“This is a first for me,” Miho mused thoughtfully, a wistful smile on her lips.
“Which part?” Goto enquired, studying her face carefully for any signs of displeasure.
He found none.
“Well, usually at this stage in proceedings the client chooses a more private venue,” she explained, looking around the sun-drenched park, across sprawling green and all the way down to a children’s playground where kids of various ages were playing happily. “Nothing in your file suggested exhibitionist to me,” she added a little cheekily, narrowing her eyes on his. “Naughty secret perhaps?”
This caused Goto to very nearly spit out the grape he’d just popped into his mouth, and colour flashed in his cheeks.
“That, is entirely adorable,” Miho laughed, then stretched a little in her semi reclined position on the picnic rug.
The setup was picture perfect, from the weather, the carefully selected food, to the lop-sided, slight upturn of his polo shirt’s collar.
“So if it’s not exhibitionism, Mr. Goto,” she began again, reaching slowly over the picnic basket that separated them, to carefully tweak his collar to its correct position, “why the park, may I ask?”
“You’re not enjoying the great outdoors?” he questioned, now smiling a little.
“Oh no, I enjoy a roll in the verdant green as much as the next girl,” she chuckled, reaching for a strawberry, only to find her hand colliding with his.
“Sorry,” he apologised, and Miho emitted a small sigh.
“If you are uncomfortable…”
“No, no it’s not that,” he interrupted, black bangs swiping a slightly creased forehead as he shook his head and picked up a piece of fruit. “Peace, and dates are few and far between.”
“All the more reason to get in some practice while you can,” Miho pointed out, taking his wrist before he could eat the strawberry in his hold. “I don’t bite you know,” she told him gently, lifting his hand toward her own mouth, “unless you ask me nicely.”
He looked surprised, but when she released his wrist he completed the mission she’d given him.
The pointed tip of the strawberry pressed lightly against her lower lip, before sliding gently into the warm moist of her mouth. She held his gaze as she bit down, suggestively sucking on the remaining nub before allowing him to lower his hand.
“Mm,” she smiled as she chewed, then swallowed. “Still,” she continued, slowly running her tongue over her lips, “I know you agreed on the complete package, and you’ll be billed accordingly, but you’re perfectly within your rights to decide my profile is comprehensive enough without proceeding further.”
Goto seemed to consider this, staring into the fruit dish.
“That seems like a bit of a waste,” he assessed, seemingly to himself as he took up a grape and then rose it of his own volition, to Miho’s mouth.
“That’s the spirit,” she grinned, drawing the grape and the tip of his thumb and index finger between her lips, suckling gently before releasing all three. “Tell me,” she went on, purposefully lying herself back to obscure her face from him. “What’s holding you back? According to your own responses to our profiling questions, I’m aesthetically very much your type.”
Though she could not see, Goto frowned a little, peering at the picnic basket handle before picking up the item that blocked her and placing it on the other side of him.
Miho just turned her head and smiled up at him like she didn’t have a care in the world: expecting an answer, but not troubled by how long it took him to articulate it.
“You’re right,” he said finally, fishing out a raspberry next, deep red juices staining his skin, before leaning himself on one elbow beside her and making his offering. “You are very attractive, and I would be lying if I said…”
But he stopped there.
“If you said..?” she prompted, just before the slightly tart berry disappeared.
Again he paused before answering, his fingertips brushing across her lips slowly, tracing, and Miho had to fight the urge to lick at them playfully.
“If I didn’t want all of what I’ve paid for. But…” he filled in, his eyes conflicted, and in them Miho discerned his quandary.
“But, here you are seeking the services of MJS with the purpose of finding the perfect wife,” she determined with gentle wryness, “which includes payment for sex.”
At this his eyes widened a little, and he rushed to offer further explanation.
“That isn’t what I’m saying – you’re not a…”
“Prostitute?” Miho offered, and Goto’s distress deepened, until she took his hand and held it above her face.
She inspected it, the lines and creases, her thumb working against the slight coarseness of his palm as she spoke.
“I know you don’t think that,” she declared. “And I certainly do not consider myself to be one – the truth is, what MJS provides is a number of diagnostic tools, and sex is merely one of them.”
“That clinical huh?” he murmured.
There was no resistance, Goto gazing at her honestly even as she placed his hand against the far side of her rib cage.
“No,” she replied, shaking her head as his fingers twitched, but remained where they were, “that is the last thing you need.”
His root of his uncertainty was admirable, Miho would concede that, but at the same time somewhat maddening. Everything so far had been utterly delightful; Goto was a true gentleman with an eye for detail and true consideration for his company’s contentment, but Miho found his struggle against her infuriating. Now, the light pressure of his broad hand offered her something tangible; she wanted to feel that sweet pressure all over, and yet its denial was also some terrible form of twisted pleasure in itself.
And he was completely unaware of it.
Suppressing her sigh this time, biting her lip, she wriggled a lovely piece of bling from her right hand, and offered it to him.
“Here,” she encouraged, making eye contact with him again. “Take it.”
Expecting further instruction, Goto did as she asked, then looked to the left hand she held out to him.
“For today, take me as your wife,” she directed, and though her tone was soft and even, she was sure to convey to him through her gaze, this was an intentional challenge. “Then, do with me as you would your wife. No more doubt, no more uncertainty, just the woman you love and who loves you.”
“This is a first for me,” he smiled, echoing Miho’s earlier statement clearly despite the evidence of warmth in his cheeks once more. “I’ve never been proposed to before.”
Miho laughed, then shifted slightly against the increased weight of his touch at her waist.
“Well, I can honestly say it’s the first time I’ve proposed,” she grinned up at him. “So what do you say, Mr. Goto?”
“I say,” he began, walking his hand up her side until he could brush her cheek with the back of it, “my wife would call me Seiji.”
The ring slipped onto her left hand ring finger, before Goto lightly kissed it. Miho let out a satisfied breath, eyes closing just slightly as his fingers threaded tenderly through her hair, drawing it over her shoulder and smoothing it around the curve of her left breast.
But her eyes opened when he sat up, the much anticipated reward she had expected never eventuating.
Hmm, who knew he was such a tease?
“Don’t look so disappointed,” Goto laughed, and in the first real sign of proactivity, he took hold of her elbows and eased her up into a sitting position.
“Well if I am, it’s entirely your fault, Seiji,” she responded seriously, but didn’t pout – he didn’t seem like the type for pouting.
“I’ll make it up to you,” he nodded slowly, touching her hair lightly once more, and Miho shivered. “If you’re finished eating, let’s get out of here.”
“Oh, my appetite is now hankering for something else entirely,” she smirked. “And to think, all I had to do to get you to touch me, was temporarily give up my sad, solitary life.”
“You don’t seem all that sad to me,” he pointed out as he began to put things back into the basket. “And solitary, that surprises me.”
“I will not lie about what I do; I will own every word I speak and every action I undertake, every choice,” she responded with shrug. “And so, what man in his right mind would want to dedicate himself to a woman who does what I do?”
“Mm, you have a point,” he agreed, and Miho looked away to the sound of a child calling for his mother.
And that allowed her the additional chance to hide just how deeply his agreement cut, even though it had been her point in the first place.
“You know, you probably shouldn’t just shove all those dirty plates in there,” she declared as she returned her focus to Goto, cheerful once more, and she stood, snatching the picnic basket away from him. “Let me rinse them in the washroom first.”
“That isn’t necessary,” he argued, scowling, but she just smiled back at him with perfect confidence.
“Whether something is necessary or not, isn’t a determining factor in whether one should do or not do it, in a marriage,” she philosophised; and she had been married once, a long time ago it seemed. “I won’t be long.”
With that, she shouldered her handbag, and took the picnic basket in the direction of the public washroom.
When she was out of sight, her shoulders slumped a little despite herself.
“Marry me for today? What the fuck, Miho?” she muttered harshly, stomping into the ridiculously clean ladies’ bathroom and all but tossing the bowls and plates into the nearest sink.
Shaking her head, she glared at herself in the mirror as she turned on the taps.
“Jazz and Selina will have your ass, again,” she told herself bitterly, then smirked. “Okay, maybe not Jazz since the Aikawa job.”
This was her last session with Goto before he finalised her report; the exhaustive and thorough procedures of MJS did allow the girls to come to know their clients exceptionally well in a very short space of time.
There was very little she didn’t know about him.
On the flip side, all he really knew about her was her job, and the bits and pieces she’d revealed to encourage him to open up more.
“Just do your god damned job, Miho,” she grunted, stacking the plates and placing them carefully back into the picnic basket. “Do your damned job, and do him,” she added, trying to shrug off her irritation.
But when she exited the washroom and looked down the slope to where the blanket had been spread out, there was nothing.
Frowning she peered around, searching as she headed back in that direction.
Surely he hasn’t made a run for it?
Then she was jerked suddenly sideways into some bushes and shoved against the rough bark of a tree, a large hand covering her mouth, the other wrapping quickly round her.
In fright she dropped the basket that made a significant noise until it settled in the undergrowth. With wide eyes and a gasp trapped in her throat, she stared at the cheek of her attacker’s turned face, unconsciously digging her fingernails into the arm she had managed to grasp.
“Sorry,” Goto apologised, a whisper in her hair as he glanced at her, such was their proximity. “Could you just bear with me for a moment?”
Blinking slowly, and trying to quieten the thunderous pounding of her heart, Miho nodded, though her bewildered expression told him he had certainly rattled her. His entire body, however, pressed her firmly against the tree trunk – his chest crushed against her breasts, one of his legs just slightly between hers.
Slowly his hand fell away, and he finally looked properly into her face.
“I’m sorry,” he told her again softly, his fingers lingering against her lips for a few seconds longer until they made actual eye contact.
In those dark grey meres, she found a keenness that hadn’t been there before, an alertness shining brightly with confidence. The flirty one liner that rolled so naturally to the tip of her tongue was swallowed down – this wasn’t an act of spontaneous romance, no, suddenly Miho saw him in full uniform. So she said nothing.
“If he gets any closer, I’m going to have to kiss you,” he asserted, looking between her and someone beyond the bushes she could not see. “I’ll explain later,” he promised, gaze almost painfully honest. “Do you trust me?”
A whole new wooooooorld?
“Yes,” she exhaled, and while he glanced away once more, his fingers ghosted up her jawline before his thumb settled against her cheekbone.
“Good, because he’s coming this way,” he reported, and this time when he re-established eye contact it seemed locked there. “Looks like you get to be my work wife too,” he added with a candid, sincere smile, that had Miho’s grip on him tightening even before his lips made soft contact.
It was careful, each slight tip of his chin as he kissed her not a tease, but sweetly coaxing her to engage with him more deeply.
Allowing the knowledge their embrace had been born from some undisclosed necessity, Miho allowed herself to be consumed by the sensation of his hand sliding to her hip, wrapped up in the faint scent of cologne, and the heated, increasing pressure of his taut muscles tensing against her.
There was no hesitation to the probe of his tongue, but the tentative dance he invited her to partake of, was a far cry from the almost angry and dominant demand of her previous client.
No, Goto’s every move against her was considerate of any misgivings she may have haboured about their physical communion, despite the fact it was all a part of her job.
Which idiot said never mix business with pleasure?
As their fervour grew, Goto leaned in, the thigh between her legs offering the maddening promise of more purposeful friction that drove Miho’s palm to the front of his pants; she felt him flinch and opened her eyes to find him peering at her intensely.
“Should I not?” she asked him breathily, though as she spoke, hushed, she caressed the forming swell burning beneath black fabric.
His eyes wavered, the desire to close and indulge in the practiced ministrations of her touch fighting with time, place, and circumstance. She read the script of that battle there, and sobered perhaps by the level of his commitment to his work, her hand fell away.
“No,” he breathed to her lips, grazing them with the most fleeting flutter of butterfly wings, and his hand left her hip to take her wrist and place it against him once more. “Truthfully, I have wanted this all day… I just…”
“Seiji,” she smiled, his name a word she’d been holding tightly within, a word gleefully released. “Just…”
But he didn’t really need to hear it. He felt her statement in the long stroke of her fingertips outlining the truth, what he really wanted; and his acceptance of this truth was conveyed to her, by the more passionate meeting of their lips, and the slow upward gather of her skirt.
The reason for concealment long since disappeared, it was now clear to Miho that Goto had resigned himself to their risky liaison. Though more determined in his exploration, tracing his own warmth against her thigh, then across the round of her bared ass cheek, there was no savagery, no frantic grab or claw.
Miho sighed his name as he kissed behind her ear first, and then meandered an amorous path down her throat. Even with eyes closed and head resting back, even coiled in the growing anticipation of his fingers inching closer to the moistness of her velvet glove, she bypassed the button at the waist of his pants and lowered the zipper.
And she couldn’t help but grin as she felt him shudder as she drew the length of his penis from concealment.
“I can’t believe you hid this for so long,” she muttered, really gripping him now, working him base to tip, where her thumb swirled through a small amount of pre-cum.
Vividly her mind flashed with the image of her wrapping her lips around it, curling her sinuous tongue around the ridge of his foreskin, and tasting the salt of his desire for her.
Goto straightened, giving Miho the chance to see the relaxed, almost dreamy expression he wore.
“Me either,” he smiled wryly, the colour of his cheeks growing almost bashfully.
“Cute,” she grinned, her free hand brushing against his blush.
“Mhmm,” he murmured, again fighting the close of his eyes as she cupped his balls and squeezed gently. “Cute isn’t exactly masculine.”
“There are many types of men in this world,” she told him, before nibbling his lower lip.
When she released it, clearly poised to continue speaking, she very nearly choked on her breath, when Goto’s hand finally found its way beneath the elastic band of her panties and fingered all the way down her slit.
“God you’re beautiful,” he marvelled reverently.
Miho tried to continue watching him watching her, but as the frequency of his fondling inflamed her clit, it became more and more difficult. Reflexively her hips rolled forward to meet the circling of his middle finger around her entrance, and finally she emitted a quiet moan Goto devoured, when he found his way inside her.
And she let him know exactly how much she appreciated the calculated curl of his fingers, and their unhurried, solid and rhythmic drill.
“Yesss… mhm,” she shuddered out, barely audible amid sharp inhales.
Whether she was conscious of the fact or not, Goto’s romantic date scenario, and the way he’d fought with himself over the decision to embark upon MJS’ final phase of research, had had her bubbling away with expectation. The reality of him breathing shakily into her ear and delving deeply inside her now, pushed her so swiftly to the precipice she almost panicked.
“Ah… Seiji wait – stop, stop,” she hissed suddenly, gritting her teeth against the approach of euphoria and fighting it down.
The effect was immediate.
Goto withdrew, though his hand remained resting against her mound, and he scowled, very nearly horrified, searching her face.
“Did I hurt you?” he rushed, and she could see an earnest apology would be his next statement.
Complete, unquestioning compliance – genuine concern.
“No,” she breathed, shaking her head and smiling at him fondly. “No, I actually, truly believe, you’re incapable of that.”
“Then…” he began, but his voice trailed away until she pecked him lightly.
“I, am a tightly wound coil, wrapped around your little finger,” she asserted, licking the outline of his lips. “But what I want, is to be tightly wrapped around something much larger.”
The tap of her thumb against his cock drew his attention there.
“When did you?” he blinked, taking a moment to consider his condom sheathed shaft in her now slack hold.
“I suppose even elite detectives have momentary lapses in concentration,” she smirked impishly, taking his instant of surprise as a chance to shimmy out of her panties. “So, husband, how about you refocus here?”
Daintily she pinched the hem of her dress and lifted it up over her hips. The dappled light filtering through the branches above, caused the wet of her inner thighs to glint an irresistible welcome; Goto did not immediately dive in, however, staring for a few seconds with almost boyish wonder.
“As you wish,” he responded in a raspy whisper, and with the slight incline of his head, he nudged Miho back against the tree.
Stooping for a second, he took Miho’s left leg at the knee and carefully lifted it – eyes always on hers, attentive for any signs of discomfort. Miho basked in his thoughtfulness, wrapping her arms around his neck and teasing the short hairs at the nape.
“Oooh… hmm,” she hummed against his shoulder as he tested the tension of her opening, then broke slowly through, easing his way to her very limit.
And Miho clenched her eyes shut tightly against the involuntary tremor of her muscles; she had been so close to orgasm before she’d stopped him, she thought he might tip her over with just that single, calculated motion.
“You’re a dark horse, I think,” she purred, as he moved again, slow, like he knew just how worked up she was and wanted to draw it out. “You feel me, you know exactly… mmhm…”
She wanted to tell him to fuck her, slam her so hard the bark of the tree behind her shattered and the leaves fell from the boughs that shaded them; but at the same time, he was cultivating such a deliciously painful yearning, deliberately spreading through every fibre of her flesh – she didn’t want it to end.
Wanted so badly to cum.
Wanted to remain on the cusp forever.
“I just want,” he uttered breathily, holding her steady as he dipped down before driving upwards, pausing ever so briefly between each thrust to savour the closest they could possibly be, “you to…”
“I’m going to,” she broke in, tightening her hold on his neck, fingernails digging half-moon impressions, teeth threatening the skin of his throat. “Seiji,” she panted, preparing to bite down, but Goto leaned her back.
As she inhaled a huge anticipatory breath and trapped it in her lungs, eyes bleary and rolling upward, Goto filled her mouth with lustful approval; and she cried into him as he thrust harder with single-minded tenacity, lifting her each time to the very tips of her toes, until he had to support her entire weight.
Quivering, a roaring explosion – the release of pent up sexual frustration – flushed her body, contracting muscles unconsciously. Well and truly beyond her control, she squeezed the throbbing mass that had driven her to such a whimpering height, and Goto groaned his satisfaction
He held the arching of her back tightly, the grind and thrust of his body increasing though Miho’s moans seemed to beg him to let her quietly recoup.
“I’m sorry,” he apologised, breaths shortening, the speed of his penetration rising still. “I waited far… too long to touch you.”
“I’m going to cum again,” she gasped, lolling her head back and wrapping the leg he held around his waist so he could grip both her hips.
She wanted him deeper than her body allowed, wanted the sensation of his cock, pulsing with need for her, to bury so deep the pleasure never subsided.
In their rapture, separated from the public eye by flimsy foliage, both knew they had to keep their voices down, but when the raggedness of his respiration filled Miho’s ear, heralding his imminent orgasm, she was thrown into her second and could not contain her voice.
“My… God damnit!” she shrieked before Goto could suffocate her vocalisation with his lips once more.
The growl of him cumming may have been lost to Miho’s ears, drowned in her own bliss, but she could not be oblivious to the several significantly more spirited thrusts that lifted her clear off the ground, and ended with Goto nuzzling breathless into the crook of her neck.
“Twenty out of ten,” she murmured, remaining half curled around him, fingertips playing through slightly moist strands of his hair. “Clearly… I need to join Public Safety.”
A cold emptiness rushed to greet her when he pulled out, a disappointment that began to build desire in her all over again.
“Miho,” he swallowed, thumbs clearing smudged mascara from beneath her eyes, “that was… incredible.”
“Likewise,” she grinned, lightly pecking his lips as she worked the condom carefully free, then sank low.
“What are you…” he blinked, and she had to chuckle at how often she seemed to catch him off guard.
“Clean up,” she told him, looking up from her squat and taking the diminishing length of his cum-slick cock between her fingers once more.
“Wait… should you really do that?” he protested, flustered perhaps it might be breaking some term of their agreement.
“I make my own rules,” she smiled, the very tip of her tongue flicking his head, “and I want to taste you.”
Goto’s face twitched as she engulfed him, sliding him between her lips into the hollow of her cheeks and caressing him in ways he thought a tongue should not be able to; and Miho, who almost never engaged in oral sex with her clients, suckled and lapped at him until he called for her to cease.
“Miho please,” he groaned, putting a hand lightly on the top of her head. “If you don’t stop… we might not…”
“I may just be all right with that,” she smirked up at him greedily, which didn’t help him at all.
“No,” he said in a sterner tone, and reached down to pulled her to her feet. “We’re done here.”
A statement that stung just a little too much for Miho’s liking, until he added something.
“We have somewhere else to be.”
“Somewhere else?” she repeated with a mild frown, snatching up her underwear and stepping into it.
“It’s not like I planned this part of our date,” he admitted sheepishly.
How has he not melted the heart of every woman he’s met with that look?
“Please,” he said again, with a little more vehemence.
“No need to beg,” she told him, then grinned impishly, “unless you want me to?”
“No,” he chuckled, a deep, warm sound that made Miho want to wrap her arms around him and lay her head on his shoulder, just to feel those vibrations.
Full marks: no doubt.
Once they had retrieved the picnic basket and slunk through the park to Goto’s car, he drove them to Shinjuku, and into the valet parking area of the Granbell Hotel.
“You guys make a pretty good living,” she mused, half way out of her seat before Goto could open the door for her, and it was her turn to look a little sheepish. “Sorry. I’m a bit too used to doing things for myself.”
“You’re making it difficult to act like a gentleman,” he pointed out, handing their overnight bags to the porter before offering Miho his arm.
“Maybe,” she agreed, “but you’re doing an excellent job anyway, and I love this hotel.”
“Come here often?” he asked, then frowned, but the creases smoothed out almost as soon as they’d appeared.
Still, they didn’t escape Miho’s notice – and she wondered if he regretted asking that question, the implication she had come to like the hotel through visiting frequently with other clients.
Giving his arm a squeeze she smiled up at him as they walked together into the foyer.
“Not all MJSs clients are as thoughtful as you,” she said, half way between honest and complimentary.
When they reached the check in counter, the porter had apparently already informed the clerk who they were.
“Welcome, Mr. and Mrs. Goto,” she smiled, tapping away at her computer, while Miho cast a sideways glance at Goto.
“Assumption,” he muttered under his breath, giving her arm a squeeze.
Okay, maybe she’d pay him that considering how they’d been linked since getting out of the car, and she was certain he’d had no time to call ahead after their ‘business marriage’ arrangement when she wasn’t looking.
“Here are your keycards,” the receptionist beamed, handing two cards to Goto. “Your dinner reservation is confirmed for 7pm,” she added. “Please also enjoy the complimentary champagne in your suite, and your stay with us today.”
“Hmm,” Miho exhaled. “Bubbles are definitely in order. Thank you.”
Goto bowed his head to the woman, before leading Miho to the elevator.
Mmm, elevator – now that’s a pleasant memory.
“What’s that look mean?” he enquired, sliding his hand to the small of her back when the doors opened.
“I’m just…” she began, then caught herself before she could lie. “Elevators,” she said, correcting the path of her sentence. “You’d be surprised how many clients enjoy them.”
She could have told him she was impressed with the care he’d taken in organising everything, and she was, but she didn’t want to be dishonest, not when he asked so innocently.
“And you?” he questioned, not quite so innocently, hand sliding down and resting against her right ass cheek.
“That’s mighty brazen of you, Mr. Goto,” she laughed lightly. “Perhaps our little adventure in the park has emboldened you.”
“If I loved a woman so much I married her,” he replied, his thumb stroking gently back and forth, “I probably couldn’t keep my hands off her either; you didn’t answer my question.”
Observant and resistant to misdirection.
“My answer depends,” she grinned, stepped from his side, to in front of him so she could smooth both hands down his chest. “How many floors left before ours?”
Like the perfect killjoy, a happy chime rang out and the elevator doors opened. Miho stepped backward a few paces with a flirty pout, at which Goto shook his head, chuckling quietly as he followed.
“If I’d known I’d be in competition with other clients just by booking this hotel, I’d have gone with the penthouse suite,” he muttered, a little too loudly for it to have been meant only for himself.
“It’s not the size of the room that matters,” she declared, serious in expression while she waited by the door for him, “it’s what you do while you’re in there.”
“Then I had better make this memorable,” he noted, then unceremoniously scooped her up into an effortless princess carry.
“What the hell?” she exclaimed, instinctively wrapping her arms around his neck, though his hold indicated there was no chance he’d drop her.
“What kind of a husband would I be if I didn’t carry my wife over the threshold?” he queried, somehow holding her steady with one arm while he swiped the keycard and nudged the door open with his foot.
A traditional romantic.
Goto didn’t place Miho back on her feet until he’d tapped closed the door behind them, and entered the suite proper, but even then he continued to hold her close.
“Penny for your thoughts?” she asked, fighting the seep of his body heat through her clothing.
“Remind me of the statistical average wait time between final evaluation and official announcement of nuptial engagement between your clients?” he responded, and Miho leaned back a little.
That hadn’t been what she was expecting.
“Ahh, statistically speaking, between three and six months,” she offered, though she knew she’d told him this before, and he wasn’t the kind of man to forget details. “There are of course anomalies,” she went on, pushing away from him slowly, seeming to consider the rest of the suite, “sometimes the spark is just there from the get-go and no one wants to wait around, others decide to be more cautious, take their time, even live together first – very scandalous.”
“Hm,” he grunted quietly, somewhere behind her. “Do you want to shower before we head to dinner?” he then asked, and Miho turned around, glancing at her watch as she did. “Oh, we’ll have plenty of time,” he added. “I just thought given… before… you might be more comfortable relaxing after…”
Completely unshakable sometimes, then totally awkward.
“You’re right,” she nodded, moving to where her bag had been placed at the foot of the bed and digging around for her toiletries.
She’d done this enough times to read if a man was asking if she wanted a shower, or if she wanted to shower with him – and this was the former.
“I’ll hunt down that champagne while you’re in there,” he informed her, heading for the small kitchen area. “Take your time.”
“Thanks,” she smiled, then closed herself in the bathroom. “Phew,” she exhaled, some of the flames receding finally.
Some jobs were more difficult than others, though fate had been pretty kind to MJS as far as clients went, but many different factors made one client more taxing than another.
“12am,” she told herself, her habit of talking to her reflection persisting. “12am and your final report: you’re done.”
But Jazz’s face appeared suddenly, the expression she’d worn as she asked Miho to take over Aikawa Kunihiko’s final conference. 100% too close to be objective.
“That’s Jazz, not you,” she snapped at herself. “Losing her panties all over the place. Jesus.”
Beneath the warm water she avoided thoughts of work entirely, allowing distraction to re-centre her. By the time she got out, she felt much more herself, and exited the bathroom wrapped in a fluffy white robe, only to stop dead in her tracks.
Their lunch in the park had been a late one, and after their shenanigans in the bushes somewhat extended their stay, it had been well into the afternoon when they’d arrived at the hotel. Twilight was creeping, and with the sunset on the other side of the building the suite might actually have been deep in shadow – but it wasn’t.
Miho didn’t count them, there were too many; tea-light candles in little glass cups caused both light and shadow to dance around the space, an instant kind of magic erasing all talk of statistics.
“Mr. Goto?” she called finally, not seeing nor hearing him. “Seiji?”
Eventually she spied a sheet of paper on the bed, and picking it up she discovered it was meant for her.
Just ducked out for a minute. Champagne should be chilled so start without me and I’ll be back in no time.
“Ducked out?” she frowned, then exhaled a slightly exasperated breath, taking in the room again.
She imagined him scurrying about in a rush, but setting each cup in its place carefully before lighting each candle – and she couldn’t help but smile.
Not traditional romantic, hopeless romantic.
True to his word, Miho found the champagne satisfactorily chilled in an ice bucket, and following instructions she poured herself a glass.
“Bit on the lonely side though,” she muttered, taking a sip and pushing open the balcony doors, stepping out to inhale a lungful of early evening air.
Though the day’s warmth was ebbing away, and with it the sun’s illumination, Tokyo never slept. Little stars lit up every building, every street far below, and though not for the first time, Miho allowed herself to get swept up in the unique beauty of the city as she enjoyed her drink.
“How’s the champagne?” Goto enquired, his hands gently falling on her shoulders.
Miho flinched out of her reverie and spun around, though the voice had already registered as his.
He was still casually dressed, though one could certainly not call him a slouch, but his clothes were not those he’d been wearing before.
“Did you,” she began, reaching up to touch his hair that was still a little damp at his temples, “go somewhere else and shower?”
“Mhm,” he affirmed, placing his hand over hers, holding it there for several seconds before releasing it. “Enjoying the view?”
“Tokyo has a life of its own,” she replied, turning back to the railing to gaze out once more, and Goto’s hands returned to her shoulders. “When I first arrived here, jeez, ages ago, I used to just stare for hours.”
“Looking for something?” he prompted, fingers pressing with careful firmness into her shoulder muscles, rewarded with a contented sigh.
“Yeah,” she answered honestly, but did not get specific about what it was she’d been looking for.
“And did you find it?” he persisted, strong thumbs seeking out any tension in her neck and easing it away with conscientious circles.
“Mm, yes, and no,” she answered quietly, eyes closed, champagne flute completely forgotten. But, I found enough to keep me here.”
“You’re not going to tell me what it was, are you?” he concluded, and shuffled forward to wrap his arms around her, settling them across her chest and holding her to him.
“That isn’t why we’re here,” she pointed out quietly, finally remembering her glass and taking another sip. “And in actuality, you know perfectly well MJS’s policy regarding the date simulation portion of our package – technically, you already had your run, in the park; I shouldn’t even be here.”
“Technically,” he agreed, lips brushing her ear. “But, if I’m not mistaken, you make your own rules.”
A rather explosive laugh erupted from Miho and she relaxed, lolling her head back against his shoulder.
“Trust a detective to use my own words against me,” she chuckled.
“An elite detective prone to lapses in concentration,” he smirked, sliding one hand up her throat and turning her head to his face.
“You going to use quotes against me all night?” she huffed, but did not resist when he softly kissed her, his other arm tightening reflexively.
“Am I going to need to, to keep you here?” he enquired solemnly, eyes dark pools in the low light that she felt herself pitching into.
“No,” she smiled in defeat, surrendering herself to the overwhelming sweetness of his embrace.
As they united in kiss again, Goto’s hand wandered in beneath the robe’s soft edging, and travelled across the round of her breast. Deft fingers traced light circles around her nipple, just grazing the edges with his nails, testing sensitivity; and Miho murmured appreciative utterances around his tongue, gasping when he finally pinched firmly.
“First the park, now out on the open balcony?” she exhaled, when his other hand followed the first, causing her to shiver as he brushed over her stomach then through the neat hairs of her bush. “This wasn’t in my profile.”
“You can add it later,” he whispered, sucking her earlobe between his lips before gently biting down.
The night breeze cooled the trail of Goto’s tongue down her throat, but Miho was already far too hot to be wearing that bathrobe. Grinding her hips back, she was gratified to feel him pressing against her longingly; after going to so much trouble with the setup, he must have been thinking about this all day, despite their unexpected activities.
Now, he enacted the date scenario as he had originally planned it, and Miho certainly couldn’t complain.
She twitched again when he pressed down on her clit, rubbing it slowly from side to side, following it from its exposed place just under its hood, to further up where it was hidden and largely went untouched by anyone but herself.
“Goto,” she swallowed, her mouth dry as her breaths cycled more quickly.
“Seiji,” he corrected, in between transient bites across her shoulder, and he drove his fingers further down her slit, rimming the dripping ingress he so ached to feel constricting around him again.
“Seiji,” she moaned, squirming against the erection digging more firmly against her ass, and the knead of her breast in his large hand.
“Are you going to let me make you cum this time?” he hissed, long, steady strokes dipping just the tip of one finger inside her with each pass.
“If I can still stand when you do,” she breathed irregularly, whimpering between every other word, “I’m giving this whole scenario a 0.”
“If you black out,” he said, now more purposefully teasing with the presence of his cock still out of reach, “I’ll take care of you.”
“Do it,” she begged, already a little light headed.
She echoed his every touch over and over in her mind, as if there were four of him: eight hands pawing her flesh, twenty fingers finding purchase –twisting, tweaking, burrowing – four tongues savouring the sweat on her skin.
“Fuck,” she dropped, the trembling word escaping despite her desire to keep such vulgarities out of the mix this time. “You can… ugh… I won’t break, just… harder.”
Spurred by her imperative, Goto swept her forward off her feet, and just as she was crying out for the sudden break in contact, he delicately laid her down on a cushioned, wicker sun-lounge. The belt of the robe remained, but the front gaped open and the skirt was spread out from her hips; and he stood there at her feet for several seconds, just peering down at her looking up at him with potent want in her eyes, eyes that wandered from his face, to the pronounced strain of his erection against his trousers.
“Seiji?” she prompted with a slight frown, licking her lips.
“I just want to burn this into my memory,” he admitted solemnly, before crouching and gently pulling her knees apart.
There was no embarrassment for Miho. Hungrily, she watched him lower his head between her legs, quivering as her slippery inner thigh was graced by the attentive ply of fingers she was already imagining curled up into her g-spot. But it was just his breath that touched her inner warmth, a long, directed exhale of cool air directly against her aggravated, pulsating clit.
“You monster,” she growled, shifting up a little, but with both hands suddenly on her hips, Goto pulled her back down and pressed his mouth over her. “I might fail you anyway, just for that,” she admonished through her teeth.
But her head was already pressing back against the cushion as his tongue pushed inside her, quickly followed by lashings against her throbbing pink pearl. Unconsciously, she clutched her breasts, rolling each nipple between her fingers to the point of pain, pain that melted away to the intensity of Goto’s insistent, two-fingered insertions. The relentlessness of his penetration, the vigorous breach that sank him within her all the way to his knuckles, curled her spine to the point where he had to loop his free arm around her thigh and press firmly down on her abdomen.
She uttered no intelligible words as she came, though her mouth had fallen open and her breaths stuttered out as strangled sobs; and though she squirmed uncontrollably in the throes of the pleasure he wrought upon her, he held her down, his face pressed into the clamp of her legs, his fingers ceasing their plunging motion only when her body relaxed a little.
Oxygen evaded her though Miho chased it, desperately trying to fill her lungs that seemed, like the rest of her body, to still be far too overwhelmed by the power of her orgasm it had forgotten how to properly function. Her fingers twitched, her toes quivered, as Goto ran his tongue over the drench of her thighs, not sitting back until her breathing evened out.
“Come on,” he urged, leaning over her after wiping his chin, and gathering her into his arms, “you’ll catch cold out here.”
With the endorphin induced, lethargic fog of bliss tingling throughout, Miho nuzzled her cheek against Goto’s chest as he carried her inside and laid her carefully on the candle wreathed bed.
“Okay, you pass,” she smiled up at him, taking his hand when he sat down on the edge of the bed beside her, and putting his fingers into her mouth where the taste of herself was still fresh upon them.
“Just a pass?” he questioned, gently tugging at the belt of her robe, even as her hand slithered into his lap and began to rub against him purposefully.
Just the very tips of his fingers brushed across her chest and down her stomach, stopping just shy of her belly-button.
“Mmm your profile suggests you won’t turn down a chance for extra credit,” she grinned, sitting up to shrug the robe away from her shoulder. “Perfectionist,” she continued, taking up the hem of his polo shirt and gathering it upward. “Martyr type personality,” she went on, sitting up on her knees to lift the shirt over Goto’s head and toss it to the floor.
Almost as he had done moments before, Miho simply stared at him, her hand against his still concealed manhood falling still. The light played over the well-defined shape of each muscle – deltoids, pectorals, abs, obliques – scars here and there marring his otherwise sculpted perfection.
“God you’re beautiful,” she sighed, continuing their newly established tradition of parroting each other.
“Another manly description,” he chuckled, scooping his hands under her ass and lifting her up before laying her back once more.
With a clunk his belt hit the floor next to his shirt, then socks, then his pants – and as the wavering illumination of countless candles cast wild slashes across his body, Miho bit her lip as she watched him shed his underwear, and roll a condom securely into place.
The full weight of him over her alone was enough to coax another desirous sigh from her barely recovered lungs. Readily she accepted him – the crush of his chest, the strength of his arms, one beneath her, hand to the back of her head and tangled in her hair, the other on her thigh, and the temptation of his swollen member stroking slowly, tantalising between her folds. But it was those eyes, that suddenly seemed so open, that trapped her completely.
“You know more about me than anyone else in the whole world,” he told her plainly, becoming completely still. “More than my family, than my colleagues.”
“That…” she began, the end of her sentence clinging to her tongue, desperate to remain unspoken, but she forced it out. “… is my job.”
“And do you look at all your clients like that?” he asked her, and for a second Miho frowned.
Steadying her thoughts, Miho dug her fingernails in under Goto’s shoulder blades and pulled him against her lips.
“Is now,” she purred, kissing him lightly, “really the moment you want to bring up other men?”
“No, you’re right,” he conceded, bending her leg up and positioning himself at the opening of her canal. “Right now, I just want to make love to my gorgeous wife.”
“Good answer,” she smiled, but something within her felt suddenly twisted.
Flat on her back was a completely different sensation to the fill of his unyielding shaft while she stood in the park. His was not the largest, but it had a girth to it that stretched her delightfully, a testing friction against her opening and a satiating sense of all hollowness annulled.
Jazz might have called Miho boring, but sex like that, with her partner bearing down on her, his whole body, every straining muscle beneath skin ablaze contacting with, engulfing her, was heaven. As Goto dug deeply with his hips, gathering momentum, building the heart pounding tightness that led toward break, he kissed her with a fierceness not in keeping with his normally calm demeanour. There was an abandon to the zealous push of his tongue against hers, a needy forcefulness to how he held her – perhaps because he’d gone relatively untouched while he’d brought just her to climax, the lust for that same pleasure creating great urgency. His fingers dug into her ass cheek, lifting her leg outward a little more to burrow deeper into the desire soaked, craving of her core.
The growling, groaning escalation of his stimulation tied firm constraints around each breath he allowed her to gasp; she swallowed those vibrations and allowed them to swirl into the heavy beat of his cock, and the recurring grind against her clit, until she was dragging her nails into the small of his back and hissing stuttering encouragement into his shoulder.
“Just a little more,” she managed, dizzy as the words consumed more air than she truly had to give.
Goto gritted his teeth, smoothing both hands into the small of her back and lifting her pelvis from the mattress. With her legs spread widely apart, he plunged his pulsing rod further still, supporting her with one hand, while the thumb of the other rubbed vigorously against the already oversensitive nerves of her angry red bud.
Pure reflex clamped her legs suddenly around him, the broken howl she screamed not the only indicator he’d been successful for a second time. All her inner muscles constricted, squeezing him with such intensity it took little to draw him to that place where control was lost and the body operated simply on instinct.
“Mi… ho…!” he grated, thrusting with such enthusiasm the bed’s headboard slammed loudly against the wall, dislodging something from behind the picture hanging on the wall above.
But even as a pair of lacy panties – not Miho’s – fell onto the pillow beside her, neither noticed or cared.
The warm, rushing ecstasy of orgasm slammed into Goto hard, and through mere slits Miho observed his completely unguarded face as he filled the condom inside her.
Panting, he remained with his hips jutted forward, until the most potent sensation passed into a hazy euphoria.
“I probably shouldn’t say this,” Miho whispered, her voice still clouded, a little weak as Goto fell against her, propped up either side of her on his elbows, “but… when you’re happily married, I hope some part of you remembers this.”
“I’ll remember,” he promised, kissing her with the tender kindness she’d written so much about in her report already.
Lazily, still locked in each other’s embrace, they dozed, but Miho could not allow herself to become too comfortable, no matter how much she might have liked to succumb.
Her fingertips smoothed back the hair that fell across his forehead, even though it simply returned to its default position the moment her touch retreated. The strain of her muscles begged for her to remain folded over him, their legs entwined, her head against his shoulder peering up at his apparently sleeping face.
I want to forget this.
Her thoughts stung, striking a wry pang of irony against the silent reprimand she’d given Jazz for falling for Kuni – and that is what it was, her friend and colleague, breaking their cardinal rule, one not ever used for convenience.
I need to forget this.
As if confirming this notion, her phone’s alarm called out from across the room, a tone she used only to ever indicate the hour of midnight.
I’ll forget this.
Gathering her determination and defying the urge to submit to the call of slumber, Miho slowly folded Goto’s arm away from her waist and swung her feet to the floor.
“You’d make a terrible ninja,” he told her clearly, nothing drowsy about his voice at all, like he’d been awake and alert the whole time she’d been thinking.
“I didn’t mean to wake you,” she responded, grabbing the underswear that had fallen near her earlier, before pulling herself up and away from the bed.
And she thought he might.
“You mean, you were going to sneak out without saying anything?” he queried, his tone even and yet still somehow… edged.
“That wouldn’t be very professional,” she pointed out, crossing the room to her overnight bag, from which she pulled a clean pair of underwear.
“Miho,” he dropped, authority in his voice she felt against her back, felt against her resolve. “Stay.”
Not responding, she slipped into her panties and fastened her bra back into place.
“Miho,” he said again, and drawing in a deep breath that filled her body, Miho turned back to look at where he now sat up in the bed, almost glaring at her insistently.
Deliberately, she took her left hand, and pulled away from her finger the ring she had allowed him to place there, before resettling it back on her right index finger where it truly belonged.
“I can’t do that,” she told him bluntly, words that rattled harshly in her own ears. “Some rules, exist for a reason.”
He simply gazed at her, perhaps expecting some other form of explanation she had no intention of giving.
“It’ll take me a few days to write up my final report,” she declared, tugging her dress down over her shoulders then hips, before hunting down her shoes. “Selina Matsumoto from my office will be in contact to arrange your final conference.”
“With you?” he asked, tone conveying he really did wonder if it would be her.
“Of course,” she nodded, though she was fixing her hair, using her faint reflection in the glass of a framed print on the wall: yellow camellias and forget-me-nots.
Yellow camellias and forget-me-nots.
“You’ll receive my bill between now and then,” she added, moving more quickly as Goto rose from the bad and turned on the light, exposing them both to harsh, white luminosity.
But she was now fully dressed, and he was completely naked.
“Mr. Goto,” she then pronounced, annunciating clearly. “I have to apologise for what I said earlier.”
“Which part?” he frowned, only now looking a little irritated.
“Evaluation is the only purpose of the date scenario,” she told him, lifting her bag to her shoulder. “There is no need for you to remember any of it, in fact, my best advice is to forget it completely.”
Stunned, or accepting, Goto simply stood there as she headed for the door to the suite, where she paused and forced herself to look back.
“You… are going to make someone very happy one day,” she smiled, a bright, reassuring, fake smile. “I know you will. Good night.”
The next morning, Miho arrived at MJS headquarters and tossed a scrunched up ball of material across Jazz’s office at her colleague.
“These look familiar?” Miho asked as Jazz caught the object, that when unfolded turned out to be a pair of lacy, purple underwear.
Jazz looked through the weave at Miho.
“Where the hell did you find these?”
“I nearly choked on them when they fell from behind a painting in a Granbell suite,” Miho smirked, clearly embellishing the tale. “They are yours, right?”
“Hmph,” Jazz sniffed, placing the underwear on her desk and shooting Miho a flat look. “Honestly, Miho. These aren’t mine. They’re not even my size.”
“Hmm, I suppose you’re right,” Miho murmured thoughtfully, then a shit-eating grin split her face. “Your ass would never fit into those.”
“Bitch!” Jazz barked, pitching the perfectly good, and probably only once-used pair of panties across the room, but Miho dodged. “You know perfectly well my clients are particularly fond of my ass.”
“Speaking of Mr. Aikawa,” Miho chuckled. “He’ll be in at ten for his final conference; you sure you want me to handle him… I mean it… I mean him?”
Jazz’s face betrayed nothing – her eyes, however, told Miho plenty.
“Never mind, I’ll deal with it,” she nodded decisively, picking up what were certainly Jazz’s undies and placing them on top of the filing cabinet. “One less expense for Selina to give you shit for.”
She left the office and headed for her own… and had to wonder if her eyes looked anything like that.