Milf Hunter: Seducing And Taming Beauties

Chapter 587: Yuko’s Envy: The Bitter Taste of Want

Haruna blinked, as if she’d been lost in her own thoughts, then shook her head slightly, coming back to herself. ”Y-yeah, sister,” she stammered, her voice still thick with sleep—or maybe something else.

She made her way to my side, her fingers brushing against mine as she took the plates from me. The contact was brief, but it sent a jolt through me, a reminder of everything that had happened just hours before.

She began serving breakfast, her movements careful as she placed a plate in front of Yuko, then one for me, and finally one for herself. The clink of silverware against the plates filled the silence, the scent of food mingling with the faint, lingering aroma of something sweeter—something that made my pulse quicken.

Yuko’s fingers tightened around her fork, her knuckles whitening just slightly. Of course, she noticed. She noticed everything—the way Haruna’s breath hitched when our eyes met, the way the air between us had thickened, heavy with something unspoken.

But Yuko had mastered the art of pretending not to see what she didn’t want to acknowledge. She lifted the fork to her lips, her movements deliberate, almost mechanical, as if she could will herself into indifference by sheer force of habit.

The eggs were still warm, the yolk rich and buttery, but she barely tasted them. Her focus was elsewhere—on the way Haruna’s fingers trembled around her glass, on the way her sister’s blush had spread down her neck, painting her skin in delicate shades of pink.

I didn’t look away from Haruna.

The morning light spilled through the window, casting golden streaks across the table, across her—highlighting the flush on her cheeks, the way her lower lip was caught between her teeth.

The kitchen smelled of toast and coffee and something sweeter, something that made my pulse thrum in my veins. For a moment, it was just us.

The clink of Yuko’s fork against her plate, the distant hum of the refrigerator, even the rustle of fabric as Haruna shifted in her seat—all of it faded into the background, drowned out by the roar of my own heartbeat.

I wanted to push.

I wanted to see what would happen if I took the dream Yuko had never admitted to—the one that had left her breathless and flushed and wanting—and made it real. Right in front of her.

So I did.

I cut a piece of my breakfast—fluffy scrambled eggs, still steaming—and brought the fork to my lips, taking a slow, deliberate bite. My gaze never left Haruna’s as I chewed, as I swallowed, as I offered the fork to her. ”Here,” I murmured, my voice low, rough with amusement. ”Eat this. You need to grow more.”

Haruna’s eyes widened, her breath catching in her throat. For a second, she just stared at me, her lips parted, her fingers curled into the edge of the table.

Then, as if my words had snapped something into place inside her, she straightened, her shoulders rolling back, her chest lifting just enough to make her point. ”I’m already big,” she shot back, her voice laced with playful defiance. She popped her chest out, just slightly, her chin tilting up in challenge.

Yuko’s fork clattered against her plate.

”Haruna,” she said, her voice sharp, a warning edge cutting through the air like a blade. But her words lacked their usual bite. She sounded almost... strangled.

I turned my head just enough to meet Yuko’s gaze, my smirk deepening. There was something deliciously satisfying about the way her eyes had gone wide, the way her fingers had stilled mid-motion, her breakfast forgotten. ”Sister Yuko,” I said, my tone smooth, almost innocent, ”let me pamper Haruna.”

I didn’t wait for permission.

My hand found Haruna’s waist, my fingers curling against the soft fabric of her shirt. I pulled her gently but firmly, guiding her onto my lap.

She let out a soft, surprised gasp as she settled against me, her body tense at first, then melting into mine as my arm wrapped around her waist, holding her steady. The warmth of her seeped through the fabric of my clothes, her scent—vanilla and something uniquely her—filling my senses.

The moment Haruna’s breath hitched, I felt it—like a thread pulling taut between us. My fingers brushed against her lower lip as I lifted another bite to her mouth, her warmth seeping into my skin. She clung to my shirt, her nails pressing just enough to leave faint crescents against my collarbone. Her eyes darted between me and Yuko, wide and uncertain, like a deer caught in headlights.

”Jack...” Her voice was barely a whisper, trembling. ”What are you doing? Sister is right here—this isn’t—”

I cut her off before she could spiral. My thumb traced the curve of her cheek, smudging away a fleck of sauce. ”Don’t worry,” I murmured, low enough that only the two of them could hear. ”I’m not doing anything wrong. I’m just feeding my girlfriend.” The words settled between us, heavy with defiance.

Yuko’s voice sliced through the air, sharp as broken glass. ”Haruna, what are you doing? Come back to your seat.”

Haruna’s lips curved into a smirk, her fingers tightening in my shirt. ”Sister, are you jealous... that I have a boyfriend who pampers me like this?” She leaned into me, her voice dripping with false innocence.

Yuko let out a derisive scoff, her voice dripping with feigned indifference. ”Why would I be jealous...?” Yet her mind screamed the truth— [Of course, I’m jealous. How could I not be?]

[But if I told you... Jack was my husband, and he’s spoiled me in ways you’ll never understand... Hmph. But all that..... was just a dream...]

I kept my gaze locked on Yuko, watching as her expression fractured—shock, confusion, and then something darker, something raw and hungry, flashing across her face in quick succession. Her lips parted slightly, as if she wanted to say something, but the words died before they could form.

Yuko didn’t move.

She didn’t blink.

She didn’t even breathe.

Her fork slipped from her fingers, clattering against the plate as her hands fell limp into her lap. Her chest rose and fell in shallow, uneven breaths, her fingers curling into the edge of the table like she was clinging to it for dear life. The color had drained from her face, leaving her pale, her lips parted slightly, her eyes wide, dazed—locked onto us.

And then I heard her.

Her thoughts crashed into mine, a frantic, disbelieving storm:

[What—what is happening? This is—this is exactly like—] Her mental voice was raw, trembling, the words tumbling over each other in her haste to make sense of it.

[The dream. The dream I had. He—Jack—he did this to me. Feeding me. Letting me sit on his lap. Touching me like—] A sharp inhale, her thoughts stuttering.

[But it’s Haruna. It’s Haruna in his arms. It’s Haruna he’s looking at like that. It’s Haruna, he’s—] Her fingers twisted in the fabric of her shirt, her nails digging in hard enough that I could see the imprint of them through the thin material.

[Why does it feel like this? Why does it hurt?] The thought was a whisper, broken, almost desperate. [I hate this. I hate that I—] She cut herself off, her mental voice snapping shut like a door slamming, but not before I caught the tail end of it—something raw, something achey that she refused to name.