Chapter 2: Gentildonna's lips stretch around his thick cock as she works him with expert suction, her tongue massaging the throbbing vein underneath while her hand twists at the base. Her trainer groans awake to find her emerald eyes gleaming with hunger as she deepthroats him to the root, her nose buried in his pubes as she holds him there, proving she can take him all without hesitation now.
The first thing he felt was the warmth. A soft, wet heat enveloping him, pulling him from the deep, sated sleep he’d fallen into. Consciousness returned slowly, accompanied by a low, humming pleasure. He opened his eyes to the grey pre-dawn light filtering through the blinds, striping the rumpled sheets and her bent form.
Gentildonna was between his legs, her head bowed, a curtain of raven hair obscuring her face. Her mouth was working on his cock with a slow, deliberate rhythm, already fully hard in her throat. She looked up, her emerald eyes catching his, and a wicked smile touched her lips around his girth. She pulled back with a soft, wet pop.
“Good morning,” she whispered, her voice raspy with sleep and use. Her hand continued to stroke him, firm and knowing. “I woke up and felt you against my leg. I couldn’t help myself.”
He could only groan, his hands finding their way into her hair. The memories of the night flooded back—the desperate coupling, the raw, violating intimacy of taking her ass, the way she’d screamed and cried and come apart for him. It felt like a dream, a feverish, impossible fantasy. But here she was, real and warm and sucking his cock with a possessive hunger that made his toes curl.
“You’re insatiable,” he breathed, his hips lifting slightly, pushing himself deeper into her mouth.
She took him easily, her throat relaxing, her eyes locked on his. She deep-throated him until her nose pressed into the coarse hair at his base, held it for a long, breathtaking moment, then pulled back, gasping. A string of saliva connected her lips to his tip.
“You have no idea,” she panted, her hand working his shaft. “I’ve been thinking about it all night. Waking up like this. Having you in my mouth before I even have my coffee.” She leaned in again, her tongue swirling around the head. “I want you to fuck my face, Kaito. Hard. Like you did my ass.”
The crude words, coming from her usually composed mouth, sent a jolt of pure lightning through him. He tightened his grip in her hair, his control fraying at the edges. “You sure?”
In answer, she opened her mouth wide, her tongue flat, and looked at him with utter submission and defiance. It was all the permission he needed.
He moved his hips, tentatively at first, then with more force, thrusting into the wet, willing cavern of her mouth. She relaxed her jaw, letting him set the pace, her hands braced on his thighs. The sounds were obscene—guttural grunts from him, wet, choking gulps from her, the slick slap of his flesh against her lips. Tears tracked through the sleep on her cheeks, but she never looked away, her eyes glazed with a mixture of pleasure and strain.
“That’s it,” he grunted, driving deeper, watching his cock disappear into her. “Take it all, you greedy fucking champion.”
He felt the familiar tension coiling in his balls, the pressure building to a breaking point. “Donna, I’m gonna come.”
She made a desperate, affirmative sound in her throat and pressed down, taking him all the way to the hilt, signaling she wanted it, all of it. With a final, ragged shout, he erupted, pulsing hot and thick down her throat. She swallowed convulsively, milking him with her throat muscles until he was spent, soft and sensitive.
She collapsed beside him, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, her chest heaving. They lay in silence for a moment, the only sound their ragged breathing. The room was getting lighter.
“We can’t stay in this bed forever,” he said finally, his voice rough.
“Why not?” she murmured, rolling onto her side to face him, her expression serious. “The ceremony isn’t for hours.”
“Because,” he said, pushing himself up on one elbow, “the world doesn’t stop because we fucked all night. Your manager will call. The press will be there. You have to be Gentildonna, the champion, today.”
She reached out, tracing the line of his jaw. “I know. But for these few hours, I’m just yours.” Her stomach chose that moment to emit a loud, plaintive growl. A faint blush colored her cheeks. “And I’m starving.”
He laughed, a real, unguarded sound that felt foreign in the charged air. “Okay. Point taken. I’ll make breakfast.”
He swung his legs out of bed, his body protesting with a hundred small aches and pleasant sorenesses. He pulled on a pair of sweatpants from the floor and walked naked from the waist up into the main living area. The apartment was a mess—discarded clothes, a knocked-over glass of water, the general disarray of passion. He righted the glass and headed for the small kitchenette.
He was scrambling eggs when he felt her arms slide around his waist from behind. She rested her head against his bare back, her skin warm against his.
“Smells good,” she mumbled into his skin.
“It’s just eggs.” He could feel the soft press of her breasts, the powerful muscles of her thighs against his legs. It was domestic. It was surreal.
“No,” she said, her voice low. “It’s you. It’s this. It’s everything I wanted.”
He stopped stirring and turned in her embrace. She was still gloriously naked, her hair a mess, her lips still slightly swollen. She looked more real, more beautiful, than she ever had on any winner’s podium. He kissed her, a soft, lingering kiss that tasted of him and sleep.
They ate at the small table, surrounded by the ghosts of their professional life—the training schedules, the trophies, the framed photo of her first major win. They didn’t talk much. There was no need. The silence was comfortable, filled with the understanding of what they had done and what it meant.
After, she helped him wash the dishes. Her body brushed against his at the sink, a constant, teasing reminder. When the last plate was dried, she turned to him, her eyes darkening with a fresh, familiar hunger. Water dripped from her fingertips onto the linoleum floor.
“Now,” she said, her voice dropping to a husky whisper. “I want you to bend me over this table and fuck me like I’m just some cheap, anonymous hole. I don’t want you to be gentle. I want to feel this all day while I’m shaking hands and smiling for cameras.”
A dark, possessive thrill shot through him. He looked at the table, then back at her, at the challenge in her emerald eyes. The civilized breakfast, the moment of normalcy, shattered.
He didn’t speak. He grabbed her by the hips and spun her around, pushing her forward until her palms were flat on the wooden surface. He kicked her legs apart with his foot, the motion rough and efficient. He unbuttoned his sweatpants, freeing his already hardening cock. He was already slick from her morning attention, and he used his own pre-cum to wet the head, pressing it against her entrance from behind.
She was wet for him, so ready, her body already yielding. He didn’t tease. He drove into her in one single, brutal thrust, burying himself to the hilt.
She cried out, a sharp, guttural sound that was part pain, part pure ecstasy. Her back arched, pushing her ass back against him. “Yes! God, yes! Fuck me!”
He set a punishing pace from the start, each thrust a savage punctuation to her words. The table scraped against the floor with every drive of his hips. He gripped her hips, his fingers digging into the firm muscle of her ass, holding her still for his assault. He leaned over her, his mouth near her ear.
“This what you wanted?” he grunted, slamming into her. “To be my dirty little secret? My fuck-toy?”
“Yes!” she sobbed, her body shaking. “I’m your fuck-toy! I’m your champion whore! Use me!”
He fucked her with a raw, focused intensity, the pleasure so sharp it was almost unbearable. He could feel the orgasm building, a tidal wave of release. He reached around her hip, his fingers finding her clit, rubbing rough, frantic circles.
“Come for me, Donna,” he commanded, his voice a raw scrape. “Come all over my cock while I’m fucking this perfect, greedy cunt.”
His words, the rough friction of his fingers, the deep, relentless pounding—it was too much. She shattered, screaming his name as her orgasm ripped through her, her inner muscles clamping down on him in violent, rhythmic spasms. The feeling of her convulsing around him tore his own release from him. He buried himself deep and still, pouring into her with a guttural roar, his body shuddering against hers.
They stayed like that for a long moment, bent over the breakfast table, panting, spent. The smell of sex and scrambled eggs hung in the air. Finally, he pulled out, and she slumped forward, her arms trembling.
He turned her around. Her face was flushed, her eyes hazy with satisfaction. He cupped her cheek, his thumb stroking her skin.
“You should get in the shower,” he said softly. “You have a graduation to go to.”
She nodded, a slow, dazed smile spreading across her face. “And you’ll be there.”
“I’ll be there,” he confirmed. But as she walked towards the bathroom, her gait slightly unsteady, he looked around the apartment. At the table they’d just defiled, at the bed where they’d broken every boundary, at the trophies that represented a life that was now irrevocably changed. He had no idea what happened after the ceremony. All he knew was that the world was waiting, and the woman in his shower had just rewritten every rule he’d ever lived by.