raw and untamed.

He felt the tightening in his core building again - impossibly soon, but undeniably real. His third climax in less than eight hours. It was madness. It was indulgence. And yet, his body responded to her as if he hadn't come at all today. He was ravenous for her, addicted to the wet clutch of her pussy and the soft tremble of her body meeting every thrust he gave. He felt her muscles tightening again too, the telltale signs that she was right there with him, teetering on the edge of her own release.

His hips snapped forward with renewed intensity, his thrusts becoming longer, deeper, more deliberate - each one coaxing her toward the brink. He could feel her fluttering around him, close, so close, and the urgency twisted through him like a fuse about to blow. His hand gripped her hip tighter, anchoring them together, grounding them in this chaotic pleasure. His other arm burned with exertion, but he barely noticed - every nerve in his body was on fire, and all of it centred on where they joined.

His breath caught in his throat, ragged and uneven. He was close. His balls tightened, his stomach clenched, and that roaring wave of inevitability crested within him. It built in his spine, his gut, the base of his cock. Then, like lightning cleaving the sky, he came.

The orgasm ripped through him, white-hot and relentless. His cock pulsed deep inside her, ropes of cum spilling into the wet heat of her. His hips didn't stop, couldn't stop - even as his muscles spasmed and his body shook, he kept moving, chasing every drop of pleasure to its end. The release was both violent and beautiful, an explosion of sensation that left him trembling, nearly gasping.

His forehead dropped forward, sweat beading on his skin, the exertion and ecstasy colliding into a dizzying aftermath. Still inside her, still wrapped in her heat, he caught his breath slowly. His chest rose and fell with a rhythm that gradually steadied, though the echo of his climax still lingered in his bones.

In the quiet aftershock, something unspoken hung in the air - not just satisfaction, but connection. The kind that outlasts the act itself. She had given him everything in that moment. And he had taken it not with entitlement, but with reverence. He always would.​

 

[Kita-san]

No words were necessary. Verena didn't need to ask, didn't need confirmation—she felt everything she needed to know in the way AJ's body moved with hers. His breath against her skin, the tension in his grip, the way his hips pressed forward with unspoken urgency—it was all a silent language written in flesh and heat. Every stroke, every shift, every low grunt of pleasure between them communicated a devotion to her pleasure that left her trembling.

Her back arched as her chest pressed into the stream of hot water, the tile slick beneath her palms. She dug her nails into it, needing something to ground herself. Her mouth parted in a gasp she couldn't suppress. Her body was on fire—every nerve ending felt illuminated, tingling with sensation. She was weightless and overwhelmed all at once, caught in a storm of heat and hunger. It was maddening how effortlessly AJ read her body—like he'd been made specifically to draw every ounce of pleasure from her.

Her head dropped forward, lips catching against the inside of her arm as she bit down softly—trying and failing to muffle a moan. The peak came fast and sharp, like lightning crashing through her, and then…

She felt him. The exact moment he released inside her—deep, warm, and claiming. It triggered something in her that unraveled everything all at once. A wave of intense, searing pleasure surged through her, and Verena cried out, unabashed and unfiltered. Her body arched into his, spine curved like a bow, mouth falling open as her orgasm tore through her. For those few seconds, she was suspended—somewhere between ecstasy and surrender.

It took minutes before the tremors faded, before her breathing slowed enough to speak. She lowered the leg AJ had been holding, grateful for the support he'd given her even in the throes of their passion. Her thighs trembled beneath her, the aftermath leaving her legs weak and unsteady. The flush on her cheeks had nothing to do with the heat of the shower. She turned to face him—eyes still slightly dazed, lips curved into a knowing smile—and without hesitation, kissed him.

It was tender, but filled with gratitude. A kiss that said more than any compliment could. When their lips parted, a mischievous smirk curled on her mouth, her fingers trailing briefly down his chest. She didn't need to say it aloud—her expression made it clear: he'd ruined her in the best way possible. And maybe more than just physically.

"Let's get ready for your conference," she finally murmured, her voice still laced with softness and something deeper—something belonging.

She turned, reaching for the lavender-scented soap and washing herself one last time, the soothing scent wrapping around her like comfort. As she stepped out of the shower, she wrapped a towel around her damp body and reached for the hairdryer, her mind already trailing ahead. She could see it so vividly—AJ standing at the front of the room, commanding attention not with volume, but with quiet authority. That subtle magnetism. She wanted to witness that part of him. To be part of that world.

This was the kind of partnership she'd always dreamed of. Something built on mutual energy and respect. Something she'd hoped for with James, but never quite received. With AJ, she wasn't an afterthought. She felt… seen. Wanted. Included.

She twisted her wavy, drying locs into a high ponytail, letting the sleekness highlight her cheekbones. Her reflection stared back, flushed and glowing, a soft smile tugging at the corners of her lips as she dressed: tailored black slacks that hugged her hips and thighs just right, paired with a soft sky-blue blouse that shimmered against her warm skin. When she tucked the blouse in and added a slim belt, her silhouette took on a clean, confident elegance. Casual black heels added a few inches to her frame, and a dab of rose-hued lipstick brought out the plushness of her mouth.

Before she left the bathroom, she gave herself one last look in the mirror. Not just to check her outfit—but to acknowledge the feeling bubbling inside her. Excitement. Affection. Anticipation.

Verena was ready. Not just for the conference, but for whatever came next—with AJ.

 

[AJS Roleplaying]

AJ saw it in her eyes the moment she turned around - everything she'd felt, everything she couldn't or wouldn't say aloud, was right there. It radiated from her like heat, as unmistakable as it was intense. And then the kiss - slow, deliberate, and full of unspoken meaning - confirmed what he'd sensed. There were no words needed, not between them. That kiss was its own language. It said thank you, yes, but it also said more. It was admiration. It was surrender. It was power returned after being given freely. That kind of validation struck deep, even in a man like AJ. Though his confidence was rarely shaken and his masculine pride well-established, there was something uniquely satisfying about the kind of pleasure that left a woman wordless - pleasure that bypassed verbal appreciation entirely and settled into a kiss that lingered on the lips and in the mind. It didn't hurt his ego, not in the slightest. If anything, it inflated it, made it puff its chest out and strut like a victorious general surveying a battlefield. But this wasn't about conquest. This was something else. Deeper. Older. A quiet satisfaction that hummed under his skin like a remembered melody.

After drying off with a thick white towel, he ran a comb through his hair, brushed his teeth, and misted himself lightly with cologne - just enough to tease, never to overpower. He moved with the practiced efficiency of a man who knew exactly what suited him and never had to second-guess. When he emerged from the bathroom into the suite, his eyes found her immediately. She stood there like the room was hers, not in the possessive way, but as though she belonged effortlessly. There was something magnetic about her in that moment, not just in how she looked - but in how she carried herself. It wasn't just the outfit, though it flattered her in all the ways that mattered. It was the quiet power, the innate confidence that now shimmered off her skin like heatwaves on asphalt. He found himself pausing for a moment, appreciating the totality of her presence. Was this the real Verena, finally allowed to stretch out into the space she deserved? He hoped so. He really, really did.

As he passed her, he gave her a kiss - brief, but meaningful - and let his eyes linger in appreciation, not of the body she carried, but the woman she was becoming in front of him. Then he turned his attention to his own wardrobe. He pulled on a tailored navy blue suit, one that fit like it had been cut from the fabric of his own posture. The crisp white shirt underneath was worn without a tie - he didn't like them, and the occasion didn't require that kind of restraint. His style was deliberate, not performative. A quiet kind of elegance that didn't scream for attention but earned it anyway. Matching leather shoes, polished to a soft gleam, completed the look. There was no need for more.

AJ looked at himself in the mirror only once. Not out of vanity, but to confirm a feeling. He looked good. But more importantly, he felt composed. Grounded. Ready. When he turned back toward her, she was waiting. Without hesitation, he extended his hand to her - not as a command, not as an expectation, but as a gesture. An offering. An invitation to move forward together. His voice was steady, warm, and quietly certain.

"Ready?"​