My Netori Life With System: Stealing Milfs And Virgins

Chapter 304: 304. Even Though The Three of Us Are Alone... Haruka Still Feeling Shy!

The air in the small studio, once heavy with architectural philosophy, suddenly ignited with a different kind of heat. The tension was no longer about the "bones" of a building but the raw, pulsing tension of skin and secrets.

Ellie stepped closer to Mike, the amber light of the drafting lamp carving the sharp lines of her silhouette. She didn’t look embarrassed by his brazenness; she looked emboldened by it.

She leaned in, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper that was meant only for him, though in the small, quiet room, Haruka caught every syllable.

"You’re terrible," Ellie murmured, a playful, dangerous edge to her tone. "Does she know? Does Haruka know about us?"

"About the way you sneak into the house when Stanley is buried in his books? About how we’ve been playing this game behind his back?"

"There’s no way we can do it while Haruka’s here, you know."

Haruka froze. Her heart hammered against her ribs like a trapped bird.

She looked at Ellie, expecting a denial, a blush, or a frantic apology. Her eyes were wide, searching Ellie’s face for the lie.

But Mike didn’t flinch. Instead, he let out a low, dark chuckle, a sound that was pure, unadulterated predator.

He turned his gaze from Ellie to Haruka, his eyes hooded and heavy with a memory that made the air feel thick.

"Does she know? Bitch, please..." Mike repeated, his voice a velvet rasp.

He took a step toward Haruka, closing the distance until she was backed against the edge of the drafting table. "That’s funny, Ellie."

"Because Haruka and I have a history of our own."

"Remember that weekend in the apartment? The one where you masturbate while I was fucking the landlady? Or should we talk about how she used to act innocent until she started to use a dildo?"

The silence that followed was deafening.

Haruka’s mouth fell open. A soft, involuntary "Ah..." escaped her lips, a sound of pure, unadulterated shock.

Her face wasn’t just red; it was burning. She looked as if she wanted the floor to swallow her whole, her breath coming in shallow, jagged hitches.

Then, the silence was broken by a sound Haruka never expected: Ellie’s laughter. It wasn’t a polite giggle; it was a rich, throaty, triumphant sound that echoed off the sketches on the walls.

"Oh, you little devil!" Ellie cried out, moving toward Haruka with a sudden, predatory grace.

Before Haruka could protest, Ellie reached out and grabbed her by the shoulders. She didn’t hold her gently; she gripped her with a playful, overwhelming strength, shaking her slightly as if trying to rattle the secrets out of her.

"I didn’t think it!" Ellie teased, her eyes dancing with mischief as she shook the smaller woman. "I looked at you, Haruka!"

"You were so poised, so composed, so... proper. I never imagined a girl like you could be so incredibly naughty!"

"E-Ellie! Stop!" Haruka squeaked, her voice cracking.

She was caught in the middle of the two of them: Ellie’s overwhelming, tactile energy and Mike’s heavy, sexual gaze. "It was... it was just... ah!"

As Ellie continued to shake her, Haruka’s composure finally shattered. A soft, high-pitched moan escaped her, a sound that was half embarrassment and half arousal.

The friction of the movement, the heat of Ellie’s hands on her shoulders, and the way Mike was watching them as if he were deciding which one of them to devour first sent a jolt of electricity straight to her core.

"Is that a moan, Haruka?" Mike teased, his voice a low vibration that seemed to hit her right in the pelvis. He moved even closer, his heat radiating off him in waves. "Are you enjoying being caught?"

"It’s... it’s not..." Haruka tried to protest, but her voice failed her.

She let out a long, shaky breath that turned into a soft, desperate whimper. "Mmmph..."

Ellie didn’t let go. She leaned in closer, her face inches from Haruka’s, her eyes locked onto the Japanese girl’s panicked, beautiful face.

"Don’t fight it," Ellie whispered, her voice a sultry command. "The secret is out and the walls are down."

"There’s no one here to judge us but the models."

The room was filled with the sounds of their breathing, heavy, uneven, and thick with anticipation. The small lamp cast long, dancing shadows of the three of them against the walls, a tangled mess of limbs and intent.

The quiet of the night was gone, replaced by the rising tide of a hunger that had been suppressed for far too long.

The atmosphere in the studio had shifted from intellectual curiosity to something primal and uninhibited. The air felt heavy, saturated with the scent of skin and the electric charge of unspoken truths.

Ellie, still holding Haruka by the shoulders, didn’t let the momentum die. She leaned her forehead against Haruka’s, her eyes bright with a mischievous, almost wicked light.

"You know, Haruka," Ellie began, her voice dropping into a sultry, rhythmic lilt, "it’s not just about the secrecy."

"It’s about the feeling. There is nothing quite like the thrill of knowing exactly what’s coming for you while the rest of the world thinks you’re being perfectly behaved."

She glanced over at Mike, her gaze lingering on the heavy line of his trousers before returning to Haruka. A slow, knowing smirk spread across her lips.

"And Mike..." Ellie let out a breathy, almost hungry laugh. "He is a force of nature."

"Honestly, Haruka, you have no idea."

"He’s been walking around with that massive, heavy cock since middle school he’s always known exactly what he was carrying."

"And when he finally puts it to use? It’s... god."

As she spoke, Ellie’s thumbs began to trace slow, rhythmic circles against Haruka’s collarbones. "It’s so thick, so relentless."

"Sometimes, when he’s deep inside me, I actually forget how to breathe."

"It’s like he’s trying to claim every inch of my soul through the heat of him. Ah... mmm..." Ellie let out a soft, involuntary moan just at the memory, her eyes fluttering shut for a second.

Haruka’s face was a portrait of beautiful agony. She was trembling, her breath coming in short, staccato gasps.

"Ah... n-no..." she whimpered, her head ducking down, her long hair veiling her burning cheeks. "Ellie, please... don’t say such things so loudly..."

"Why not?" Ellie teased, giving her shoulders a playful, firm squeeze. "It’s the truth! The way he fills you up... the way you used to arch your back and cry out..."

"Stop! Stop it!" Haruka cried out, a high-pitched, embarrassed squeal that ended in a soft, melodic moan. "Haaah... mmm!"

She squeezed her eyes shut, her hands coming up to cover her face, but she couldn’t hide the way her chest was heaving. "It’s... it’s embarrassing! Especially now... especially now that Ren is finally here... in the same country... so close..."

The mention of Ren brought a flicker of genuine vulnerability to her voice. The thought of her lover being so near, while she carried these secret, carnal memories of Mike, made her feel deliciously, terrifyingly guilty.

"Ren is far away, Haruka," Mike intervened, his voice a low, commanding rumble.

He stepped into her personal space, his hand reaching out to catch one of her wrists, pulling her hand away from her face so he could see her eyes. "But we are right here."

"And we aren’t pretending anymore."

He leaned down, his lips brushing against the shell of her ear. "Don’t be shy about what you liked, Haruka."

"Don’t pretend you didn’t crave that weight. Don’t pretend you didn’t want to scream when he hit that spot."

Haruka let out a broken, desperate sound, a mix of a sob and a moan. "Ahhh... mmmph!"

She leaned into him instinctively, her body betraying her words. The shame was there, yes, but it was being rapidly overtaken by a mounting, undeniable arousal.

"See?" Ellie whispered, her voice a velvet caress as she moved her hands from Haruka’s shoulders down to her waist, pulling the smaller woman closer to the heat of the group. "The body never lies."

"You can try to be the proper Japanese girl all you want, but in this room, under this lamp... you’re just a woman who wants to be taken."

The studio was no longer a place of models and sketches; it had become a chamber of rising heat, filled with the sounds of heavy breathing, the soft friction of fabric, and the intoxicating, rhythmic moans of three people finally surrendering to the tension that had been building for a lifetime.