Milf Hunter: Seducing And Taming Beauties

Chapter 876: Yuko’s Jealousy

After a while, my senses picked up movement again—Yuko stirring in the guest room. She sat up, paused for a long moment, then padded quietly to the attached bathroom.

The faint sound of running water reached me through the walls: faucet on, splashing, a soft exhale as she washed her face. She returned to bed, but sleep still eluded her.

She turned restlessly—left side, right side, onto her stomach—sheets rustling like she was fighting a war inside her own skin. The night dragged on; the sky outside the windows began to lighten at the edges with the first gray promise of dawn.

Eventually, she gave up entirely. Bare feet on hardwood, she slipped out of the guest room and padded down the hall toward the living room.

I stayed perfectly still on the sofa, eyes closed, breathing slow and even—feigning deep sleep.

She stopped at the threshold. I felt her gaze sweep over me, sharp and assessing.

Her thoughts brushed my mind, quiet but clear:

[Jack is here... but he wasn’t here before. I checked every room... the hallway, the kitchen, even the porch. Where the hell was he? Is he really asleep now...? Or pretending...?]

I let a few heartbeats pass, then slowly opened my eyes, blinking like I was just waking up.

”Oh... Sister Yuko,” I murmured, voice rough with feigned sleep. ”You’re up early.”

She startled—just a tiny flinch—then recovered, crossing her arms over her chest. She was still in her black silk robe, hair slightly mussed from all the tossing, eyes shadowed with exhaustion and something sharper underneath.

”I... I just wanted some water,” she said, the words clipped, almost defensive.

I sat up slowly, stretching my arms overhead so my shirt rode up just enough to show a flash of abs still faintly marked with dried streaks from earlier. ”Let me help you.”

I stood, walked past her to the kitchen—close enough that she had to step aside—and flicked on the under-cabinet light. The soft glow caught the faint flush still lingering on her cheeks, the way her thighs pressed together when she thought I wasn’t looking.

I filled a glass from the filtered pitcher and handed it to her.

The kitchen light cast a soft, golden halo around us, turning the simple act of handing her a glass of water into something strangely intimate.

Yuko took it with both hands, fingers lingering against mine for a heartbeat longer than necessary—cool skin, slight tremble, the faint scent of her soap mixing with the lingering musk of sleepless tension on her body. She drank slowly, eyes fixed on me over the rim, like she was trying to read every micro-expression, every flicker of intent.

I leaned back against the counter, arms loosely crossed, letting the silence stretch just enough to make her fill it.

”Where were you last night?” she asked again, quieter this time, almost reluctant. ”Really. I checked every room. The hallway. The porch. Even opened the front door and looked outside. You weren’t here.”

Her voice carried the weight of someone who hadn’t slept, who’d spent hours turning over fragments of sound and scent in her mind—the wet slap of bodies, muffled moans, the heavy perfume of sex that had seeped under the guest-room door like smoke.

I met her gaze steadily, letting just a hint of tiredness show in my expression—enough to seem human, believable.

”I got a call from Officer Sarah,” I said. ”Around two. She sounded urgent. Said there were new developments in the case—documents, witness statements, pressure from higher up. I couldn’t ignore it.”

Yuko’s brows drew together. ”At two in the morning?”

”Crime doesn’t keep office hours,” I replied with a small, wry shrug. ”And it wasn’t just Sarah. Gabriela was there too.”

”Who is this Gabriela exactly?” she asked, voice carefully neutral, but I caught the undercurrent—jealousy, sharp and instinctive.

Yuko’s grip on the glass tightened until her knuckles paled. Another woman’s name. Another layer of suspicion.

I replied, ”Officer Diaz’s mother. She’s been... fragile since everything with her son blew up. She saw the news clips, the accusations against me. Kept calling Sarah, asking if I was safe, if the charges were real. I couldn’t leave her spiraling like that—not after she’s already lost so much.”

I watched Yuko process every word, her dark eyes flickering through a dozen emotions in the span of seconds—jealousy flaring bright then dimming, suspicion giving way to something softer, almost reluctant empathy.

A faint flush still lingered high on her cheekbones from the sleepless night and whatever fantasies or frustrations had kept her tossing. She finally exhaled, long and slow, like she was releasing a breath she’d held for hours.

She set the glass down with a soft clink on the counter, the sound unnaturally loud in the pre-dawn quiet.

”I’ll go freshen up,” she murmured, voice low, almost careful. She gave me one last searching look—half apology, half lingering doubt—then turned and padded back down the hallway toward the guest room. The silk of her robe whispered against her thighs with each step until the door clicked shut behind her.

The moment she was gone, soft footsteps approached from the other direction.

Ema and Eva emerged from their room, identical in their sleepy grace—hair slightly tousled, wearing matching silk camisoles and shorts that clung to their curves. They moved in perfect sync, like always, pausing at the edge of the kitchen when they saw me.

I met their eyes, kept my voice low.

”I’m going to meet Officer Jayden,” I told them. ”If anyone asks—Julie, Marina, Yuko—tell them I stepped out early for case business. I’ll be back soon.”

Ema tilted her head, a small knowing smile playing on her lips. Eva simply nodded, her expression serene but attentive.

”We’ll handle it, Master,” Ema said softly.

They didn’t ask questions. They never did when the instruction was clear.

I gave them a brief nod, then focused my will.

The world folded around me in a silent rush—shadow and light twisting inward—and I reappeared in the dim luxury of the hotel suite where I’d left Lorena hours earlier.

The room smelled of sex and her perfume—sandalwood, vanilla, and the sharp tang of dried cum and squirt still clinging to the sheets. Morning light was just beginning to slip through the heavy curtains in thin golden slivers, painting stripes across the tangled bedding.

Lorena lay sprawled on her stomach in the center of the king bed, sheets twisted around her hips, one leg bent, the curve of her ass exposed and still faintly red from my earlier slaps.

Her dark hair fanned across the pillow, lips parted in sleep, breathing slow and deep. Cum had leaked out of her while she slept—thick white trails dried on her inner thighs, a small wet spot darkening the sheet beneath her.