A Love I Shouldn't Feel-Chapter 24 : Under the Stars

Kyouko leaned back in her chair, staring blankly at the kitchen wall. Her thighs pressed together—not because of the cold, but because the craving still burned inside her.

She closed her eyes.

How long had it been since she last felt her husband's penis inside her?

She couldn't even remember how it felt—how he felt.

"Haa..." Kyouko sighed again, deeper this time. She didn't want a romantic night. She didn't need hours of passion.

Just five minutes.

Just enough to quiet the ache in her pussy and her heart.

"Is it really that hard...?" she whispered to no one.

"What's so hard about it?" Kyouko muttered under her breath. "He could've just swallowed a pill and taken care of it... stupid old man."

Frustrated, she grabbed her coffee and headed toward the backyard. The night air was cool and calm enough to settle her nerves.

But the moment she slid open the door and stepped outside, she paused.

Haruki was already there, sitting quietly on the bench, gazing up at the stars. He looked peaceful... and alone.

Kyouko blinked, turned silently, and walked back inside.

She poured herself a second cup of coffee.

Then, without much thought, she stepped outside again, coffee in hand.

Haruki sat quietly on the bench, his eyes lifted toward the starry sky. The night was calm, but his mind was restless.

The sliding door behind him opened.

"Kyouko?" he turned.

She stepped out, barefoot and wearing light cotton pajamas that clung well to her curves. The fabric stretched slightly across her chest—thin enough that her nipples pressed clearly against it, the chill of the night doing nothing to soften their outline.

"Can I sit next to you?" she asked.

Haruki blinked, then smiled. "Hmm? Sure, go ahead."

Kyouko settled beside him, the fabric shifting as she moved, making the curves of her breasts—and the distinct peaks of her nipples—even more visible under the moonlight. Haruki's throat tightened. He took a slow sip of the coffee she'd handed him, but his gaze lingered.

She noticed.

"Naughty boy~" Kyouko teased, giving his arm a light slap. "Staring again?"

"Ouch. Not my fault," Haruki chuckled, scratching his cheek. "You walked out like that."

"Well, it's not like I expected someone to be out here..." She leaned slightly against him, her warmth seeping through the thin fabric.

"Couldn't sleep?" Kyouko asked softly, sipping her coffee.

"Yeah... kinda," Haruki replied, glancing over at her. "You're asking me—but you're the one who's still up."

Kyouko chuckled, following his gaze and realizing he was once again staring at her chest.

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"Naughty~" she said, giving his hand a playful slap.

"Ow—don't slap too hard. It's normal for me, you know," Haruki grinned, unashamed.

"Yeah... I know," Kyouko smiled, her tone softer this time.

Haruki looked up. "Look at the stars, Kyouko. They're beautiful tonight."

"Yes... they are," she whispered, not taking her eyes off him.

Then, slowly, Kyouko stood up and moved in front of Haruki, lowering herself down—her knees tucked under her, sitting directly between his legs. Her eyes met his, calm but filled with something deeper. She didn't say anything, just looked at him with quiet longing.

It wasn't seductive—it was something else.

An unspoken need for warmth.

Her body leaned forward slightly, as if asking for a hug... or maybe just the comfort of being held.

"Kyouko-san?"

Haruki looked at her with concern, noticing the slight tremble in her shoulders under the thin pajamas.

"Haruki... can you at least hug me? It's cold," she said, her voice soft.

"Are you sure? You know my hands might... slip." He offered a small, teasing smile.

Kyouko chuckled and then leaned gently into him. "Just don't overdo it."

"If you say so." Haruki wrapped his arms around her, pulling her into the warmth of his body. Her back pressed against his chest, and she didn't resist. If anything, she melted into the embrace.

Kyouko didn't fully understand why she allowed it—not when her heart still ached from being left unsatisfied by the man she had pledged herself to. It wasn't just about touch; it was the aching loneliness, the silent craving for someone to hold her, to remind her she was still a woman. Not just a wife. Not just a mother-in-law. A woman.

Even as Haruki's arms naturally settled around her body—where no other man's should—Kyouko didn't move away. She didn't stop him.

"Just stay like this for a moment..." Her voice trembled. "Until I calm down."

"If you say so, Kyouko-san," Haruki replied softly, resting his head lightly on her shoulder.

She closed her eyes, letting the silence envelop them.

"Thank you, Haruki," she whispered.

"Kyouko-san?"

"Ah, nothing. It's just..." She smiled through the sting of unshed tears. "It's been so long since someone cared for me like this."

Slowly, she took his hand and brought it gently to her chest, holding it there. To be reminded that she still mattered. That someone saw her.

"Kyouko-san? Are you sure?" Haruki glanced down at his hand resting gently over her chest—caught between instinct and hesitation.

Kyouko gave him a sideways glance, a small smirk on her lips. "Just don't get any funny ideas, okay?" Her tone was light, teasing—playful in a way that only someone completely comfortable could be.

She leaned her body against him, resting her head on his shoulder. The fabric of her pajamas brushed against his bare arm—soft and warm. Their bodies fit together in quiet harmony, like two pieces of a puzzle that had finally found their place.

They sat there under the stars, not saying much—just breathing, feeling, existing in each other's space. Kyouko's scent was faint, clean, and familiar. Haruki let himself relax, his arm wrapped protectively around her waist.

Then, gently, he leaned his head against hers.

From that angle, he could see her lips—soft, slightly parted, and dangerously close. Inviting in a way he hadn't expected. The kind of sight that made a man forget what he was supposed to be thinking.

Kyouko turned her gaze up toward him, meeting his eyes.

And she smiled.

It was a smile that didn't need words—the kind that held trust, comfort, and something deeper that neither of them dared to name. Not yet.

But it was there.

( End of Chapter )