The Hollow Feeling #3
He pulled out to the tip, and I saw it—I saw the sunlight catch the wet gold of his piercing coated in my slick—and then he slammed back into me.
I screamed. “Oh!”
The bed frame hit the wall as he fucked me hard. His hips drove into me at an angle that dragged that piercing across my g-spot.
My toes curled.
Every thrust punched a broken sound out of my throat.
Delirious, I looked down to watch his cock disappear inside me over and over, glistening wet, the piercing shimmering in the light on every withdrawal before he buried it back inside me.
My inner thighs were slick and shining. His stomach glistened with sweat.
The sound of him fucking me filled the room—wet, obscene, rhythmic, filthy.
“I love how well this pussy takes me.”
“Oh.”
“I’m going to stay in this pussy all week.” His hips ground deeper. “They’ll have to drag me away.”
“Oh, Kenji!”
His mouth crashed down on mine. His tongue thrust in the same rhythm as his cock.
When he pulled away, he slowed the rhythm of his cock and his hand slid up and closed around my throat. His thumb pressed the pulse under my jaw.
And then he went back to fucking me harder.
The headboard cracked against the wall. My breasts bounced. My braids slid across the pillow. Sweat rolled down between us.
The piercing dragged across every inch of me on the way out and pounded that same spot on the way in, over and over, until my thighs shook so violently I could not hold them still.
Through the bond—God, through the bond—his pleasure and mine climbed the same ladder.
I could feel his cock inside me from both sides—the fullness in my own body and the wet tight heat wrapped around him from his.
It was too much.
It was doubled.
It was tripled by his intention behind every thrust, that molten purpose still burning through the bond—
“Take it. Take all of it. Take my child.”
I cried out, “Kenji. . .I’m going to cum. . .”
“Naughty Tiger.” His hips slammed deeper.
He let go of my throat and lowered.
Soon, his teeth sank into the meat of my shoulder, and he fucked me until the orgasm crashed through.
Ruthless.
Bruising.
Screams of pleasure ripped out of my throat.
And then he came.
His whole body locked over mine. His jaw dropped open against my throat. A raw, broken sound tore out of him that I had never heard from him before—part groan, part surrender, part something that sounded almost like grief. His cock jerked hard inside me, and heat flooded me in thick waves.
"Oh, Tora. Take it." His voice cracked. His hips shuddered. His arms shook where they caged me. "Take all of it."
He kept thrusting through it, groaning against my shoulder, milking every drop of himself into me.
Through the bond, his satisfaction roared white-hot—the satisfaction of putting his cum inside me—and it triggered a second smaller orgasm that rolled through my body and left me shaking and boneless underneath him.
“Oh. Oh.”
When he finally finished, he did not pull out.
He stayed buried inside me, softening slowly, one hand cradling the back of my head, the other splayed low across my belly like he was already imagining what he had just planted there.
The room settled around us. Incense still curled above the bed in thin gray ribbons. Tokyo's melodic hum returned to the window. Sweat cooled between our chests, and the bond went quiet for the first time all morning.
His forehead pressed to mine.
His breath shook.
And then, so quiet I almost missed it, he whispered, "I made it back to you, Tora."
“You did.”
“I’ve got the throne now, but. . .” His eyes watered.
“What?”
“I don’t want it.”
I parted my lips.
“I just want you.” Tears spilled from his eyes. The bond hummed low between us. “That’s it.”
“You’ve already got me.”
And through the bond I knew that. . .things would be changing. . .I just didn't know what or how.