38. Kendall
Kendall
“Good morning, beautiful,” he greets me, pulling my hair away from my neck and replacing it with a soft, seductive kiss.
He curls his arms around me, one slipping underneath the bottom of my shirt and the other banded across my chest. His touch leaves goosebumps in its wake.
God, the things I would do to wake up every morning like this.
“Morning handsome,” I reply, turning towards him.
I take him in—in all his early morning glory—his mussed up hair, his sweats hanging low on his hips, the V of his lower abdominals disappearing into the waistband of his boxers, and his absolutely ripped abs.
I want to lick the dip and peak of every single one.
For fuck’s sake. I have to stop or there’s no way I’ll make it out of this apartment on time.
But instead, I move closer to him, my traitorous body heating up.
He takes a second to scan the length of me with dark hooded eyes.
“Ken, you know this is like one of my top three fantasies,” he whispers, his voice low and gruff, as he fists the bottom of my shirt in his hand.
“What is?” I ask innocently.
“You in my kitchen, making us coffee, wearing my old t-shirt and looking sexy as fuck. The morning after we’ve spent the entire night doing everything but fucking,” he breathes into my hair, his lips skimming my jawline.
“Even though that is all I want to do,” he slides his hand over my ass to palm my hip.
“Kai, we made a pact, remember?” I grin. “It was your idea. And we need to cool it if I want any chance of picking up our son and making it to work on time, okay?” I respond.
“I can’t help it,” he says, laying his forehead against mine and lacing my hands together behind his neck.
He presses his body into me, his hard, thick cock against my throbbing center and I nearly faint at the contact.
“You’re here and you aren’t a mirage or a hallucination.
You. Are. Here. I’ve been deprived of you for too long and now that I have you…
I can’t get enough of you,” he explains with punishing, bruising kisses.
“What can I say? I’m an animal. I can’t be tamed.
I’m insatiable when it comes to you,” he insists, his teeth scraping over his bottom lip.
“Maybe I don’t want you tamed,” I reply, smiling against his mouth. Then we’re moving. He lifts me up at the waist and places me on the edge of the counter. He tugs my hips towards him, sliding his hand down, past my underwear to soothe my aching clit. There’s no teasing going on, no time wasted.
Thank fucking god.
“Fuck, Ken, is all of this for me?” he asks, plunging his fingers into me at a torturously slow pace, giving me the most delicious pleasure only he can provide.
“It’s all for you. Every time,” I pant, breathless.
“Do you think about me when you’re fucking yourself?” he asks while working his thumb in tandem with his fingers. God his hands… that mouth should come with a fucking warning label.
“Yes.” How could I possibly think of anyone else when he’s the only thing my body craves.
“What do you want?” he rasps.
“You,” is all I can manage. Harder. Deeper. Faster. Everywhere. But you is the only thing that comes out.
As if he can hear my thoughts, he drags his chin down my chest, along my stomach, pushing the hem of the T-shirt upwards with both hands to give him better access. He pauses to trail featherlight kisses along my hip bone and my whole body shudders. Then he starts removing my underwear.
With. His. Teeth.
Once they’re on the floor, he replaces his fingers with his mouth and my brain short circuits.
He sucks and licks and swirls, his teeth sliding over my clit, winding my body tighter, pulling me closer to the edge.
I bury my fingers in his hair and tug as he flicks his tongue against me.
I’m scrabbling, clawing for any semblance of control, even though it’s an illusion.
I am his. My body, my heart, all of it belongs to him.
He’s ravenous. And I love being devoured by him.
“Fuck, Ken. I could live forever with my head between your legs,” he growls from somewhere far away, his voice sounds like it’s coming to me through static.
My feet are planted on his back, heels digging into his trap muscles.
I grip the counter hard, bracing for impact as I buck my hips against his mouth again and again—chasing the sweetest euphoria I can only get from him.
“That seems highly impractical,” I reply, although how I’m forming words is unclear.
His tongue and his mouth take me higher and higher, every nerve ending firing in rapid succession until the pressure builds and the waves crescendo.
The orgasm breaks me into a thousand tiny pieces of pure bliss. I don’t just come, I fucking detonate.
Heaven isn’t a place. It’s Kai Matsumoto on his knees, with his head between my legs, worshipping me without restraint.
His tongue merciless, his mouth unyielding like it’s his fucking birthright.
Kai, the single flame after I’ve been doused in kerosene.
And he has turned me into a raging inferno of lust, desire and pure unbridled, biological need.
I let myself collapse, my back falling on the cool granite countertop.
I cover my face with one arm and try to slow my breathing.
But that attempt is short lived because Kai folds himself over my body, his hands braced on either side of my head.
He’s kissing me everywhere and the orgasm that has started to wane has now been kicked into overdrive.
“God, Ken, you’re so fucking sexy, so beautiful when you come for me.
” Kiss. “I love the sounds you make when you’re on the edge.
” Kiss. “I love every inch of your body.” Kiss.
“I love how fucking drenched you are for me,” he says, reaching his hands down to sink his fingers into me again.
Kiss. And this time, I don’t just feel his touch on my skin, I feel it everywhere. Like he’s kissing my very soul.
“Kai,” I gasp in desperation. He lifts the pad of his thumb to his mouth and sucks.
“And how good you fucking taste.” Jesus, he's got me on the brink again, his words turning me nuclear in a matter of seconds. Surely, I'm not about to have my fifth orgasm in less than 24 hours. Not that I’m complaining. Raging insatiable need has me feral for him as I reach for his boxers.
“Why are there still this many layers of clothes separating us?” I ask as I unleash his massive erection. I bring him closer to me, sliding his tip across my entrance and my body quivers with anticipation.
“I have no fucking clue,” he groans with pleasure.
“You’re the only person who does this to me, Kai, the only one who makes me feel like this. One touch and I’m burning for you, one kiss and I fucking melt. But I need to know I’m the only one for you too.”
“It’s only you, Ken. Always you. It has only ever been you,” he promises, his voice low and soft. “And I fully intend on keeping you this time.”
Within seconds, my shirt is off, and I shove his sweats and boxers to the ground with my feet.
He carries me somewhere. Where we’re going, I don’t care as long as he doesn’t stop.
My legs are hitched around his waist, my pebbled nipples pressed against his firm chest and we’re a tangle of limbs and hands, clashing tongues and teeth.
Our mouths colliding over and over. My back meets a wall and then we’re moving again.
We bump into something and I hear a crash as a decorative vase lands on the ground in a million pieces.
“I hated that vase anyways,” he mumbles and goes right back to ravaging my body. I think we’re headed to his bed again but he stops in front of his shower, placing me on my feet.
“Kai, what are we doing?”
“We are going to get as close to fucking as we can without actually doing that and then we’re going to shower,” he decides with a smirk that makes me weak. “You know, kill two birds with one stone,” he suggests.
“Okay,” I oblige.
The shower is gigantic, all glass and marble, with intricate gray hexagonal tiles lining the floor and a rainfall shower head mounted on the ceiling.
Not to mention a built-in seat and something tells me we’ll be needing it.
He turns the shower on and picks me up with ease, one hand twined around my waist and the other feeling the temperature of the water.
Once it’s warm enough, he carries me inside and pins me to the wall with all of him.
Yes yes yes. He starts rocking his hips and thrusting his cock against me slowly, in a perfect rhythm as the water washes over us.
My grip tightens in his hair as the friction between us intensifies.
I bite his shoulder and arch my back, pleading, begging for more of him.
The feel of him slick and wet and hard against me causes me to unravel.
I cross my feet at his back, pushing him impossibly closer to me.
“More,” I whimper. He reaches his hand between us, massaging my hypersensitive clit and giving me the exact pressure I need.
I forget every word in the English language as I cling to him for dear life.
I dig my nails into his skin harder as the pressure builds.
My body is strung tighter and tighter, like a rubber band about to snap, and then I see the universe explode.
I tilt my head back and let the orgasm crash over me in wave after wave, liquefying my bones, stealing my breath, and ridding me of my sanity.
When I finally take a moment to look at him, I realize how lucky I truly am.
He’s so fucking beautiful. The water drips off his hair in rivulets, sliding down his expertly sculpted muscles.
His chest glistens with beads of water. Sweat and heat radiate off his glorious body while steam billows around us.
He raises his tattooed forearms to cage my head in and stares back at me, his darkened eyes glazed with lust. One pull of his scarred eyebrow does me in.
This man deserves to be worshipped, every inch of him.
I extricate myself from his body, planting my feet on the ground and proceed to kiss my way down his torso. I lick a path back up his body and it’s infinitely better than I imagined. Then I’m standing in front of him, my hands on his chest, pushing him backwards until his thighs meet the bench.
I kneel in front of him and take my time licking him from the base all the way to tip, eliciting a deep guttural groan from him.
“Fuck, Ken,” he growls. “That feels so good.” I smile up at him deviously, clench his ass in my hands, and take him all the way to the back of my throat, tears pricking at my eyes.
I’m so deliriously full of him and I fucking love it.
I start slow, giving him long lazy strokes and then circle his crown with the tip of my tongue.
He wraps my hair around his fist and tugs, his breath coming in short, ragged pants.
I want to feel him let go, lose control.
I want everything he’s willing to give me.
I move faster as his thrusts get sloppy, his movements more erratic, and I know he’s close.
His body violently clenches, every muscle rigid, a groan erupting from his throat.
Moments later, he finds his release as water rains down on us. And I swallow every last drop.
If the not fucking him is this good, having sex might kill me.