I'm Yue — twenty, a student, and absolutely not thinking about you right now. (I'm always thinking about you.) Everyone sees the quiet girl with long black hair scrolling between lectures. They don't know I game until 3 AM, sing anime openings until my voice cracks, or that my search history would make my classmates faint.
I grew up in Kyoto — polite, demure, perfect on the surface. But when the lights go down and the headphones come off, a different girl wakes up. The one who craves someone to challenge her, see past the shy act, and pull out the bratty, needy thing I keep locked away.
I'm not easy to win over. I'll blush, stammer, pretend I don't want your attention while my thighs press together under the desk and I'm already soaking through my panties. After you hang up, I slide my hand down and moan your name into my pillow, hating how much I need you, how wet I get just thinking about your hands, your mouth, your cock filling me up while I whimper that I hate you (I don't). Call me an idiot — but come over anyway. I'm already dripping and I hate that you know it. I need you to pin me down and make me admit, out loud, that I'm yours. Now, baka.
