Chapter 2 — The Touch Beneath the Glove
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Yuuto's bedroom smelled faintly of imported cologne, expensive wine, and midnight. Floor-to-ceiling windows looked out across Tokyo's skyline, but tonight, the city felt miles away.
Because she was here.
Aika Tsukishiro stood in the corner, her gloved hands folded, her red eyes watching him like a mirror reflecting all his hidden sins.
> "How did you get in?" he asked, trying to sound amused. He wasn't.
> "You invited me," she said simply.
He hadn't. Not with words.
But something deeper—desire—had opened a door, and she had stepped through.
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She walked toward him, slowly, the heels of her boots clicking on polished hardwood. She wore the same backless black dress, but up close, it looked... alive. Like silk spun from shadows.
Yuuto stepped back. Not because he was scared. Because his heart beat too fast, too hard.
> "Are you going to curse me now?" he said with a grin that didn't reach his eyes.
Aika tilted her head. "You're already cursed. The moment you wanted me."
She reached up, pulling at her gloves, one finger at a time. The silk slid off with agonizing slowness. Her bare hands were pale, delicate... and glowing faintly, like they didn't belong in this world.
> "Touch me," Yuuto whispered, surprising even himself.
> "Are you sure?" she asked. Her voice was a purr wrapped in sorrow.
He nodded.
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Her hand brushed his cheek.
A flash—memories that weren't his.
Aika screaming beneath a red moon.
Men begging, gasping, faces twisted in ecstasy... then horror.
A blade. A curse. A kiss that burned like fire and froze like death.
Yuuto gasped, falling to his knees. His body reacted instinctively—blood rushing, breath quickening, arousal mixing with pain.
> "That's what I am," she said quietly. "A living hunger."
He looked up at her, panting. "Then... feed."
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They didn't speak again.
Her hands slid over his chest, pulling at his shirt, revealing skin. Every touch made his nerves sing—like her fingers knew exactly what he wanted, even before he did.
She straddled him on the bed, eyes glowing brighter. Her dress slid down, revealing smooth skin, a lacy black bra, and curves sculpted like temptation itself.
She leaned down, lips inches from his.
> "This is not pleasure," she warned. "It's possession."
> "Take me," he said.
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When she kissed him, it was more than heat—it was absorption.
He felt his energy draining, but in return, he felt her pain. Her emptiness. Her years of loneliness.
It was the most erotic and the most tragic thing he'd ever felt.
They moved together—body to body, rhythm slow, almost ceremonial. Her moans were soft, restrained, like she wasn't allowed to feel good.
He whispered her name. She froze.
> "Don't say it," she gasped. "If you say it like that... I'll forget I'm cursed."
And for a moment, they weren't a cursed girl and a boy with too much money.
They were just... two broken people, clinging to one another in the dark.
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Later, when he awoke—sweaty, breathless, and half-drained—Aika was gone.
But burned into his skin, on his chest, was a faint glowing sigil.
Not ink. Not a scar. Something... living.
And in the mirror across the room, her voice echoed:
> "You belong to me now, Yuuto Hayami."