Sinning on a Sunday! I feel so filthy, guys. Filthy ahead. Filthy ahead.
Fem!Reader ahead
Long business trips are sure to drive anyone… hungry.
You let him part your thighs with his big, strong hands, moaning unabashedly thanks to the safety confines of your hotel room when he dives in, lips seeking out the moistness between your legs. There’s a reason why he asked you to immediately meet him at a hotel and not at home—and not just any regular hotel, to boot—Kiyoshi wants what is his, and he wants it immediately.
You realize that he hasn’t even packed out of his suitcase, but who cares when he has his mouth against your core, licking and sucking with utmost passion as if he lives to eat you. You let out a silent cry when he moves up to your clit, playing with the sensitive nub as his fingers graze your entrance, deliberately bringing you faster to the edge. Your fingers rake his hair, unconsciously pushing his face impossibly closer you, to which your lover let out a chuckle that vibrates against your pussy. You curse.
“So eager,” he purrs, only neglecting his task on your clit for a second. His usually easygoing disposition is replaced with one that is brimming with lust and urgency, because although he has only been deprived of sex for one week, his want for you is uncontrollable. Kiyoshi groans, adding another finger inside of you to work you up even further. He decides to let out his own noises when he feels your insides tightening upon hearing them.
“Cum for me, babe,” he murmurs, tongue slurping at your juices. You cry out, hips gyrating against his face as if it has a mind of its own. “Yeah, that’s right, scream for me,” and with his encouragements and the onslaught on your sensitive cunt, you throw your head back, reaching orgasm faster than you have ever before—the only positive consequence of being left alone for too long. Kiyoshi smirks heartily as he watches you unravel, eyes half-lidded and unfocused, lips utterly kissed and raw, the apex of your thighs damp with the aftereffects of your climax.
When you regain some control of your consciousness, you hear the close of a drawer and a faint buzz, dismissing it as your mind’s trick—until you see him approaching the foot of the bed, his suit messed up and hair even more so, with a small pink device in his hand.
“Teppei,” you sigh, half in protest and half in desire. He smiles down at you as if you’re having a perfectly normal day, like you’re not lying entirely naked on a bed in a love hotel, like he doesn’t feel the almost painful tightness in his pants.
He descends on top of you, straddling you with his knees on both sides of your body, and then he lowers the vibrator ever so carefully to touch the tip of your nipple. Kiyoshi watches with delight as you squirm beneath him, your knuckles turning white after grasping the sheets for so long.
“You can let it out,” he says when he sees you bite your lip, slowly dragging a finger from your collarbone to your stomach, keeping the vibrator steady in his hand. “Every single room here is soundproofed, every window covered in one-way vision film. I could fuck you against it right now and nobody would know,” he chuckles, the image burning in his mind. Maybe he will, later.
“Why are you—ah! Ngh,—what’s gotten into you?” You ask, panting.
“I missed you so bad, that’s why,” he declares, leaning down to capture a nipple in his mouth, the vibrator in his hand abandoning the other as it slowly journey’s south. A shiver wrecks your body as you feel the device resting against your mound, not quite touching you there yet, but Kiyoshi diligently laps at your breast, doing more than enough to rile you up.
“Fuck, Teppei,” you whimper when he inserts the device in you, his hand immediately grabbing your rear. He revels in the way your flesh feels in his palm, kneading you however he wishes. It doesn’t take long for you to come again, especially with the things he whispers in your ear and the touch of his hand against your breasts and rump. He lets you breathe for a minute or two, removing the vibrator from your core before hurriedly taking off his pants—your lust-clouded consciousness commands your hands to work on his shirt, and the garment is not abandoned quickly enough.
Nevertheless, he is as bare as you now, and you find yourself running your hands up and down his chiseled torso while whispering “please please please”, begging for his cock to sink into you. He has his hands on your hips, gently guiding him to your entrance before thrusting in, the two of you sharing a loud, satisfied moan.
“Happy Valentine’s Day, _________,” he sighs as he begins to thrust in and out of you. Greed bubbles up your throat, and with all your inhibitions gone, you moan out his name, peppering his jaw with kisses and nibbles and sinful confessions of wanting more. He gives it to you, panting with each piston of his hips, watching as his cock sinks into you over and over again.
“I’m going to make you cum,” he says in between thrusts, “seven times,” he groans as you tighten up around him, “one for each day without you.” You let out a squeal at his determined announcement, followed by a louder yelp as you feel him thrust into a sweet spot. The faint squelching sound grows louder as you let yourself drown into the pleasures of sex, getting wetter and wetter by the second. He knows it, too, by the look on your face—you have unbridled greed in your eyes, your mouth open, breasts bouncing with each rhythmic slap of his hips into you.
“Only seven?” You pant out, biting your lip bottom lip in excitement when you see danger flash in your lover’s eyes.
Good thing he booked the room for two nights.
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