Love/Hate (Lemon GarouxReader 🍋)

Playing With Fire (Part 2)

"Hey," you say the next morning, just before the first bell as Garou takes his seat in front of you. "Sorry, I forgot to tell you before, but don't worry about having Ryo and Tareo over at the dojo tomorrow. We're just doing this family day thing, going to the zoo and then we'll probably get dinner in town and all that," you say, waving it away, not because you're not looking forward to it but because you feel self-conscious and a little guilty talking happy families to Garou, having the distinct impression there's no love lost between him and his own.
He shrugs casually. "You do what you gotta do." It's not like he's exactly jumping for joy to be there anyway. And that will give him a nice chance to sleep in. Especially with all those sleepless hours he's been accumulating.
You don't quite know what to make of that answer.
"You sure?" you say. "You're not going to miss being sensei?" you wink at him.
"Don't you fuckin' start too," he warns.
"Yes, sensei," you say, bowing your head quickly as he scowls uncomfortably and you can't keep your laughter inside.
"Hey," you say again, once your laughter has quietened down to a smile. "I know you usually have something to do or somewhere to be or whatnot on Friday but, do you think you could spare a minute after school? Or two? Or fifteen?" Your dad's picking up Ryo from school today and you're not going to waste this opportunity.
"Well, that depends," he says, playing your game. "What for?"
"To work on the physics assignment of course," you nod.
"That's a hard pass," he says.
"But I really, really need your help," you say, emphasising the second 'really' and the 'help'.
"Well, why didn't you say so?" he grins, almost ear to ear, and you recognize his old, usual self.
"Great! I'll meet you down at the bottom of the stairs, after school," you say. "Don't forget, we're just doing physics," you remind him.
Yeah, yeah...of course. And suddenly he can't wait to start the action and see all your equal and opposite reactions.

You rush down the stairs straight after French, almost knocking into people on your way down. You've missed him. Missed him a lot. Yes, you are horny. But more than that, you've learned that the two of you communicate much better without words, bodies, movements giving each other a glimpse of your states of mind. And you want to know...and you want to let him know-
"Oi," he says as you almost trip over the last two steps on your way down, grabbing your arm gently to steady you. "You must really love physics, eh?" he teases affectionately.
"Come on," you take his arm and pull him along towards the exit.
"Thought we were going to..." he trails off looking confused as you stand outside the back entrance.
"Yes, just wait a couple of minutes," you say, looking around, watching the crowd thin out as everyone rushes home on another blessed Friday.
"Ok," you say, once you've made sure the coast is clear and pull him back inside, hurrying down the stone steps to the basement, the patter of your footsteps beginning to echo the further down you get.
You stand back to let him push the old door, jammed and creaky half the time, open and then slip inside the storage room as he slams it tightly shut behind the two of you.
You waste no time throwing your bag down and your arms around him, a warm, excited, inviting kiss.
"Seems...kinda...familiar," he says between your kisses, glancing around jokingly.
Of course, you've already had the pleasure of using this room a few months back and it brings back inviting memories.
"Is that a problem?" you ask, already growing breathless, pulling him further inside, making your careful way through the maze of old piled up desks, further away from the window.
"What do you think?" he flashes his fangs before taking your face in both hands, just as starved for you as you are for him. They do say that absence makes the heart grow fonder don't they? And right now he can really believe it.
You find yourself kissed, passionately wildly, pushed slowly back against the cracked wall. You want to do nothing but start getting undressed but you're not warm or daring enough for that. You pull him closer instead, your arms around his waist, pulling him in against you, wanting to feel as much of him as possible as he continues this kiss, untamed, hot and bewildered.
Your fingers inch up his body, pressing into his back, the temperature rising, only the thin white fabric of his shirt separating his skin from your sultry touch.
And despite his recent doubts, his questions, he can't help but let them go right now, your body, your lips, your hands inviting him into a brighter, more welcoming place.
His own hands let go of your face, travelling down your body, over the soft wool of your school jumper.
Too much. This barrier is too much. You quickly pull it off, over your head, messing up your hair so prettily but you don't give a damn, don't even notice, all your attention on your complicated lover.
It's been over a week since you've had each other completely and it feels like an eternity, much too long. Your heart, your body aches for him in all its delicate, intimate places and he's practically living, breathing lust and desire.
You take his hand, place it on your breast, over your shirt, press it to you, nuzzle into his neck, getting a feel for him, your body attuned to his, paying close attention, sensing signs of a particular tension, strain, restlessness, your hands slowly travelling over him, giving you an idea of his inner landscape.
There's something subtle, the way he holds himself but he's hiding it well. You want to ask him about it, be direct but the same clues that give you an idea of his inner conflict tell you that he's determined to keep it hidden. And all you can do is show him that you're here, here for him.
He pulls your shirt out of the waist of your skirt, hands venturing under, running over your bra.
"You're gettin' pretty excited," his low quiet words warm by your ear as he feels the faint outline of the aroused perkiness of your nipples.
"So are you," you breathe, unable to stop smiling, hands on his lower back, pushing him in between your legs, feeling his impatient erection, just like before. But unlike before, you now find yourselves truly hidden and alone, with finally just enough time on your hands.
God, you're too good to him. Too fucking good to him. That's what makes this whole thing so fucking difficult.
You feel your wrists pinned to the wall near your shoulders for a moment before his hands slide into yours, your fingers entwine between his and you feel him so hard again, pushing the pleats of your skirt between your legs, kissing your neck, capturing you between his body and the wall.
You start to sigh, the feeling of him between your legs, feeling your hands in his, the warmth of his mouth on your skin as his hips move against yours.
And no matter how explicit, how obscene your thoughts, your movements, your desire become it always feels so innocent with you...so...right. A beautiful pleasure.
Just like now as he hears your sigh and can't help wanting a taste, his lips hurriedly moving to yours. And your pussy can't help it as you stand there, rising just a little on tiptoe, legs slightly open, hands locked with his as you kiss, breathless and wanting, as your hips begin to rock softly against his in this embrace, feeling the heat of your wetness as it begins to pool between your legs more and more each time you feel the pressure of his cock against you.
Before he knows it, he's chasing that high again. The high of you, your body, your affection, your satisfaction.
You feel yourself picked up and sat on the edge of one of the old disused teacher's desks in the corner, way out of sight of the high basement window.
You know what's coming and can't keep that coquettish grin off your gorgeous face as you lean back on your hands a little as Garou's hands quickly find their way under your skirt and you lift yourself as he pulls your white, lacy underwear off your delicious thighs, noticing with his own grin the damp little stain on them, undeniable evidence of your want for him.
With your underwear off, you pull the hem of your skirt seductively up to your waist, revealing yourself to him, lying back down on the desk, pulling your knees up a bit.
Oh, it's been too long. Far too long.
You see a look of satisfied, appreciative relief as he carefully spreads your legs open, his eyes wandering over you, over the most intimate parts of you, the places where he makes you feel so good...
"Have you been thinking about me?" you ask, flirting, smiling up at him from the faded table top, your hair fanned out wildly under you, your buttoned up chest rising and falling in anticipation.
"I've been thinkin' about you thinkin' about me," he says, just as roguishly.
"Like this?" you ask, reaching down and softly plunging your fingers into your abundant wetness before running them up your slit, warm and slippery. "Is this what you were thinking?" you wonder as you circle your clit lightly, giving yourself a little involuntary quiver.
He watches as your fingers play over your pussy, stroking your clit softly for him, making yourself tense, want to squeeze your thighs together it feels so good but he's holding them open, strong and firm, watching like a man who's found the secret to everlasting happiness, who doesn't need a single other thing in this world, everything else receding as his glowing yellow eyes follow every little movement of your hand.
"Or was it this?" you bite your lip softly and slowly slip your lovely fingers inside yourself, into your longing pussy, watching those same yellow eyes widen in ecstasy as you move your fingers, glistening with your wetness, quickly, expertly in and out.
Goddamn these pants are feeling too fucking tight right about now.
"Mm," you hear that low, content grunt as that familiar flush of confidence spreads across his devilishly handsome face, his eyes never leaving yours as he pulls his shirt out and quickly unzips, feeling so much better without the restriction.
"And you?" he asks, one hand on your knee, one on his cock, taut, stiff, impatient to be inside you. But this is all part of the fun.
"Show me..." you say, trying to keep your voice measured but the thrill of this mutual erotic display getting the better of you.
He moves his hand, never taking his eyes off you, showing you exactly how he thinks about you with every stroke of his cock.
"Garou..." your words turn into moans as you pull your fingers out of your pussy, almost dripping, and reach for him, unable to resist. He moves his hand out of the way as you take hold of him. The tender, slippery feel of your fingers on his cock is much too good, especially when you start to move your hand and you feel his grateful groan, his eyes closing for a moment before he refocuses on you, hand between your legs, thumb softly on your aching, sensitive clit, deprived of his touch for so long and you find yourself melting into his sensuous teasing.
Your hands on each other, it feels so close. But there's an overwhelming need to get closer. You understand this, and want it just as much, softly let him slip out of your hand as he pulls your hips closer, you feel the length of his cock press against your slit and you instinctively sway your hips, rubbing yourself against him, silky wet and soft against him, hot and hard.
And then he pulls away for a moment, hand on himself again, the other one on your thigh as you spread your legs a little more, waiting, knowing, loving that you're about to be taken.
And then you feel him, pushing against your entrance, guiding his cock into you deliberately, taking his time, teasing you with that first full inch as your eyes flutter closed and you find yourself twisting a lock of your hair in your hand.
And then another inch as he feels your heat, your tightness and it starts to become difficult to control his hand, requires an effort to stay with this pace. But he wills himself to continue. A little more.
You feel more of him, filling you perfectly and you can't help but moan much less than quietly. You've waited so long. And so has he.
How fucking good it feels to be inside you, be with you. Like a comfort he never knew he needed. To show you what you mean to him when the words won't come and his body is all he's got.
"Garou," you moan almost helplessly as you feel him completely inside you. Could he ever know how much love you feel for him? How complex and indescribable your feelings are when you're together like this, when you share yourself with him...? Could you tell him?
This. See. This is what he's standing to lose. The feel of you, the sound of you, being so close with you... But he's no good for you... Honestly.
No, don't think about that. He's here now. The two of you have now if nothing else. Now and the intense need for this pleasure, the need for each other.
You feel him start to move, rubbing your pretty little clit again as his cock pushes deep inside you slowly over and over.
You quickly unbutton the top buttons of your shirt and slip your hand inside, into your bra, massaging, squeezing your breast, sighing ever louder as you let the overwhelming feeling of him take over you.
You are like an oasis, an oasis in the middle of the storm raging inside him, bringing a sure, welcome calm, soothing, taming all the chaotic, abrupt thoughts that lead him down twisted paths. A calm that only you can create, as if out of thin air.
And he needs more, more of you.
You feel his hands move quickly to your bare hips, your skirt gathered high around your waist, feel his hands strong and warm on your body, holding you tight. He can barely hold back. You feel him quicken his pace, each thrust into you feeling better than the last.
"Mm...Garou. You feel...so good," you moan, tender and a little dazed, meaning every word with that secret smile you have just for him.
Your simple, candid confession does terrible, wonderful things to him. Could be the death of him.
There is only you and him and the slowly fading golden afternoon light high above, illuminating the floating dust, the air of your little hideout.
Only you and him. And you're looking at him... The way you look at him now is completely different to that damn night when everything seemed to shatter and go wrong. Isn't this what he wanted? Only for you to look at him like this? To erase that look of pure fear? And now you are...Your eyes shining with pure excitement, your gaze completely open, hiding nothing.
You sense a change in his expression, the pure lust gives way to an almost painful sort of question.
Do you trust me?
It hangs unspoken in the air between you.
And your hands answer, softly wrapping around his strong, bare forearms as he holds you tightly close.
Do you trust me?
Yes. You trust him, every action and every word. You feel his pulse under your fingers, the blood coursing through his veins.
And then something passes between the two of you, unspoken and close.
There is only you and him. And your body. And his. And this pleasure. This intense, rich, blooming pleasure as you entrust your body to his, as you feel him inside you, hard, fast, holding onto your hips as you hold onto him, your eyes never leaving his, neither of you able to look away as this clandestine love making gets the better of you both.
Your heart beats so hard, not from the risk of getting caught, but from the intensity of his gaze as he thrusts inside you. And him, what a mess his own heart must be, because you feel like this, and look at him like that...
This feeling, intensified by being apart for what seems like so long, is indescribable, both of you lost for words. The heat between your legs quickly spreading through you, a rosy blush flowering over your chest, your cheeks. He can feel himself inside you, how wet and longing you are as your eyes let him know just how much pleasure he's giving you.
This is wild. This is innocent. This is...everything.
You feel the tension of pleasure throughout your body. You don't know how long it's been, how long he's had you on this old desk like this. Your sense of time becomes irrelevant. He feels himself growing hotter, your closeness, your eyes pushing him to a new intensity, thrusting into you harder, deeper, all for your pleasure.
You start to cry out, your hands tighten, grip his arms as your back arches off the desk, your skin hot, almost prickling as you feel that blissful ache in your pussy become unbearable, making your thighs tremble around his waist...and just at that moment where you feel you can't take anymore it suddenly overflows, warm and intense, described to him by your quick, defenseless gorgeous moans that just won't stop. And feeling, hearing you pushes him too and you hear his own loud, hoarse groan, like a wild animal, strong and satisfied, that he can't, won't, keep back as you feel him on the edge of his own fierce gratification.
You feel yourself sinking into wave after wave of pleasure as your orgasm takes over you, feel the power of his body as he cums inside you, hot and full as your pussy pulses softly around his still hard throbbing cock.
Ecstasy.
He looks down at you.
You wonder if that's concern he's trying to hide?
"That was amazing," you whisper, your crimson cheeks glowing, in case he thought he'd done too much.
You say that, but...
He watches you slowly uncurl your hands from around his arms, almost expecting to see singed fingertips.
You're playing with fire, he thinks as he takes your hands in his own.
You're playing with fire.
And so am I.