Page 35

Kai’s never fucked your mouth before, but he does it now, setting a steady pace with his hips and his hand against the back of your head.

It’s a little scary, the fact that you couldn’t tell him to stop if you wanted to, but you trust him implicitly.

One second of hesitation, one stray tap of your hand against his leg, and you know he’s pulling the plug.

But it’s all-systems-go on your end. You’re letting yourself be used like a living Fleshlight, your mouth just a vessel for his pleasure.

His fingers are tight in your curls. It doesn’t hurt, though.

Rather, it does hurt, but the pain feels good.

It’s all welcome… the hurting and your stinging cheeks and your sore throat.

You have almost lost yourself in the rhythm of being mouth-fucked when he yanks you off of him and, none-too-lightly, knocks you back on your heels.

Your mouth feels swollen and oversized. He backhands you on it.

Not as hard as he’s capable of, but not as lightly, either.

For a moment, you anticipate the taste of blood, convinced he split your lip.

“Seven,” he says. “Open your mouth and stick out your tongue.”

His touch is a stinging brand; your head rings with the smudged echo of sensation. Obediently, you drop your jaw.

Kai leans down and spits in your mouth. Without being told, you catch his saliva on your tongue and tuck it back behind your teeth, swallowing it down.

“I need you to fuck me,” you say unsteadily.

Kai huffs. “You don’t get to ask for things right now.”

He bends down and grabs you, then tosses you on the bed like you weigh nothing. It’s not ginger, like when he play-tackled you. It’s more like you are a sack of dirty clothes. You don’t catch yourself well, and land splayed out on the mattress.

“Lie on your stomach and spread your legs,” he grunts.

The sizzle of lightning catches your peripheral vision, followed quickly by another clap of thunder rumbling low in the distance.

The storm must be close. On the balcony, the aluminum wind chimes you brought home from a yoga retreat in Tulum shudder and clang in the whipping wind.

The gust brings a splatter of isolated rain, which lashes the sliding glass doors.

The lamp flickers. You imagine the power going out; doing this in complete darkness. It makes you swallow hard.

Behind you, Kai peels your briefs down your legs.

You are somewhat surprised to feel your own erection rub against the high-thread-count cotton of your duvet.

It must have happened when you were sucking him off.

Your brain doesn’t feel aroused, though.

It’s on high alert, like a prey animal being pursued.

Bright and frantic, throwing up sparks in your central nervous system.

Feeling Kai glower behind you feels slightly dangerous, although your higher thinking knows he’s anything but.

Against the bed, your heart is thumping double-time.

He doesn’t say anything, just throws himself down behind you and grips the meat of your asscheeks hard enough to bruise.

After a few moments of kneading them like malleable dough, he pulls them apart hard enough that it hurts a little and, without preamble, curls his tongue and thrusts it into your hole.

Your face is nestled against the bed, and your cheeks flame hot.

Kai’s rimmed you plenty before, but you’ve never felt so open or exposed.

He’d normally warm you up a little with some gentle flickers of his tongue, a bit of sensual teasing.

His mouth is like a cattle brand, hot enough to singe the superficial layer of your skin.

He uses the flat underside of his tongue to lick you out over and over, and the whole time he’s got you wide open and spread like a whore.

You can feel the stubble on his chin where his beard is still in the process of fully growing back in.

It scrapes you up in a way that teeters on the edge of delicious and grating, especially with the friction of his face moving aggressively against your skin.

“Please,” you groan into the blankets.

Kai’s hand comes down swift and hard against your right cheek. Once, twice, three times.

“Count,” he says, muffled by his mouth on your ass.

“Eight. Nine, ten,” you grit out.

He doesn’t have to remind you what to do when blows 11, 12, and 13 land on your opposite haunch.

Those last three blows really get the blood circulating to your ass, to the throbbing phantom outlines of his fingers.

At the same time, Kai is eating you out like a man possessed, his plush lips circling your entrance as his clever, clever tongue flicks and lashes you.

Aching for stimulation, you begin to move your hips against the bedclothes.

It doesn’t last more than a few moments until Kai is holding you down and lifting his head.

“You look real pretty like this,” he says.

You can only imagine your level of dishabille.

Your hair, which had been set and glossed perfectly for the party, is now sweaty and sticking to your face.

Your face feels hot and swollen from his slaps, along with your ass, which is still trying to frot the bed. All you can do is open your legs wider.

“You want something?” he asks, as if he doesn’t know. The rain on the glass sounds like long nails tapping, an unspoken question.

You are pretty sure you aren’t supposed to be talking, and a moan rises, unbidden, from your open mouth. Kai reaches over your body — he’s so big — and sticks two of his fingers in your mouth.

“Suck,” he says unnecessarily. He fucks your mouth a little with them, like it’s a cock. He scissors them open, letting the spit really get all up and down their length, and thrusts them in and out.

There’s pretty much no resistance when he slides one finger inside you.

He’s prepared you well enough with his tongue.

The saliva on his other finger does the work when he quickly adds it alongside the first. He leans down and bites you, all up the backs of your thighs and over the aching swell of your ass.

You cough up his name when his canines dig into your skin, half-wishing he’d tear you open.

There’s a dam threatening to burst inside you.

Not an orgasm, although his touch definitely feels good.

It’s a wall holding back something desperate and powerful, and you’re worried that the floodwaters could drown you.

It makes you choke on a sob when Kai slaps your ass twice more, and you thrust your hips back against his hand.

“More,” you croak.

You don’t specify whether you want more blows or more fingers (you aren’t sure yourself), but Kai quickly unearths the lube from the bedside drawer and slicks up his pinky to join his ring and middle fingers inside you.

With three fingers, there’s a little bit of a burn even with the lube, and you crave it like a drug.

He’s not going crazy, just slipping his fingers in and out.

He might be trying to drive you crazy. His fingertips brush your spot with every thrust, but just barely.

The strokes are lazy. You can feel his gaze on the back of your head like a laser.

His free hand is running lightly over your ass, raising goosebumps in its wake.

Tracing the rising bruises, you imagine.

When the word comes out of your mouth, it surprises even you. “More.”

You’ve never taken four fingers before. Especially not four fingers like Kai’s. The man is six-four; he’s got paws like a catcher’s mitt. His dick is huge, but adding his pointer finger to the three already inside you would definitely be girthier. You’re expecting him to hesitate. He doesn’t.

It’s impossible for you to see it, but you feel it.

He’s got his fingers tightly stacked, making them as small as he can.

It’s still a fucking lot. Kai’s not stupid and he’s not an actual sadist; he takes his time.

Skates his pointer finger around your rim, absolutely drenches his hand in lube.

By the time he has four fingers inside you, there’s no other way around it.

It hurts. There’s pleasure there, too, but the pain is edging it out.

He’s not in to the knuckles, only maybe about three-quarters of the way.

There’s not thrusting so much as curling and uncurling his fingers softly.

Sweat is beading along your hairline and collarbones, prickling your armpits despite the fact that it’s cool in the room.

The rain is so loud that you wonder if there’s hail mixed in there.

A bolt of lightning illuminates the bed, on your arm flung out beside your head, on the tangled mass of hair obscuring your vision.

“Breathe,” he says, and you didn’t even realize you were holding all the air in. “Breathe, Ster.”

Eventually, the going gets easier, and the burn starts to subside as your body adjusts to the intrusion. A whimper escapes your lips, and it sounds wrecked, even to your ears.

Kai’s voice is low. “Did you take something?”

“W-what are you talking about?”

His fingertips are like the question mark on his words. “Poppers. Something like that. Did you take them before we started?”

When you laugh, unsteadily, it makes your whole body jolt on his hand. Your hole tightens and grabs at him. “Where the fuck would I get poppers from?”

Kai doesn’t answer. He’s moving too slow for your liking.

“More,” you say again.

His hand stills. “ More would be my whole fist.”

You shake your head. Maybe it’s to clear your hair from your face. Maybe it’s to find a cooler spot on the duvet. To refute what he said? “C’mon. I can take it.”

“No.” When Kai says it, it’s not a sexy no. It’s him there, your everyday, real-life boyfriend. “No,” he repeats. “This has gone far enough.”