| Chainsaw Man | Chapter 3 - First Reward

Makima's office was a stark contrast to the chaos of the battlefield. It was meticulously organized, the scent of her perfume lingering in the air—sweet, with a hint of something that reminded him of freshly cut grass. The walls were adorned with maps and charts detailing the movements of various devils and the strategies they'd employed to capture them. He couldn't help but feel a tinge of awe and fear in her presence. She was like a queen in her domain, her every gesture a silent command.

As he approached her desk, Michael noticed the smirk playing on Makima's lips, her eyes gleaming with an intensity that sent a shiver down his spine. She was sitting in her chair, one leg elegantly crossed over the other, her fingers tapping a rhythm against the armrest. The way she looked at him made him feel like he was the only person in the world that mattered—at least for that moment.

"That was quite the performance you put on out there," she said, her voice as smooth as silk. "You handled that zombie devil with surprising skill for a newcomer. Most would have been paralyzed by fear or overwhelmed by its strength."

Michael felt a warm blush creep up his neck. He knew he'd done well, but to hear it from Makima was something else entirely. "Thank you," he replied, his voice gruff and unsure. "It was nothing special, really. Just following the orders."

Makima leaned back in her chair, her smirk widening. "Oh, but it was special, Michael," she said, her tone almost motherly, which was a stark contrast to her usual demeanor. "You remind me of a puppy—so eager to please, so quick to learn. It's quite endearing." She reached into her desk drawer and pulled out a cigarette, lighting it with a flick of her finger. The tip glowed a faint red, casting flickering shadows on her face. "I can see great potential in you."

Her gaze grew more intense as she took a long drag, the smoke curling around her like a lover's embrace. "But tell me," she began, her voice a siren's call, "what is it that you truly desire? What is it that only I can give you?" Her body language was a dance of seduction, her movements fluid and deliberate, drawing his eyes to her ample cleavage and the way her pants hugged her thighs.

The air grew thick with tension, the room seeming to shrink around them. Michael's heart raced, his throat dry. He knew what he wanted, but the words felt heavy in his mouth. "I...I want you," he finally managed to say, his voice hoarse with need. The confession hung in the air, a declaration of his desire that was both liberating and terrifying.

Makima's smirk grew even wider, the corners of her lips twitching in amusement. She took another drag of her cigarette, blowing out the smoke in a slow, deliberate stream. "How utterly predictable," she mused, her golden eyes gleaming with a hint of surprise. "But how delightful. It seems your desires are quite simple, aren't they?" Her voice was a purr, stroking his ego like a velvet glove wrapped around iron.

With a grace that seemed almost inhuman, Makima stood from her chair, placing the cigarette in the ashtray with a gentle tap. She stepped around the desk, the sound of her footsteps silent on the polished floor. Michael felt the air around him grow heavier, as if charged with an unseen electricity that crackled and snapped. She stopped just in front of him, so close that he could feel the warmth of her body, see the tiny flecks of gold in her eyes.

Her hand, soft and cool, lifted to his face, her fingers tracing the line of his jaw. He didn't resist; his body was a live wire under her touch, his muscles tightening in anticipation. Makima's eyes searched his, a silent question that he could feel more than see. She leaned closer, her breath a whisper against his cheek, and he found himself leaning into her, his heart thudding like a drum.

"You are quite handsome, Michael," she murmured, her voice a seductive caress. "So firm, so strong. Just what a devil hunter should be." Her hand trailed down his chest, the pads of her fingers lingering over the solid muscles that flexed beneath his shirt. His breath hitched as she touched him, a warmth spreading from her fingertips to pool in his stomach.

Makima leaned closer, her face mere inches from his. He could feel the warmth of her breath on his skin, smell the faint scent of mint on her breath as she spoke. "But are you truly ready for what I have to offer?" she asked, her golden eyes searching his. Her lips hovered over his, a tempting mirage that seemed to beckon him closer. Without conscious thought, he nodded, his desire for her overwhelming his fear.

With a chuckle that sent a thrill through him, Makima pressed her lips to his. They were soft, the perfect blend of warmth and firmness that had his knees threatening to buckle. The taste of her lipstick—sweet and slightly bitter—was intoxicating. He felt her tongue slide into his mouth, and for a moment, he was lost, allowing her to dominate the kiss. But as a devil hunter, he was no stranger to battles of wills, and he quickly found his footing. He met her tongue with his own, the dance between them growing more fervent with each passing second.

Their saliva melded together, a silent promise of the union to come. Michael's heart hammered in his chest as Makima's hands slid down his body, tracing the contours of his waist, his hips. She knew exactly where to touch him, how to make him ache for more. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her closer, feeling the curves of her body mold to his. The kiss grew deeper, hungrier, and he couldn't get enough of her. Her taste was unlike anything he'd ever experienced—like a drug, it was addictive and all-consuming.

Their tongues danced in a fiery tango, exploring every inch of each other's mouths. He could feel her power, her dominance, and it only served to excite him further. He knew he was just a pawn in her grand scheme, but in that moment, it didn't matter. All that mattered was the feeling of her body pressed against his, her breath mingling with his, the sweet scent of her perfume that filled his senses.

Makima suddenly pulled away, her eyes gleaming with amusement. "You learn quickly," she said, her voice a sultry purr that seemed to stroke his very soul. "Your adaptability is quite... delectable." She stepped back, allowing him to catch his breath, her hands sliding from his body with a deliberate slowness that had him craving more.

With a grace that seemed to defy the very laws of physics, she returned to her seat behind the desk. The smirk on her lips was one of pure, unadulterated satisfaction. "As long as you follow my commands, Michael," she began, her voice a silky promise that sent a thrill of excitement through him, "I can offer you so much more than this." Her eyes never left his, holding him captive in their golden depths.

He nodded, the words barely registering as she spoke. All he could focus on was the way her fingers played with the edge of her shirt, hinting at the soft skin just hidden from view. "Okay," he managed to croak out, his throat dry and tight.

Makima's smile grew knowing as she took a seat behind her desk once more. "Now, go and rest, Michael," she said, her tone shifting to one of authority. "You've earned it. We have much to do tomorrow."

Michael nodded, his eyes never leaving hers as he took a step back. His legs felt like jelly, but he managed to maintain his composure, the promise of more to come echoing in his mind. He knew that following her commands was his path to greatness, and perhaps to something more intimate. As he turned to leave, her voice called out to him, a soft caress that sent shivers down his spine.

"I'm looking forward to seeing how much further you'll go for me, Michael," she said, her tone filled with both challenge and anticipation. It was a declaration that she saw something in him, something that she wanted to mold and use to her advantage. It was both thrilling and terrifying, but he couldn't deny the thrill of it all.