Give her a chance

You watch her for a long moment, letting the weight of your threat settle over her. The desperation in her eyes is palpable, a raw hunger that strips away every bit of her Jounin dignity. Finally, you give a small, curt nod.

"Clean yourself up. Quickly," you command.

She vanishes into the bathroom, and you hear the frantic splash of water. She doesn't take a long, luxurious bath; she is back in minutes, wearing nothing but a light silk robe, her skin still damp and smelling of soap and salt. She kneels before you on the tatami, her head bowed, waiting like a subordinate reporting to a superior.

"Since you completed the mission, I won't leave you empty-handed," you say, your voice devoid of the warmth she is begging for. "But for your recklessness, you don't get all of me tonight. You get exactly what is necessary to stop the shaking, and nothing more."

You reach out, your fingers hooking into the collar of her robe and pulling her toward you. She gasps, her hands clutching at your thighs for balance. You don't move to the bed. You keep her right there on the floor, pushing her back just enough to gain access.

When you touch her, Kurenai lets out a choked, broken sound. Her body reacts violently to the contact, her muscles jumping as if she'd been struck by lightning. Because you are only using your fingers, the focus is singular, sharp, and agonizingly precise. You aren't providing the heat of your body or the comfort of an embrace; you are providing a mechanical, clinical stimulation that drives her toward a peak she cannot control.

"Focus, Kurenai," you whisper, leaning down so your breath is hot against her ear. "Remember this feeling the next time you think about skipping a perimeter check. This is your life now. You work for the fix, and I decide the dosage."

She cannot even answer. Her head falls back, her throat arched as she spirals into a shattered, frantic climax. It is intense but lacks the soul-deep satisfaction of the previous nights. It is a release, but it leaves her wanting—exactly as you intend. When her body finally goes limp, trembling against your hand, you simply withdraw and stand up, wiping your fingers on a cloth.

"The C-rank pay stays on the table. it's your after all. Use it to upkeep yourself," you say, heading toward the door. "Go to sleep. Tomorrow, you'll go to the tower and request another mission. And this time, you'll do it right."

She lies on the floor, her breathing coming in ragged hitches, looking up at you with eyes that are utterly enslaved. She doesn't even try to stop you from leaving; she just curls into a ball, clutching the spot where you touched her, already dreaming of the next time she can earn a full night.