Chapter 7 Jo
Jo
Very slowly, I wake up from a deep sleep. I touch the back of my head. It is tender but not too painful. Blinking, I look around, getting my bearings.
I’m in Hiroki’s big white bedroom. There are a couple of abstract paintings on the walls and a small shelf filled with books.
A large potted plant, bright green and happy, sits in the morning sunlight from the open window.
The floor is polished wood. Hiroki’s bed is all white.
For an artist who deals with so much color, his personal space is clean and minimalist, like a piece of paper before the sketch.
I’m wearing one of Hiroki’s white T-shirts and a pair of soft cotton boxers. Next to me, he’s still asleep. In the summer heat, we’ve kicked the sheets off the bed. He’s shirtless and wearing a pair of boxer briefs. I prop myself up on an elbow to stare at him.
His black hair is spread out on the pillow.
There’s silver at his temples and in his five-o’clock shadow.
I study his high cheekbones and the faint line between his eyebrows that smooths out while he sleeps.
I study his collarbones and his broad shoulders, the sparse dark hair in the center of his chest, and his absolutely tiny, very lickable nipples.
He’s older than me, but I can’t tell by how much.
He’s in good shape. I want to rub my hands over his stomach and feel the shallow six-pack there.
I want to run my cheek along the soft hair growing in a trail under his belly button.
I want to taste his skin. Last night’s orgasm left me full of wanting, raw and hungry for more.
After his shower, he climbed into bed next to me and, respectful of my head injury, didn’t lay a hand on me.
Even after I laid a hand on myself and let him watch.
I’d never done anything like that before.
I would blame the bump on my head, but that would be disingenuous.
I blame myself—my horniness, and the way this man hypnotizes me into acting on it.
His big hand rests on the pillow next to his face.
Quietly, I slide up and rest my cheek in his palm. I nestle against him like a kitten, enjoying the feel of his rough skin. I watch as his eyes flutter open and he rises through his sleep to be here, with me, in his bed.
We stare at each other, saying nothing. It’s quiet, all suburban stillness. The world holds its breath.
“What day of the week is today?” he asks softly.
I climb on top of him, straddling his hips.
I hover just above his body, watching his reactions.
Gently, I hold his wrists down, pinning him to the bed.
Immediately, his hard dick presses against me, and his pupils dilate with pleasure, eyes dark as midnight.
He raises his head and kisses me, capturing my lips in his.
At once, I’m overwhelmed with the taste of him, his salt and sweetness.
The smell of his clean skin envelops me, and I realize, ever since my shower, I smell like him too—his soap, his shampoo, even the detergent he uses to wash his clothes and bed sheets.
Everything smells like him, and I’m so deep under his spell that whatever scraps of game I have are lost. Lost—I want to get lost in this man.
He slips easily out of my grip and flips me onto my back.
He breaks our kiss just long enough to strip off our clothes.
When he kisses me again, he does it with his whole body, chest to chest, forehead to forehead.
He cradles my neck in one hand and strokes my face with the other.
The shaft of his dick rests against the aching flesh of my pussy.
And his wicked tongue is in my mouth, teaching me his secret, silent language.
When he begins to move his hips, I tremble, wondering if I could come from this—this wild friction.
He’s murmuring to himself as he kisses my neck, and I feel the vibrations of his voice in his chest. In a daze, I stroke his hair and his hard shoulders as he kneads my breasts and sucks my nipples, strumming up and down with that tongue, taking his sweet time.
When he finally reaches down to touch my pussy, I jump a little, tender and so keyed up I’m breathless.
Hiroki looks at me. His hair is messy. His lips are swollen from sucking on my tits. His skin is flushed and glistening. He’s absolutely beautiful.
“Wider,” he says. One word. I obey.
Studying me, he traces one side of my pussy with his finger, then the other. A slash of bright sunlight from the window falls across my body, illuminating my most private parts.
“I was dying to see this last night,” he says. “And now. You’re more beautiful than I imagined.”
With a gentle touch, he explores me, tracing, stroking, entering. I clench at him, and he grins, eyes transfixed on me.
“Do you want to know what colors you are?”
“Colors?”
He gives a small nod. “No one knows colors like me. I’ll tell you.”
I feel him lower his mouth to my pussy. From the way he kissed, I had a feeling he would be good at this. But my understanding of the word good has nothing to do with how good he really is. I lean my head back and close my eyes, overwhelmed with sensation.
The tip of his tongue traces my outer lips. “Mahogany,” he murmurs.
I smile. “Mahogany?”
“Yes. That’s what color you are right here.” He licks me softly, finding his rhythm. I comb my fingers through his hair. His tongue goes deeper. I moan.
“And here.” He licks me harder. “Terra rosa.”
“Terra rosa?”
“Yes. Beautiful.”
I gasp as he slides one of his fingers into me, pressing its tip against my sweet spot.
He strokes me there while he licks my clit, soothing me and awakening me at the same time.
I suppress the urge to grab his head and ride his face, instead letting deep pleasure uncurl inside me, swirling into the beginning of an enormous orgasm.
“There,” I rasp. “Right there.”
Instead of speeding up or changing pressure, he stays on me, steady as a drumbeat.
I am panting. I can smell my arousal and feel my wetness on his sheets.
The orgasm glimmers inside me, bigger than the wild one I had last night.
Hiroki made this one, and like everything he touches, it’s a work of art.
“I’m going to come,” I say.
Two more swipes of his tongue and I’m gone. A scream tears out of my throat, and I grab at his arms as the orgasm thunders out of me. Hiroki doesn’t stop, holding me down and groaning with pleasure as I convulse wildly against his lips.
I am still coming when he sits up and reaches for something in his nightstand.
Heart hammering in my chest, I watch as he quickly rolls a condom onto his thick, beautiful dick and, without missing a beat, slides into me.
He shuts his eyes and grunts softly as I pull him deep with the last ripples of my orgasm.
He overwhelms my nervous system. I’m shaking.
“God,” I whisper. “This feels amazing.”
“For me too, Jo.”
He covers me with his big body and stares into my eyes. Gently holding my head in his big hands, he moves his hips and thrusts so hard I gasp. He does it again and again. I’ve never been fucked with such intensity. Tears of pleasure roll from the corners of my eyes, dropping onto the pillow.
“Touch yourself.” His whisper is rough in my ear.
Obediently, I reach down between us and rub my swollen clit with the tip of my middle finger.
It’s tender from his touch. I feel a twinge, followed by another.
He thrusts faster, and suddenly—unbelievably—another orgasm breaks inside me.
My thighs flex hard, and I hold on to him as if I’m falling off the face of the earth.
When I accidentally dig my nails into his back, he comes in a hard, desperate shudder.
We ride our orgasms together. He holds me so tenderly, burying his face in my hair and whispering in an incoherent mixture of Japanese and English.
I nuzzle his hard, round shoulder and run kisses along his collarbone, licking off the salty taste of his skin.
After the storm passes, he gets up slowly and walks to the bathroom. When he comes back, he stands by the bed. We look at each other with big, goofy smiles on our faces. He’s as gorgeous naked as I thought he would be.
“You came too fast,” he says.
“What?”
“The second time. I wanted to draw that one out.” He smirks. I’ve never met a nice man who was as hungry as this one. He lowers his voice. “Apologize to me again. Like you did yesterday.”
He’s delicious. “Sorry, Daddy.”
“Apology accepted.” He sits down on the bed and spreads my legs again, looking at me. I should feel self-conscious, but I don’t. I know my pussy is swollen, wet and very well fucked. He looks proud.
“Hmm.” He narrows his eyes.
“What color do you see now?”
“Candy pink.”
I grab him and drag him down onto the bed. After a long make-out session, I give him the blowjob of his life. Laughing, I straddle his face. We are joyful together, and after my third orgasm of the morning, I fall asleep again in his arms, exhausted and happy.