She was thoroughly ruined at this point. She'd had his hands all over her. His eyes had explored every nook, and cranny of her body, and his mouth had been damn near everywhere. (She had a thing for him licking her toes she found, which was strange, but it tickled in a way she kind of liked.)

Her parents would have been disappointed, she thought, but she'd justified it all for so long she could hardly stand to face that fact now. ("It doesn't count if I just use may hands- my mouth- if it isn't in my-") And it had just been curiosity at first. That was all it had been. All it was now, really. It wasn't as if she actually liked it that much.

She swallowed that thought. She was lying again. She'd been lying a whole year now. A whole year. They'd gone from kisses to groping to childish half-romps on the kitchen tile, and now they were here. Her sitting on the bed with him kneeling between her legs. Him smiling deviously as she tried to continue lying to herself the way she had through the rest of it all. The real problem was that while she'd never quite bought her own bullshit, she was believing it even less now.

Maybe it was because he was a bit older now. Now that he wasn't thirteen. Honestly fourteen wasn't that much better, but now that his voice had started to crack, she felt a lot less like a pedo.

"Why can't you ever relax?" he asked, blowing hot air out over her clit. It made her shudder, and she tried her best to focus on his hand gripping the underneath of her knee too hard. She was failing. Of course she was failing. How could she not fail when the baby fat was beginning to fall away from his cheeks, and she was getting her first real glimpses of the man he would be?

He laughed at her, and dipped his head lower, lapping, and sucking. Another place his mouth had been. She knew. She knew how her parents would look at her if they found out. How the family would look at her when they found out. He wasn't in their league. He was beneath her. They'd say he wasn't worthy.

She moaned, and the nails of his fingers dug into her thigh.

He was Hoshizoku. He was dangerous. He was low class. His parents had been too young, and too underprivileged, and they may have raised him right, but that didn't mean he had manners.

He was laughing, chuckling into her, and saying filthy things whenever he came up for air, eyes meeting hers, and burning into her soul.
He was her meister. It was hard to forget that, but sometimes she did. He was her meister, and he'd been there. Always been there, hadn't walked out even when he could have- should have. If her parents couldn't see his worth there was something wrong with them.

"What's the matter, Tsubaki, can't keep up?" he asked, pushing her back onto the mattress, and crawling up over her. She smiled.

"When can I ever?" she asked. It got her another soft laugh, and then he was making her eyes roll back into her head.