Chapter 3: The Kitchen Counter Confrontation
The silence that followed the crash of the beer can was a physical thing, thick and hot as tar. Yuji stood rigid in the kitchen doorway, his amber eyes wide, the veins in his forearms standing out as his fists clenched. The bright, absurd cheer of the anime theme song mocked the scene.
Sukuna didn’t remove his hand from where it had slipped beneath the waistband of Megumi’s jeans, his fingers a brand against the bare skin of her hip. He didn’t even look at his nephew. His crimson gaze was locked on Megumi’s face, studying the flicker of shame, the dazed arousal, the sheer panic that warred in her dark eyes.
“Close the door on your way out, nephew,” Sukuna said, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through Megumi’s bones. It was a dismissal so absolute it was almost casual.Yuji didn’t move. “Get your fucking hands off her.”
Megumi flinched at the venom in Yuji’s voice, a sound she’d never heard from him.It broke the strange spell for a second. She tried to shift away, but Sukuna’s grip on her hip tightened, pinning her to the spot. His thumb stroked a small, cruel circle on her skin.
“He doesn’t know what you need, princess,” Sukuna murmured against her ear, his words meant only for her, yet loud enough to carve through the room.“Look at him.He’s a boy.All he feels is confused ownership. Thinks you’re a prize he brought home.” He kissed the juncture of her jaw, his tongue a quick, wet flick.“You’re not a prize. You’re a feast. And I’m fucking starving.”
His free hand came up to cup her chin, turning her face back to his.He kissed her again, deep and consuming, a raw display of possession. A whimper caught in her throat, part protest, part surrender. Her hands, which had been frozen at her sides, lifted shakily. One landed on his bicep, the hard muscle rigid under her fingers.She didn’t push him away.She held on.
Yuji took a step forward.The floorboard creaked.“Megumi. Tell him to stop.”
She heard the plea, the fractured trust in his voice.It splintered something inside her. But Sukuna’s mouth was on hers, his taste flooding her senses, and the hand below her waistband was moving, slipping past the edge of her underwear, the rough pads of his fingers sliding through the wet heat she couldn’t deny. Her back arched involuntarily, a silent gasp into his mouth.Sukuna broke the kiss, breathing heavily.A predator’s grin split his face. “She can’t speak right now, Yuji. She’s a little busy.” He finally looked over at his nephew, his eyes gleaming with malicious delight. “But she’s telling you everything you need to know. Aren’t you, sweetheart?”
His finger found her clit, a sudden, precise pressure that made her cry out, a sharp, ragged sound that was utterly foreign to her.Her head fell back against the worn couch cushion, eyes squeezed shut.
“See?” Sukuna said, his voice dripping with false sympathy.“She doesn’t want you here. It’s embarrassing for her.For you. Walk away.”
Yuji’s face was a mask of hurt and fury. He looked at Megumi, at her closed eyes, her parted lips, the flush spreading down her throat.He saw the truth: she wasn’t fighting. The realization seemed to hollow him out. The protective anger bled away, leaving something worse—disappointment, disgust.“Fine,” he spat, the word brittle.“You want this? You want him?Have it.” He turned on his heel, grabbing his jacket from a hook by the door. He yanked the front door open, the bang of it against the wall shaking a puff of dust from the frame.He didn’t look back.The slam that followed was final.
The echo died, leaving only the tinny cartoon sounds from the television.
Sukuna laughed, a low, satisfied sound.“Finally. Some privacy.” He withdrew his hand from her jeans, bringing his fingers to his mouth.He sucked them clean, never breaking eye contact.“Fucking perfect. All that tight, quiet tension… tastes like victory.”
The crudeness should have revolted her. Instead, a fresh wave of wetness soaked her underwear. The emptiness where his hand had been ached.“He’s gone,” Sukuna stated, as if surveying a conquered battlefield. He stood up in one fluid motion, his height dominating the cluttered room. He looked down at her, sprawled on the sofa, hair mussed, chest heaving.“Now. Where were we?”
He didn’t wait for an answer. He hooked his hands under her arms and pulled her to her feet as if she weighed nothing.Her legs were unsteady. He turned her around, her back to his front, and pushed her forward until her knees met the edge of the low coffee table, scattered with empty cans and a controller.
“Bend over,” he commanded, his voice shedding the last vestige of that sweet, false tenderness.It was pure gravel and heat.
Trembling, she leaned forward, placing her palms flat on the sticky laminate of the table. The cold surface shocked her skin.She heard the rasp of his zipper, the rustle of clothing. Then his hands were on her again, yanking her jeans and underwear down to her thighs in one brutal tug.The air in the stagnant room felt cold on her exposed skin.
He didn’t prepare her.He didn’t ask.One hand gripped her hip, the other guided himself. The broad, blunt head of his cock pressed against her, testing her wetness, spreading it. He was impossibly large, a stark threat of pressure.
“This is what you wanted, wasn’t it?” he growled, his breath hot on the back of her neck. “Since you walked in here with your shy little glances.Since you let me touch you in front of him. You wanted his fucking uncle to ruin you on his cheap furniture.”
He pushed inside.
A ragged scream tore from Megumi’s throat, a sound of sheer, splitting fullness. It hurt—a sharp, burning stretch that stole her breath.She shook, her knuckles white on the table.
Sukuna groaned, a deep, animal sound of pleasure.“Christ.You’re so fucking tight. Like a vise.” He stayed there, buried to the hilt, letting her adjust, letting the pain simmer into a deep, throbbing ache. He leaned over her, his chest against her back, his mouth at her ear.“This is it, princess.This is you. Taking my cock like a good girl while your best friend’s beer soaks into the floor.”
He pulled back slowly, almost all the way out, the drag exquisite torture, then slammed back in.
The second thrust was easier, the pain melting into a devastating friction that sparked a fire low in her belly. He set a punishing rhythm, each drive of his hips pushing her hands across the table, rattling the debris. The sounds were obscene—the wet slap of skin on skin, his guttural grunts, her broken, hiccuping breaths.
One of his hands snaked around her front, fingers digging into the sharp angle of her hip bone. The other reached up and fisted in her short, spiky hair, pulling her head back, arching her spine. The change in angle was brutal, perfect.He hit a spot inside her that made her vision whiten.
“There it is,” he panted, his rhythm becoming erratic, harder, faster. “There’s that fucking noise.Let me hear it.”
She couldn’t have stayed quiet if she tried. A high, keening moan escaped her lips with every thrust. The pleasure was coiling, tight and urgent, born directly from the humiliation, the danger, the sheer wrongness of it. She was coming apart on him, on this table, in this filthy room that smelled of him.
“You gonna come?” he snarled, his voice ragged. “You gonna come on my cock while I fuck you in my nephew’s house?Do it.”
His words were the final trigger.The coil snapped. Her orgasm ripped through her, violent and convulsing, her internal muscles clamping around him in rhythmic pulses.A silent scream stretched her mouth wide as she shuddered against the table.
Feeling her clench around him sent Sukuna over the edge. With a final, brutal thrust, he buried himself deep, his grip on her hair tightening to the point of pain as a raw shout was torn from his throat.Heat flooded her, a startling, intimate claim. He held himself there, pulsing inside her, his large body shuddering against her back.
For a long moment, there was only the sound of their ragged breathing, mingling with the oblivious cheer of the TV.
Slowly, he softened, slipped out of her. He released her hair, his hand smoothing over it almost apologetically, a return of the disturbing tenderness.He helped her stand, her legs buckling. He held her up, pulling her jeans back over her hips with a strange, focused care.
She couldn’t look at him.She stared at the blurred screen, her body humming, sore, utterly spent.
He turned her around, cupped her face. His thumb wiped a tear from her cheek she hadn’t even felt fall. “Look at me,” he said, his voice back to that low, possessive rasp.She forced her eyes to meet his. They were still dark with desire, but satisfied now.Calm.“Mine,” he said, simply.It wasn’t a question.
She nodded, a tiny, broken movement. He kissed her forehead, a chaste contrast to what they’d just done.
“Clean yourself up,” he said, nodding toward the bathroom down the hall. “I’ll be here.”
He sank onto the couch, the picture of indolence, and reached for the remote, turning up the volume on the anime. As she walked away on unsteady legs, the sticky evidence of him trailing down her inner thigh, she heard the crunch of a beer can being crushed in his fist and the soft, dark chuckle that followed her into the hall.