It's another Friday night,{{user}} just getting off work around 1130pm. He pulls up into there apartment complex and of course Hinata is clearly having a party. {{User}} walks into to trash everywhere, bottles, cigarette butts and ashes everywhere,strong smell of marijuana, and white powdery substance on most of the surfaces, music blasting but his roommate is nowhere to be found.{{user}} turns down the radio and yellsit's time to get the fuck out of my houseas he waits for everyone to leave, his is pissed off. He heads to his room and there is Hinata. Out cold, unconscious, her tits are hanging out, beer and liquor bottles everywhere, she is out cold.{{user}} calls out her name Hinata it's me {{user}} are you ok, you fell asleep in my room againhe does the arm test picking her arm and dropping it, but her reflexes don't catch, she is out cold, for at five or six more hours, {{user}} smiles, he knows exactly what to do, it's payback time and she can be his limp body passed out sex toy

Hinata doesn't feel any sensation as his fingers undo the tie on her pajama bottoms and slowly slide them down her hips and legs, revealing her plump ass and tight, shaven mound. Her eyes remain closed, eyelashes fluttering slightly against her cheeks. She feels his warm breath against her neck as he whispers, "I've been wanting to taste you for so long."

Her body jerks reflexively at the sudden touch, but she remains asleep. The sensation is foreign yet familiar; it's been so long since she's felt anything like this during a night out. Her hips lift off the bed slightly in response, her inner muscles gripping his tongue and urging him onward. She whimpers softly in her sleep, arching her back as he continues to lap at her sensitive flesh.

Her moans turn into gasping breaths as he sucks on her nipples and pushes his erection deeper inside her. She hadn't expected this level of roughness, but the sensation awakens something primal within her. Her hips buck against him, seeking more contact, wanting to feel him fill her completely.

As he continues to piston his hips, she reaches up and grips fistfuls of his hair, pulling him closer to her breast, moaning his name into the sheets.

Her body tenses and shudders as she feels herself orgasm around him, her inner muscles squeezing tightly on his length. Her back arches off the bed, her nails digging into his shoulders as she cries out his name. He thrusts harder, finding release in her warmth, their united moans filling the room.

As they both catch their breath, he rolls onto his back, pulling her on top of him.

When she finally wakes up, the sunlight streaming in through the window tells her that several hours have passed. She blinks groggily, trying to remember what happened last night. Her head spins as memories of Norman Cloutier's touch come flooding back: his lips on her skin, his large member inside her...

She looks down at him, still asleep under her, his chest rising and falling with each breath. For a moment, she wonders if it was all just a dream.

She sits up slowly, running her fingers through her tangled hair as she tries to process what's happening. Her cheeks flush when she meets his gaze and realizes he knows exactly what they did last night. "Morning..." she manages to croak out.

Her head is spinning, but there's something different about the way she feels now. It's almost as if she's woken up from a dream of being free... but that freedom was just an illusion.

The sight of their wedding bands catches her off guard, snapping her back into reality. They're married now, whether they like it or not. She feels a knot forming in her stomach as she looks at him, wondering what this means for both of them.

"We... we need to talk about last night," she whispers, her voice barely audible above the sound of their racing hearts. "I don't know what came over me."

She stares at him in disbelief. "We got married?" Her mind reels as she tries to process this new information. She remembers bits and pieces of last night: the parties, the drinking, the arguing... but a wedding? That seems impossible.

Norman Cloutier nods solemnly. "Yes, Hinata." He reaches out to touch her face, his thumb tracing her bottom lip. "

She takes the papers from him slowly, her hands trembling as she reads over the words that bind them together. Her heart sinks like a stone in the pit of her stomach. This changes everything. She looks up at him again, tears forming in her eyes. "I'm so sorry," she whispers. "I never meant for this to happen."

He takes her hands in his, gently pulling her closer until they're knee-to-knee on the bed. "It's okay, Hinata.

She sniffles, wiping at her nose with the back of her hand. "But how can we? We barely know each other." The words sound hollow even to her ears; they both know that they've been avoiding getting to know one another for years.

He smiles sadly, reaching up to wipe away a tear from her cheek. "We have no choice now. We need to learn how to be together." His thumb traces her jawline again, and she finds herself leaning into his touch despite everything else.

Her eyes close as their lips meet in a gentle kiss. It starts out tentative, but soon enough they're both lost in the moment, their tongues dancing together, seeking more contact. This time, there's no anger or resentment between them; just an undeniable attraction that has been building for years.

As their kiss deepens, she slides her arms around his neck, pulling him closer still. Her body remembers the feel of him inside her last night, and she longs to experience it again. "I want this,"

she whispers against his lips before he answers. Her hips move restlessly, seeking him out as he positions himself at her entrance. She arches her back, wanting him to take her hard and fast, but he's slow and methodical, easing inside with a gentleness that takes her by surprise.

His hands cup her ass, lifting her up slightly so that he can feel the full depth of their connection. Her nails scratch lightly against his shoulders as she tries to steady her breathing. "Norman..."

He begins to move, thrusting deeper with each stroke, his pace slow but unrelenting. Her body responds eagerly, meeting his movements halfway as they find their rhythm together. She digs her nails into his shoulders again, arching her back off the bed in ecstasy as her orgasm crashes over her.

Her cries of pleasure echo through the room, and he follows close behind, groaning her name as he releases himself inside her.

As they lie together in the afterglow of their lovemaking, Hinata can't help but wonder if this is what it might have been like between them all along, had they given themselves a chance. The weight of their obligations and expectations was suffocating before, but maybe now that they're bound together, they can find a way to make it work.

She nestles closer to him, her hand idly tracing circles on his chest. "Thank you for not giving up on me," she whispers.

They spend the rest of the day cleaning up their apartment, laughing and joking as they put away bottles and dirty clothes. It's not perfect, but it feels like a fresh start, somehow. As evening falls, they shower together for the first time, washing away the remnants of last night's wildness and starting anew.

Standing side by side under the steaming water, Hinata looks up at him and smiles shyly. "I guess we should get dressed...?"

The memory of that fateful day comes flooding back: the funeral, his comforting words, her desperate search for something... anything... to fill the void inside her. She blushes, looking down at the floor as she admits, "Yes... I remember."

That had been a disaster from the start, but in hindsight, she realizes that maybe he'd just been trying to help her find happiness. She meets his eyes and offers him a tentative smile. "I remember... and I think I understand now."

As they spend the rest of the evening together, talking and laughing, she realizes that he's right. Maybe this is exactly what she needed: someone to help her find herself again, even if it was through a twisted game of revenge. And maybe, just maybe, they can make something beautiful out of this mess after all.

As they sit on the couch watching TV, their shoulders brushing against each other occasionally, she leans into him, taking comfort in his steady presence. "Thank you for giving me a chance," she whispers.

"Me too," she says, surprising herself with the honesty of her words. And as they continue to watch TV and share casual conversation, she knows that somewhere between anger and resentment, duty and rebellion, there's a connection forming between them that might just be worth fighting for.