Milf Hunter: Seducing And Taming Beauties

Chapter 586: Yuko’s Sticky Evidence

For one suspended moment, there was only the sound of her ragged breathing. Then her face twisted in absolute horror as she stared down at herself. "N-No... no, no, NO—!" Her hands flew to cover the damning evidence, but it was far too late. The wet spot was obvious, glaring, and from the way her face burned crimson, she knew I’d seen everything.

"D-Don’t—!" Her voice cracked, high-pitched with panic. She tried to press her thighs together, but that only made the damp fabric cling more obscenely. "Don’t look! Don’t you DARE look!"

I didn’t even try to hide my smirk. "Too late," I murmured, my voice thick with dark amusement. "Already saw it all, Sister Yuko. Every. Little. Detail."

Her face contorted in humiliation. "You—! You PERVERT!" She bolted off the bed with such force she nearly tripped over her own feet. The sudden movement only made her dress ride up slightly, giving me another flash of her thighs—still glistening, still flushed with arousal.

The moment stretched like a snapped rubber band. She didn’t even make it two steps before the weight of her embarrassment crashed over her. Her shoulders hitched once, twice—then a sound tore from her throat, something between a sob and a gasp, raw and strangled.

She whirled so fast her heel skidded on the polished floor, arms flailing for balance before she lunged for the bathroom. The door slammed behind her with a violence that made the wooden frame shudder, the echo of it bouncing off the walls like a gunshot.

I didn’t move. Not yet.

From the other side of the door, the sounds came in waves. First, the frantic rustle of fabric—sharp, aggressive tugs as she fought with her dress, the kind of struggle that spoke of humiliation burning under her skin.

Then, the gasps. Uneven. Desperate. Like she was drowning in three inches of air, her breaths coming in jagged bursts that bordered on panic. A muffled curse. The click of the lock, so final, so pointless. As if a flimsy metal latch could rewrite the last thirty seconds. As if it could unsee what I’d seen.

I exhaled through my nose, a laugh building low in my chest. It wasn’t cruel, not really. Just the absurdity of it all—the way life had a habit of tilting sideways when you least expected it. I let the chuckle escape, quiet but unmistakable, before turning on my heel and leaving the room behind.

The empty room down the hall smelled of stale air and forgotten laundry detergent. I stripped down, cranked the shower to scalding, and let the water pound against my shoulders until my skin turned pink.

The heat helped, grounding me, washing away the lingering amusement—and something else, too. A flicker of guilt, maybe. Or just the ghost of her expression, seared into the back of my eyelids.

By the time I stepped into the kitchen, the scent of coffee already filled the space, bitter and comforting. I set a pan on the stove, the sizzle of butter hitting the heat a familiar rhythm.

Eggs cracked cleanly against the rim of a bowl, yolks spilling gold and thick. The mundane motions were a balm, a way to pretend the last few minutes hadn’t happened.

Then I heard her.

Footsteps, slow at first, then deliberate. The creak of a floorboard. I didn’t turn around, but I knew it was Yuko before she even spoke. The air changed when she entered a room—charged, like the moment before a storm.

Her hair was still damp, dark strands clinging to her neck, and the scent of shampoo—something floral, jasmine maybe—cut through the smell of frying eggs. She stopped just behind me, close enough that I could feel the heat radiating off her skin.

"If you tell anyone about this," she said, her voice low and lethal, "you’re dead."

I froze mid-stir, spoon hovering over the pan. Then, slowly, I turned my head just enough to meet her gaze. Her eyes were narrow, her jaw set, but there was something else there, too.

A flicker of vulnerability, quickly smothered. I let my own expression crumple into exaggerated terror, lips parting, eyebrows shooting up. "N-no, of course not! My lips are sealed! Grave-sealed!" I pressed a hand to my chest, as if the very thought of betrayal might stop my heart.

Yuko snorted, unimpressed. The corner of her mouth twitched, but she refused to let it become a smile. "Good," she muttered, already pivoting away. "Because I know where you sleep."

I watched her go, the sway of her damp hair against her back, the way her fingers flexed at her sides like she was itching for a fight. The threat hung between us, but it was hollow now, deflated by her own reluctance to linger. She had bigger fish to fry.

A second later, Yuko’s voice sliced through the quiet of the morning—sharp, commanding, the kind of tone that brooked no argument.

"Haruna! Wake up, you lazy slug!" The words were followed by the unmistakable thud of a pillow hitting the wall, the muffled groan of someone being jolted from sleep. I could almost picture it: Yuko standing over Haruna’s bed, arms crossed, tapping her foot in that way she did when she was losing patience.

I grinned to myself and flipped the eggs in the pan, the spatula scraping lightly against the surface. The scent of toasted bread and fried eggs filled the kitchen, warm and comforting. It was going to be an interesting morning.

Yuko stomped back into the room a moment later, her damp hair now tied into a messy bun, a few strands still clinging to her neck.

She plopped herself into one of the dining chairs with a sigh, her expression a mix of irritation and something else—maybe residual embarrassment, maybe just the usual morning grumpiness.

I just slid a plate of eggs and toast in front of her before turning back to the stove. The plates clinked softly as I stacked them, the ceramic warm under my fingers. I was just reaching for the last of the dishes when movement caught my eye.

Haruna.

She was walking toward us slowly, her steps hesitant, almost delicate. A faint blush dusted her cheeks, but it wasn’t just her face that was flushed. My gaze flicked downward for just a second—long enough to notice the faint pink tint on her skin, the lingering evidence of last night’s... activities.

I’d used The Healer on her earlier; otherwise, she wouldn’t even have been able to move, let alone walk. The ability had done its job, but it couldn’t erase the aftermath entirely.

Yuko, ever observant, didn’t miss a beat. She turned in her chair, her sharp eyes narrowing as she took in Haruna’s slow, careful movements. "Haruna," she said, her voice laced with amusement, "What are you doing? Get over here and help your boyfriend with breakfast."