“Two,” you say. “Harder.”
Thoughtfully, Kai puts a hand to your slapped cheek and rubs it.
“It might leave a mark,” he says warningly.
“Good,” you say, meaning it. “That’s why I have more makeup than a girl.”
Still cupping your right cheek, he hits the left one, holding your head in place. As you asked, it’s harder. Your vision swims a little bit. He’s considerately bracing your face so he doesn’t hurt your neck, but it also prevents you from recoiling, which you are instinctively trying to do. It is, after all, human nature to try and flee from violence.
“Thr…” you go to say, and he slaps you in the same place. Your cheek gets hot as blood rushes to the delicate vessels in your face, the alarm raised in your nervous system. The feeling of his hand lingers after it’s gone, a stinging brand that’s shooting little flares up your lungs. You draw a deep breath.
“You okay?” he asks.
“Yes,” you say softly.
He squeezes your face softly. Rubs his thumb over your lower lip.
“Good boy,” he says.
You didn’t specifically mention that one. It makes your gut contract hot and hard. His eyes blaze; he must have seen the look come over your face.
“You forgot to sayfour,” he tells you gravely. “You’re going to suck me now. Stay kneeling. You know what I like.”
His little black underwear—the same ones from under the chaps—hide nothing; you can tell that he’s not hard. Even though he’s doing this for you, you want him to enjoy the parts of it that he can. You pull his hips forward. Kai reaches down and fists your hair in his hand. He’s obsessed with your hair, and the longer it gets, the more he plays with it. He thinks you don’t know, whichis ridiculous. You’re pretty sure you know all Kai’s secrets. He doesn’t know that he’s carved into your skin like a hidden tattoo.
With hands that only shake a little, you roll his briefs down his legs. Gracefully, he steps out of them and kicks them aside. You have to rise up on your knees to get your mouth at the level of his crotch, he’s so tall. Not wasting time with teasing or licking him, you take the full length of his soft penis into your mouth. Erect, Kai is eight or nine inches. You’ve never measured, but you know he’s big. This might be the closest you ever get to deep-throating him.
You remember the first time you ever blew him, on the jet flying home from a charity event. He was worried about hurting your throat and messing up your voice, and you remember thinking how oddly sweet that was. Kai is the sweetest guy you have ever dated; possibly one of the sweetest you’ve ever met. Maybe that’s what makes this scene so appealingly dirty. Dragging him outside his comfort zone.What, you wonder,does that say about me?
Your nails dig into the thick muscles of his thighs as you suck him from root to tip. He’s starting to unfurl inside the cavern of your mouth, but it’s slow. Gradual. His hand makes a loose ponytail of your hair, his thighs are spread. If you had to guess, you’d bet that he’s watching you closely. For your part, you close your eyes. Inhale his scent of clean sweat and taste the salt of his skin. The hand that isn’t holding your hair back finds your cheek. He slaps you twice in quick succession, just the fingertips. Doing so probably feels gentler to him, but it actually stings more than the meat of his palm. Your eyes water a bit, and the blackness behind your eyelids swirls in galactic shapes.
“Five and six,” he says.
You feel hungry and hollow, something with a fragile backbone that might collapse in on itself if not supported. He’s almost fully hard now and making you gag on his length, which you refuse to dislodge from your throat. Not only is he long, but he’s thick. His cock feels enormous in your mouth, making you salivate around it. Normally, Kai would pull back to stop you from taking too much. Normal Kai isn’t here, tonight.
He waits until you start choking in earnest, snot coming from your nose and viscous drool from your lips, before he tugs you back with one hand fisted in your hair. You gasp for breath inelegantly. Kai affords you about fifteen seconds of fresh air before he pushes your head back down.
This time, you are smart enough to get a fist around the base of his dick to stop it from going all the way into your throat. Propelled by his strong hand, you begin to bob your mouth over him in earnest. He said to do it the way he likes, and he was right—you do know just that. On every downward stroke, you wiggle your tongue over the thick vein on the underside of his shaft, and every time you come up, you lick over his slit. Your fingers work in counterpoint to your mouth, twisting around the root of him.
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, itdoeshurt, 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.
