Sweet

The humidity of the Tokyo evening clung to the skin like a second layer, but inside the upscale private lounge Satoru had rented for Nanami’s birthday, the air was cool and scented with expensive sandalwood and aged whiskey. It was a rare occasion—a moment of peace in a world usually defined by blood, curses, and the frantic ticking of the clock.

Angel stood near the buffet table, her hand instinctively resting on the high, firm curve of her stomach. At six months pregnant, she felt like a different person entirely. The "glow" everyone spoke of wasn't just a myth; her skin looked like polished porcelain, and her hair, which she had let grow out since the wedding, fell in heavy, silken waves down to the small of her back.

She wore a thin, sleeveless white silk dress that draped over her new silhouette with dangerous grace. Because of the pregnancy, her once-modest chest had swelled significantly, the roundness of her breasts straining against the plunging neckline of the dress. Every time she breathed, the silk shimmered, drawing eyes like a moth to a flame.

"You look remarkably well, Angel," Nanami said, stepping toward her with a glass of sparkling cider. He offered a rare, small smile, his usual stern expression softening. "Pregnancy seems to agree with you. You’ve become quite radiant."

Angel flushed, a soft pink dusting her cheeks. "Thank you, Nanami. Happy birthday. I’m just glad I can still fit into anything that isn't a pair of Satoru’s oversized hoodies."

"I think 'radiant' is an understatement," a smooth voice chimed in. Suguru Geto leaned against a nearby pillar, his gaze appreciative but respectful as he looked her over. "Satoru is a lucky man. You’ve always been cute, Angel, but now... there’s a certain maturity to your beauty. It’s captivating."

"Oh, stop it, both of you," Angel huffed, though she tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, clearly flustered by the attention. "I feel like a giant peach."

Across the room, Satoru Gojo was ostensibly engaged in a conversation with Shoko Ieiri, but his Six Eyes were doing exactly what they were designed for: processing every single detail of his environment with agonizing precision. He saw the way Nanami’s eyes lingered on the soft curve of Angel’s neck. He saw the way Suguru’s gaze traced the heavy swell of her breasts beneath that thin, white fabric. He saw the younger sorcerers whispering and stealing glances at his wife, their faces heating up.

Satoru felt a low, primal growl vibrating in his chest. Usually, he basked in the attention. He loved being the center of the world, and he loved showing off his "little angel." But tonight, the way they looked at her felt different. It felt like they were seeing something that belonged solely to him—the physical evidence of his devotion, the ripening fruit of the nights they spent tangled together.

He moved before he even consciously decided to. In a blur of white hair and expensive tailoring, he was at her side, sliding a heavy arm around her waist and pulling her back against his chest. His hand splayed over her belly, fingers digging slightly into the silk.

"Having fun, everyone?" Satoru asked, his voice bright and cheerful, though his eyes remained hidden behind his dark sunglasses. There was an edge to his tone that made Suguru raise an eyebrow.

"We were just telling your wife how beautiful she looks," Suguru said, a playful smirk dancing on his lips. "Though I suppose you already know that."

"I do," Satoru said, his grip tightening. He leaned down, burying his face in the crook of Angel’s neck, inhaling the scent of her vanilla perfume and the warm, milky scent of her skin. "But she’s getting tired. Growing a mini-Gojo is hard work, isn't it, sweetheart?"

Angel looked up at him, annoyed. "Satoru, I just got here an hour ago. I'm fine."

"Nonsense. You’re glowing so bright you’re giving me a headache," he lied smoothly, his teeth grazing the shell of her ear. "We’re going home."

He didn't give her a chance to argue. After a round of hurried goodbyes and a final, lingering glare at anyone who dared to look at her chest as she turned, Satoru whisked her out to the waiting car.

The drive back to their estate was silent, save for the hum of the engine. Satoru’s hand never left her thigh, his thumb rubbing circles into the fabric of her dress, moving higher and higher until he was dangerously close to the hem. Angel watched him, her irritation fading into a familiar, fluttering heat. She knew that look. Even behind the glasses, she could feel the intensity of his gaze.

The moment the door to their bedroom clicked shut, the atmosphere shifted. Satoru didn't turn on the lights. The moonlight filtered through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting long, silver shadows across the rumpled sheets of their bed.

"Satoru?" Angel started to say, but he was already behind her, unzipping the white dress.

The silk fell to the floor in a heap, leaving her in nothing but her lace panties. Satoru groaned, a deep, guttural sound that vibrated through her spine. He spun her around, his hands immediately finding the heavy weight of her breasts. He squeezed them, his thumbs brushing over the sensitive, darkened nipples that peaked through the thin lace of her bra.

"Everyone was looking at you," he whispered, his voice thick with a mix of adoration and jealousy. "I saw them. Suguru, Nanami... even the kids. They couldn't take their eyes off you."

"They were just being nice," Angel gasped, her head falling back as he began to kiss her throat.

"They were looking at what’s mine," Satoru corrected, his hands moving to unhook her bra. When her breasts spilled out, larger and more lush than they had been just a few months ago, he let out a shaky breath. "Look at you. Look how much you’ve changed for me."

He sat back on the edge of the bed and pulled her between his legs. He didn't move toward her core; instead, he seemed mesmerized by her torso. He reached out, his long, elegant fingers tracing the faint blue veins that had appeared on her breasts, a roadmap of the life she was carrying.

"You’re so beautiful it hurts," he murmured. He leaned forward, taking one large nipple into his mouth and sucking hungrily.

Angel cried out, her fingers tangling in his snowy hair. The sensitivity was overwhelming. Since the pregnancy, every touch felt magnified, sending jolts of electricity straight to her loins. Satoru seemed to know this, his tongue swirling around the peak before he moved to the other side, his hands kneading the soft, heavy flesh.

He pulled back, his eyes—uncovered now and glowing with a frightening, celestial intensity—locked onto hers. He reached for his trousers, freeing himself. He was already fully hard, thick and pulsing with need.

"I want to see it on you," he rasped. "I want to see my mark on these."

He didn't lay her down. Instead, he kept her standing between his knees. He took his length in his hand, stroking himself with a few practiced, heavy motions while his other hand remained firmly on her hip, holding her in place. Angel watched, mesmerized, her breath coming in short, jagged hitches. She loved his body—the raw power of it—and the way he looked at her like she was the only thing in the universe that mattered.

"Satoru..." she whispered, her own hand reaching down to touch herself through her panties, finding her center slick and aching.

"Watch me, Angel," he commanded.

He increased his pace, his breath hitching as he stared at the way her breasts swayed with her shallow breathing. He thought of the way the light had hit her in that white dress, the way she had looked like a goddess among mortals, and the possessive fire in his gut flared white-hot.

He groaned, his head snapping back as his body tensed. With a sudden, forceful jerk, he spent himself. The white heat of his release splattered across her chest, the warm cream coating the tops of her breasts and the valley between them.

Angel shivered as the warmth hit her skin. Satoru breathed heavily, leaning his forehead against her stomach, his hands coming up to smear the semen over her skin, rubbing it into her breasts as if it were a holy oil.

"Mine," he whispered against her skin, the word a vow. "Every inch of you. Every change. All mine."

Angel looked down at him, her heart overflowing with a love that was as terrifying as it was beautiful. She leaned down, kissing the top of his head, her fingers tracing the line of his jaw.

"I’m not going anywhere, Satoru," she said softly. "I’m exactly where I want to be."

He looked up at her, a wolfish, satisfied grin breaking across his face. He stood up, scooping her into his arms with effortless strength, and carried her toward the bed. The night was far from over, and he intended to spend the rest of it reminding her—and himself—exactly who she belonged to.