Chapter Forty-Two
Forty-two
Scarlett
Kian Ishida is in love with me.
He looks on the verge of passing out, and I see the red creeping onto his face and his eyes glazing over as he looks at me.
“Are you sure?” I ask him.
“So fucking sure that I just said it to you while we’re both half naked.” He squeezes his eyes shut like he’s cringing internally.
“I don’t mind,” I whisper.
“I could go to the rooftop and yell it from there. I don’t even care if it’s cold.” He starts to move.
I laugh. “No. Really. This is good.”
“Yeah? Because I know it’s not the best timing, and I wished I had it all planned out and made it perfect for you, but I couldn’t keep it in an—”
I kiss him.
“I really fucking love you, Scarlett,” he murmurs against my lips. “When you’re not with me I try to find ways to make our days intertwine. I want to be with you all the time.”
Tears sting the backs of my eyes, but I don’t let them out. He’s so good to me. Too good. I know if Kian sees my eyes, he’ll go gentle, and every single word out of his mouth only makes me want to go harder.
Slowly, he drags my panties down my legs, and when he’s close enough, I grab his chain, curling my finger around it as I pull him close. “Don’t be gentle.”
He seems surprised for a second, not sure if he loves that idea, but he drops his head to kiss my neck, dragging his teeth along the column, releasing an animalistic sound. My whole body tingles, lighting up different parts of me like flickering Christmas tree lights.
The hot friction of his jeans against my thighs drives me mad.
His kisses are warm and wet and everything I’ve missed for the past few days. And when I think he’s still being gentle, he flips me around, lifting my ass in the air.
“You don’t want gentle, baby?”
I moan into the pillow, feeling my arousal drip down my leg and right to where his hand hovers.
“Okay, I won’t go slow then,” he whispers, leaving a kiss on my neck. One of his hands lands right beside my face, and I stare at the stars tattooed there, the ones he lets me kiss.
“I know.” My voice is shaky and muffled, barely loud enough to hear.
Kian positions himself behind me, his hips against mine. The fabric of his pants feels harsh against my bare ass. His other hand moves down to my stomach, then lower until he pauses at my navel. “I won’t call you sweetheart.”
“G-good.” I stutter. It sounds like a lie. But this is how I want it. I’ve always wanted it like this.
“I won’t tell you how good you’re taking it, or what a smart girl you are.”
I’m quivering. My entire body is shaking so hard, I’m not sure if I can take any more of this. His deep, rumbly voice only makes it impossible to stay still under his hard grip.
“Won’t call you my sweet Scarlett or tell you how proud you make me.” He lets his lips dust the spot just below my ear. “I won’t do any of that, okay?”
He intertwines his hand with mine. Black ink fusing together. I can’t speak.
“Is that what you want, Scarlett? You want it hard? You want to be fucked?” He says it like he’s reminding me or giving me an out. To let him make love to me. I don’t know how.
“That’s what I want.” I say instead.
His harsh exhale creates goose bumps on the nape of my neck.
But even as he’s rough with me, which is exactly what I asked for, he leaves a kiss on the crown of my head just before he pulls back.
It happens so fast, I’m pretty sure he’s just pulled out his cock and drove in with one stroke.
My first moan is on a choked gasp, barely making it past the hand he collars around my throat.
Kian drives into me mercilessly, and I mutter “More” every time he seems to slow down, like he’s still checking on me. Then as I move up and down the mattress, he places his hand against the headboard, cushioning the blow to my head.
With his arms around me, he pulls me up, holding me across my shoulders so he can pull my mouth back for a kiss. I can barely reciprocate it with how he thrusts into me. It’s so new, so unlike him, I cry out a loud moan, only for him to shush me.
I squeeze around him and he chuckles. “You like that? You want me to cover your mouth so you can’t scream?”
He does it then, almost covering my whole face with how big his hand is in comparison. And when he angles up and uses one hand to brush over my clit, I come and bite his hand.
He hisses right by my ear, and when he brings me back down to the mattress, his relentless thrusts don’t stop. But now I feel desperate to watch him, to see his face while he’s buried so deep in me, we’re completely connected.
“I want to see you,” I whimper, writhing underneath him.
Kian obliges, flipping me over, and caressing my jaw sweetly. All that roughness seems to disappear when his eyes are on me, and that flip lights me up all over again. I want to see all of him, and his jeans are ruining that.
When I reach for them, he shucks them off quickly. His cock curves upward, hard and erect, veins traveling down the shaft, glistening from how I came all over him.
I lick my lips, and when he notices, he parts my thighs again. But before he can push inside me, I wrap my legs around his waist, flipping both of us over until I’m on top.
I want to please this man until there’s nothing left in me.
He reaches upward, pitching my chin to look at him. I can’t stop moving my hips, and he can’t seem to handle much of it any longer.
“You wanna be on top?” Kian asks, his voice low as he tucks my hair behind my ears, both hands cradling my face. His touch is so gentle, so caring, it makes my throat tighten. He’s looking at me like I’m sacred, breakable. Completely ignoring how hard he is underneath me.
“I’m good at it like this.” I shift my hips, guiding him in slowly, inch by inch. His fingers press just a little firmer against my jaw as he watches, his eyes heavy and his mouth parting like he wants to say something but forgets how. I take as much of him as I can, my hands resting on his pecs.
He lets out a sound, somewhere between a grunt and a moan, from somewhere low in his throat. It’s hard to tell when his face is twisted up in pleasure. But knowing Kian, he hears me. He always hears me.
I only do it this way because I thought it was what they wanted.
I learned early that if I performed well enough, they’d like me more.
Maybe they’d think I was unforgettable. Maybe they’d want me again.
I built entire versions of myself based on what I thought they needed. And most of the time, it worked.
Kian’s hand slips from my cheek to my waist, guiding me into a rhythm, slow, deep. He barely moves, holding himself back, like he’s afraid to shake whatever this is.
“D-do you like it?” An insecurity touches my voice.
I’ve never asked that before. I always pretended to be sure of myself.
I was seeking a fleeting moment of pleasure that I couldn’t get anywhere else, and it was the cheapest form of connection I could feel in that moment.
A shortcut to feeling wanted. But this feels different.
This feels like everything’s recklessly wired together—our breath, skin, heartbeats.
I can’t move without wondering if he feels that spark of pleasure too.
Kian’s gaze snaps up to meet mine, and for a moment, he just looks. “As long as you’re touching me, I’ll always like it. But yes. I like this. I like you.”
My heart stutters.
“I like you on top.” His hands slide to my back, pulling me down until our bodies are pressed flush.
Then his hips rise and he thrusts hard, and I gasp.
“I like you against me.” He kisses my shoulder, and then, in one smooth motion, he flips us, pinning me beneath him.
“And I like you under me. Watching me with those pretty eyes.”
Heat flares in my face. I know he sees it when he grins.
“But I think,” he says, his voice quieter now, “what you’re really asking has nothing to do with all the ways I like to have you.”
“Yes, it does. I want to know if you feel good,” I interject.
He chuckles. “Scar, I feel good whenever you’re with me.” He dips down, kissing me again in the same slow, deep way he sinks into me. “You don’t have to perform for me. You don’t have to twist yourself up trying to make it perfect. You can just be.”
No one’s ever said that to me before. No one’s ever given me space to listen to myself.
Sex was always a score to chase, a performance to nail.
I’ve never let go of the idea that it’s supposed to be about the other person, about making sure they’re satisfied.
It was about getting the sticker from your teacher.
The silent approval. The feeling that maybe, if I played it perfectly, I’d finally get to release the breath I’ve been holding all these years.
“Can I be gentle now, sweetheart?” he says. “Let me show you how much I love you.”
That undoes me, and I think I’m coming again, or on the verge at least, because I nod and Kian takes me so slowly I can’t catch my breath.
He tortures me with it, rolling his hips in controlled movements, making my pussy clench to try to hold on to him.
It’s almost like he’s teasing me, punishing me for thinking I didn’t want him to be gentle.
Like he gave me whatever I wanted, but he can read my body like he wrote the manual.
“How is that? Am I giving you enough?” He stays inside me longer, making my toes curl.
I hum in response, no longer coherent.
“That’s my sweet Scarlett. Atta girl.”
Fuck. What is he doing to me? I’ve never liked it like this. No one has ever been this gentle, so caring, cooing in my ear like his only goal is to take care of me.
“You’ll take it any way I want to give it to you, right, sweetheart?”
“Yes. God, yes, Kian.” I reach for his pecs, scratching his skin when I think I’m going to die from pleasure. Is that possible? I’m about to find out.
A single string of spit falls from his lips, and it hits my clit before he presses his palm there. He holds me close then, right in his embrace, feeling me shake in his arms as I shatter.
“I want to taste you,” I blurt.
Maybe I sound desperate, but I don’t care. I want him in my mouth. And I know Kian would never judge me for speaking my mind. Instead, he grins, pulling out of me and watching me push him back on the bed as he helps gather my hair, pulling it away from my face.
I lick him from his base to the tip, taking his balls in my mouth, watching his face scrunch up. “So fucking good, Scar.”
I take him so deeply his hand tightens in my hair, pushing me down farther and making me gag. “Sorry, sorry,” he quickly says, releasing his grip.
“No, I like it. Show me what you want, Kian.”
He shakes his head lightly. “I like whatever you want to do.”
My chest blossoms. If I looked down, I’m sure there’d be flowers growing out of my chest. So I do, I give him what I want. I please him.
I dig my nails into his thigh and go deep. He pulls on my hair, forcing me to look up at him as I go deeper.
“Gonna come,” he says the second my eyes meet his. Then, just as quickly, he’s coming apart in my mouth. His head falls back and I climb up to his sweaty, damp chest, kissing him. He lets me do it, letting us taste each other.
“Still love me?” I half joke, drawing patterns on his chest.
He lifts my head up to look at him, serious as ever. “I loved you before that. Of course I still love you after it. But with you, Scarlett, there never has been a before and after. My love for you is constant.”
A deep, contented sigh leaves my lips just before he dips his head and kisses me again.