The air in Yor Forger's kitchen had become a physical weight. It smelled of premium olive oil, the metallic tang of adrenaline, and the overwhelming, sweet scent of a lethal woman in heat.
Renji's hand was still buried deep in the soft, yielding flesh of Yor's inner thigh. The rip in her stocking had become a gateway to madness. Her skin was feverishly hot, slick with the spilled oil, vibrating with every ragged breath she took.
"Nnngh~!"
Yor threw her head back, her neck arching like a swan in ecstasy. Her black hair fanned out into the puddle of oil on the floor, soaking it up.
"Right there..." she whispered, her voice a wet, desperate whimper. She clamped her powerful legs tighter around Renji's arm, trapping him. "The muscle... it's so tight... knead it out, Renji-san. Use your knuckles."
She looked down at him, her red eyes swimming with a hazy, predatory affection. Her sweater-dress had ridden up dangerously high, bunching around her waist, leaving her exposed to the cool kitchen air and his hot, frantic touch.
"You're so good at this," she purred, licking her lips. "Better than a warm bath. Better than... hunting."
She leaned forward, her chest pressing against his shoulder. He could feel the heavy, frantic beating of her heart.
"Stay," she breathed into his ear. "Forget the world outside. I'll make you stew. I'll make you... anything. We can lock the door. I have... handcuffs. For... safety."
Renji's mind was melting. The [Milf Magnetism] skill was roaring, urging him to stay, to sink into the oil and the softness and never leave.
BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.
His watch. The cheap digital alarm he had set the night before.
8:30 AM.
The interview. The job at Soul Society Corp. If he didn't get this job, he couldn't pay Tsunade. And if he couldn't pay Tsunade... well, she might enjoy "punishing" him, but he doubted his pelvis would survive the process.
"I... I have to go!" Renji gasped, trying to pull his arm free.
Yor's grip tightened instantly. It wasn't just strong; it was hydraulic.
"Go?" Her eyes narrowed. The sweet housewife vanished, replaced for a split second by the Thorn Princess. "Where? To her? To the loud blonde woman?"
"No!" Renji yelped. "Work! I have a job interview! I have to work hard... to... to support a household!"
The magic words.
Yor's expression softened instantly. Her cheeks flushed pink.
"Support... a household?" she repeated, her voice trembling with emotion. "You... you want to be a provider? A hard-working man?"
She released his arm. She looked at him with starry, idolizing eyes.
"Oh, Renji-san! That is so respectable!" She grabbed his oil-soaked hand and pressed it to her cheek. "Go! Go and conquer the corporate world! I will... I will stay here and practice my cooking! For when you come home!"
She pushed him. Gently. Which, for her, meant Renji was launched sliding across the oily floor, through the hallway, and nearly out the front door.
"Come back hungry!" she called out, blowing a kiss that seemed to physically impact the air.
Renji scrambled to his feet, his shoes slipping on the linoleum. He didn't look back. He threw open the door and sprinted.
The run to the business district was a blur of neon signs and bouncing physics.
Renji's lungs burned, but his legs pumped with the relentless energy of his [Eternal Stamina] skill. He was a mess. His shirt was translucent, soaked with Yor's olive oil and his own nervous sweat. He smelled like a walking Italian restaurant managed by a succubus.
He wove through the morning crowd. He passed a bakery where Mittelt (High School DxD) was arguing with a customer. He dodged a traffic cop who looked suspiciously like Makoto Kusanagi (Ghost in the Shell).
But he didn't stop. He couldn't.
Ahead of him, looming like a fortress of glass and steel, was the headquarters of Soul Society Corp....
Chapter end...