BECOMING MID(NIGHT)-Chapter 54: Phase 41.1 - Why Do I Want It So Bad? (R | VelvetVice)

Chapter 54: Phase 41.1 - Why Do I Want It So Bad? (R | VelvetVice)

The silence in the room wasn’t empty; it was a thudding, pressurized space that sat heavy on my chest, broken only by the low, distant hum of the city outside and the erratic, jackhammering rhythm of our overlapping heartbeats.

Throb, clench, drip, repeat.

I could feel the heat radiating off him in waves—a shimmering wall of warmth that made the air between us feel thick, almost ionized, as if the oxygen itself were being burned away by the friction of our proximity.

I shifted my weight, and the leather of the sofa let out a sharp, percussive squeal that vibrated straight through my core, a sound so loud in the quiet that it felt like it was echoing inside my marrow.

My hands left his hair, moving slowly to the hem of my top. My muscles were humming, a high-frequency tremor running just beneath my skin as I began to peel the fabric up.

It was slow, agonizingly so.

The cloth dragged against my skin with a soft, static crackle, catching on my nipples—rigid, aching tips that strained for a touch I was purposely denying them.

I felt the cool air hit my midriff, a sudden, jarring contrast to the heat of his body, and my abdomen rippled involuntarily.

Every inch of my skin felt goosefleshed and hyper-sensitive, a raw canvas waiting for the first stroke of a brush.

I didn’t wait for him to move.

I reached for the heavy brass tab of his jeans. With one sharp, downward jerk, the teeth of the zipper gave way—a harsh, mechanical grind that sounded like a gunshot in the quiet room. I shoved the denim down his hips, my knuckles grazing the searing heat of his thighs, and let his cock spring free.

It was rigid, pulsing, with thick veins bulging like ropes under the skin, a map of pure, unadulterated need.

A single, heavy bead of precum gathered at the tip, glistening in the dim light before it began a slow, hypnotic crawl down the shaft.

I watched it, my own breath catching in my throat, feeling the pull of it like a magnet.

Is this really gonna be my first time?

One by one, the barriers fell.

My top, his shirt, the heavy denim—they slid off the edge of the sofa and hit the hardwood floor with a series of dull, soft thuds.

So cold, what the fuck!

We were just two bodies now, stripped of our digital armor, raw and vulnerable in a way that terrified and exhilarated me.

I’m practically being more than naked here.

Like... double naked?

I could see my breasts heaving with every shallow, desperate breath, and the sight of him—veined, heavy, and weeping for friction—made my own wetness ache, a deep, throbbing pulse between my thighs that demanded satisfaction.

I broke first.

I slid down, my knees hitting the floor with a muffled thud, my breath hot and humid against his throbbing length.

So... girls actually want this?

Gross... maybe.

I wanted to see him unravel.

I wanted to be the one who dismantled the "Midnight" persona, piece by piece, until there was nothing left but this—the heat, the salt, and the ruin of his control.

I will make you enjoy every single moment of this sensation, Mayo-san.

I started slow, teasing the edges.

I circled the tip with my tongue, lapping at the salt and the sticky moisture in slow, deliberate swirls.

I wanted to learn every ridge, every vein, as if I were memorizing a code I intended to break.

My mouth took him in shallowly at first, hollowing my cheeks and sucking just enough to make his hips hitch, a sharp, involuntary jerk that sent a thrill of triumph through me.

I watched the way the pleasure flared across his face, his eyes glazing over, losing that sharp, analytical edge he always carried.

Let’s see if you can take this too...

I dragged the slick tip past my lips,

The gluck of spit against skin was the only sound in the room—a wet, rhythmic symphony for just the two of us.

​Wait, this actually feels so good.

​And it’s... vibrating inside.

Not just him, but me.

Like the hum of the loop has finally found a way to bridge the gap between my skin and the software.

I changed the pressure.

I moved from the soft, velvet heat of my tongue to a tight, focused suction at the tip, drawing a ragged, broken gasp from him.

I felt him jump, his whole body tensing, his fingers digging into the leather of the sofa as if he were trying to find purchase in a world that was suddenly spinning out of control.

I pulled back, just for a second, letting the cool air hit the glistening skin I’d just made so hot.

I watched his hips chase for me—a desperate, mindless search for the heat he’d lost, a marionette responding to the strings I was pulling.

"Chill, Mayo," I rasped, my voice sounding deeper, thicker, vibrating with a masculine resonance that I didn’t bother to hide anymore.

"I want to see how much of this you can actually take before you break."

I dove back in, but this time I didn’t play.

I took him fully, letting him stretch my mouth until it ached, the fullness of him a constant, heavy pressure against my palate.

The gag reflex hit the back of my throat—a sharp, stinging pressure that brought tears to my eyes—but I pushed through it, forcing my throat to accept him, to accommodate every inch.

I turned the discomfort into a deep, rhythmic suction, a hydraulic pull that seemed to draw the very life out of him.

Saliva slicked every inch of him, running down his shaft and over my fingers as I bobbed and circled, a relentless, wet motion that filled the room with the sound of his undoing.

My hands were busy, never letting him settle.

I cupped his base, my fingers rolling and squeezing the skin to keep the tension at a fever pitch, while my other hand teased his balls, feeling them contract and pulse with every shiver he gave me.

He was a wreck beneath me, his groans growing ragged and fractured, no longer sounding like a man, but like a system failing under a load it wasn’t designed to carry. Every time I felt his hips start to lock—the tell-tale sign that he was about to go over the edge—I slowed down.

I’d pull back to the very tip, swirling my tongue in lazy, agonizing circles, milking the sensation but never letting it overflow. I kept him right on the brink, at that precise point where the pleasure becomes so intense it’s indistinguishable from pain.

"F-fuck... Kyouya..." he groaned, his voice completely unspooling, a raw, gutteral sound that made my skin prickle.

You are close.

I see.

I ignored the plea. I didn’t want his words; I wanted his total surrender. I wanted him to lose his mind, to forget the "rat gamer," to forget the "Midnight" mask, and just be the animal I was making him.

I dove deep one last time, hollowing my cheeks until they ached, my fingers white-knuckled against his base. I increased the speed, the slick pops and wet glucks filling the room like a heavy, industrial beat.

I could feel his heart jackhammering against his ribs, his thighs locking tight, his toes curling into the carpet as he tried to find some kind of purchase in the void I was creating. The air in the room felt heavy, charged with a static electricity that made the fine hairs on my arms stand up.

Then he broke.

His body tensed with a violence that startled me, his hips bucking upward as if he’d been hit by a live wire.

I didn’t pull away.

I held my ground, taking the impact, letting him feel the tight, relentless embrace of my throat as he pulsed.

Thick, hot ropes of him shot deep into my mouth, filling me with the salt and the heat of his release.

Wait... this is a lot of cum!

Too much!

I swallowed, gulped, and bobbed with every desperate thrust he made, tasting the raw reality of him, the data I had spent so long trying to extract.

It ain’t taste that bad, I guess.

His spasms rippled through his entire length, a series of seismic shudders that seemed to go on forever.

I kept working, my lips tight and my tongue pressing firmly against him, milking every last drop, ensuring that I took everything he had to give.

I wanted the complete download.

Why do I want it so bad?

This is just sperm.

I held him there until the shaking finally stopped, my throat working in sync with my hands until he finally went slack, his body heavy and spent against the sofa.

It feels so hot now inside my body.

The heat of him is just filling me up...

I pulled back slowly, the strings of saliva and cum trailing from my lips and catching the dim light of the city like silver threads.

I met his hazy, flushed gaze, sitting there in the heavy, ionizing silence, feeling completely triumphant in the ruin I’d made of him.

But the triumph was short-lived.

The silence of the room was suddenly shattered by a low, rhythmic chime—a cold, digital sound that felt like a slap in the face.

The watch on my wrist was glowing.

What is it again, this time?

A sharp, neon-blue light that cut through the darkness of the room, reflecting off the damp skin of my chest.

I looked down, my breath still coming in ragged pants, and saw the numbers.

[01:30:00]

The ninety-minute warning.

The protocol was shifting.

The physical overload was done, the cooldown was initiating, and the real handshake was about to begin.

Beside me, I heard Mayo shift.

The "rat gamer" was coming back, the social anxiety and the guarded cynicism stitching themselves back into his expression.

He looked at me, his eyes searching mine, trying to find the "Velvet" mask, but it was gone, buried under the salt and the heat of what we’d just done.