"He's just too much to handle, that bastard…"
In a cave concealed by the surrounding foliage, Takeshi sought refuge. The fight had drained him more than anything.
"Shop."
He summoned the system, exchanging 300 merit points for three bottles of elixir. He downed the first in one gulp, the slightly sweet liquid sliding down his throat. Suddenly, a wave of warmth enveloped him.
The next second, all his wounds had healed. The Jonin had earned him around 500 points—a tough opponent indeed, but thankfully he'd come out unscathed.
After catching his breath, he grabbed the other two bottles, consuming them back-to-back. Sitting in a lotus position, he circulated his chakra and fell into a deep meditation.
Ding Ding
[System] — Host has gained 30 merit points.
[System] — Host has gained 30 merit points.
"What the hell…"
Takeshi was confused. How had he earned points just by sitting there? The system must have a bug, or maybe it had finally adopted him.
"Whatever…" he muttered, closing his eyes again, focusing on his meditation.
Meanwhile, in Sakura's room…
Moonlight filtered through the curtains of Sakura's room, casting her bed in a silvery glow.
Lying on her rumpled sheets, she stared at the ceiling, her breath short, her body aflame with an unbearable heat.
For days, an obsessive image had been looping in her mind: Takeshi, shirtless, muscles glistening with sweat, his intense gaze meeting hers as they indulged in carnal pleasures.
What an imagination!
She had caught a glimpse of the scene, hidden behind the door of Mei's room, and since then, the vision had haunted her.
Sakura, who had long worshipped Sasuke, felt her heart and body straying toward another man.
A burning itch arose between her thighs, impossible to ignore.
She clenched her legs, trying to banish the image, but it was futile. Her body betrayed her will, her cheeks flushing, her breath quickening.
The heat rose, unbearable, and her fingers, as if driven by a force of their own, slid over her stomach, brushing the soft skin beneath her light tank top.
She bit her lip, a muffled moan escaping her.
"Damn… why am I thinking about him…" she whispered, her voice trembling, almost guilty.
But guilt faded in the face of the desire consuming her.
Sakura lifted her tank top, exposing her round breasts, her nipples already hardened with excitement.
The cool air against her skin made her shiver, but the heat between her legs was stronger. Her fingers descended, hesitant, to the elastic of her pink lace panties.
She closed her eyes, the image of Takeshi returning with force: his sculpted abs, his scars telling tales of battles, his piercing gaze seeming to see right through her.
A rough sigh escaped her as she spread her legs, her fingers slipping under the lace, brushing her damp intimacy.
Mhmm!
She moaned softly, her fingers exploring slowly, caressing the wet folds of her sex. The sensation was electric, every movement sending waves of pleasure through her body.
She imagined Takeshi, his calloused hands replacing hers, his expert fingers touching her where she needed it most.
"Oh… Takeshi…" she murmured, her hips rising slightly, seeking more contact.
Her caresses intensified, her fingers teasing her clitoris, massaging it in slow circles, then faster, her breath becoming erratic.
Sakura threw her head back, her pink hair spreading across the pillow. Her other hand rose, grasping a breast, pinching her nipple between her fingers.
The slight pain mingled with pleasure, making her moan louder. She imagined Takeshi leaning over her, his lips nipping at her skin, his body pressed against hers.
Her fingers quickened, now slipping inside, mimicking the movements she dreamed of feeling from him.
Her intimacy contracted around her fingers, each stroke amplifying the heat building within her.
Sweat beaded on her forehead, her body glistening in the moonlight. She spread her legs wider, her hips rocking against her hand, her moans filling the room.
The image of Takeshi, shirtless, his katana beside him, his dark eyes devouring her, pushed her to the edge.
"Yes… like that…" she panted, her fingers hitting a precise spot inside, her clitoris pulsing under her caresses.
Her body tensed, her muscles contracting, a hoarse cry escaping her as an orgasm tore through her, powerful, devastating. Her hips jerked, her fingers prolonging the pleasure until she collapsed, gasping, onto the sheets.
But the heat didn't fade. Her breath was still ragged, her body vibrating with unfulfilled desire. She withdrew her fingers, glistening with her own pleasure, and brought them to her lips, tasting herself with a boldness she didn't know she had.
The image of Takeshi persisted, more vivid than ever, his imaginary lips replacing her fingers, his hard body against hers.
Sakura groaned, frustrated, her hand sliding between her thighs again.
"Damn… it's not enough…" she murmured, her fingers resuming their dance, slower this time, savoring every sensation.
She imagined Takeshi pinning her against the wall, his hands rough but precise, his hot breath against her neck.
Her caresses became more insistent, her fingers plunging deeper, her other hand kneading her breasts, alternating between softness and pain.
Her body arched, her moans becoming muffled cries, as if she feared someone might hear. But in the privacy of her room, she let go, her mind consumed by the fantasy of Takeshi, his scars, his dangerous aura.
A second orgasm built, slower but more intense, her fingers working with surgical precision, a result of her medical training.
She imagined Takeshi taking her, his hips slamming against hers, his rough groans in her ear.
"Takeshi…" she moaned, her body tensing again, her thighs trembling as pleasure overwhelmed her, leaving her gasping, the sheets damp beneath her.
Sakura collapsed, her heart pounding, her body glistening with sweat. She stared at the ceiling, a mix of shame and satisfaction washing over her.
The image of Takeshi refused to fade, her desire still there, lurking, ready to resurface. She slid a hand over her stomach, her fingers brushing her sensitive skin, a shy smile on her lips.
"If only…" she whispered, her mind already imagining a next time, perhaps more real. She turned on her side, her thighs pressed together, her body still quivering, the night promising more fantasies, more solitary rounds.