Tzuyu gets a crazy birthday gift
Tzuyu stepped into your home with one thing on her mind.
"Wolf." She said it to the empty living room, already moving toward the sound of activity deeper in the villa.
She found you at the stove. Back turned, one hand braced on the counter, the other working a pan. Those pants — the dark ones that sat low on your hips in a way she had mentioned, exactly once, made it very difficult to think — did not help her situation at all.
She stood in the doorway and watched you for a moment. The smell of bread, tomatoes, and cured meats hung warm in the air. The ache in her chest — the one that had been sitting behind her ribs since sometime around noon — loosened just slightly, the way it always did when she was near you.
Just near you. That was the thing she could never fully explain to anyone.
The timer on the oven ticked. You shifted your weight to the other foot, unaware of her. She watched your shoulders move.
The ache sharpened again. Her desire reached a fever pitch.
She crossed the kitchen without deciding to.
You felt her before you saw her — the way her arms folded around you from behind and her face pressed into the curve of your shoulder, not gentle, not polite, with all the subtlety of someone who had been holding themselves together for several hours and had finally run out of reasons to keep doing so.
"I need you," she said. Her voice was quieter than usual. That was how you knew she meant it.
You turned away from the half-assembled pizza.
When you turned around, she was already there, closer than expected, eyes dark and a little unfocused in the way that made coherent conversation functionally impossible. She kissed you before you had fully registered the expression on her face — her lips dragging along your cheek, the corner of your jaw, finding your mouth with the particular graceless urgency of someone who had stopped caring about being smooth approximately thirty minutes ago.
Your hands found her waist.
She pulled back just enough that her lips were still grazing yours, her arms looped over your shoulders, her eyes asking a question she had already decided the answer to.
You smiled at her.
"You're home early."
Tzuyu made a sound against your mouth that was not quite a word. Her kisses had become less a sequence of events and more a general policy — continuous, overlapping, only nominally aimed. You let her. You leaned against the counter and let her press into you and thought, not for the first time, that there was something quietly extraordinary about being someone's first stop.
"Bedroom," she said. "Now. Talk later."
You slid out of her grip long enough to put the last pizza into the oven. Then set the timer. Eighteen minutes.
"Okay," you said, "but when that goes off, we stop. I'm not letting your dinner burn."
She pulled back to look at you. Her hair was slightly disheveled from her own doing. Her expression suggested she had processed approximately forty percent of what you said.
"Yes," she said. "Okay. Sure. But now, Wolfgang—"
You laughed. She didn't wait for you to finish.
Tzuyu damn near drags you into the room, as she strips her tanned body, filling your field of vision. You drink in every sensual curve and seductive gaze.
“Come on,” she whines as you hurried to get undressed.
You approach but her eyes are locked on your cock. “Fuck! Impale so I can think straight,” the tour had me so horny and I need you to just fuck me smart again.” You laugh as you crawl to her. Your hands wrap around her waist as she locks eyes with you. She smiles and says “Please fuck me!”