Sakura asks Mecha for a game of commander and some old faces show up
Mecha woke up to a familiar presence in his bed.
Groggily, he moved his arms and found Momo nestled against his chest like a koala — his muse, his little spoon, apparently still asleep. He lay still for a moment, putting the room back together in his head.
Then he reached for his phone.
Kura: Hey Ryugi do you want to get a couple of games of Commander in with Wony, me, and RVP32?
Mecha: Sure, why not. What time?
Kura: 2.5 hours from now. Lounge.
Mecha: Works for me.
Kura: Awesome. See you then 🦖
He laughed quietly and set the phone down. Then he tried to ease himself out of bed — and remembered, half a second too late, that Momo was wrapped in his arms.
The flailing woke her anyway.
Her eyes fluttered open and she looked up at him, blinking, confused — until the confusion softened into something relaxed and unbothered. Chubby cheeks, doe eyes. The full effect.
“Everything okay?” she asked.
“Yeah. I just forgot you were here.”
“Oh — sorry. Your place was closer to where our last schedule ran than mine. And warmer.”
Mecha looked at her. “…Riiiight.”
He knew she was lying. His hangar sat on the outskirts of everything. Unless her schedule had been held in a field somewhere, there was no version of reality where he was closer. He was about to say so when something caught his eye — her red dress from The Devil Wears Prada 2 premiere, hanging by his closet.
He remembered exactly how she’d looked in it.
“I’ll let that slide,” he said. “But you’re evil. You know that, right?”
Momo blinked at him.
He pointed to the dress. “That thing is a weapon.”
Something shifted in her expression. The doe-eyed softness dropped. She sat up, then leaned forward — slow, deliberate — until she was hovering over him, her gaze sultry and dripping with quiet menace. Her hands came up to frame his face.
“I always forget,” she murmured, “that my gold-and-blue dragon can be a dumb bull sometimes. All it takes is a little red.”
They stared each other down, both fighting the exact same losing battle.
Before Mecha could even stop himself he pushed his boxers down along with Momo’s panties to the side and slid insider her. Her walls are drenched as her cream coats his cock, driving him further past the point of no return.
The familiarity of her body on top of his, her slick wall’s around his cock and one of her breast slipping out of her bra destroy any restraint in left in Mecha.
Her grabs Momo’s fat pliable ass and thrusts into her.
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