Chapter 3: The Morning After
Sunlight, sharp and intrusive, cut through a gap in the blinds, painting a hot stripe across Sukuna’s sleeping face. Megumi watched him. He was on his back, one arm thrown over his eyes, the other still possessively curled around her waist, pinning her to his side. The ashtray on the coffee table was a miniature pyramid of butts. The torn lace of her panties lay like a discarded ghost on the floor.
Every part of her ached. A deep, sweet, muscular ache that radiated from her core, echoed in the tender bruises on her hips and thighs, throbbed in the faint pressure marks still visible on her neck. She shifted slightly, and the soreness between her legs flared, a visceral reminder. A contented sigh escaped her, but it was thin, incomplete.
The emptiness was back. Not the jealous, clawing void from last night, but a hollow, physical need. It was a hunger that his possession had only deepened, not sated. He was inside her, all over her, under her skin, and yet she needed the proof again. Now.
She traced the lines of a fresh scratch on his pectoral, dark against his skin. Then she slid her hand down, over the hard plane of his stomach, beneath the sheet tangled around his hips. He was already hard, thick and heavy in her grasp, even in sleep. A pulse of pure, liquid heat shot through her.
“Kuna-nii,” she whispered, her voice husky from sleep and last night’s screaming.
He grunted, his face turning into his bicep.
She moved, wincing at the protest in her muscles, and swung a leg over him, straddling his hips. The sheet fell away. The morning air was cool on her skin, raising goosebumps. She leaned forward, her long hair curtaining their faces, and rubbed her cheek against his stubble. “Wake up.”
His crimson eye cracked open, peering at her through a slit. A slow, drowsy grin spread across his face. “Again? You’re fucking insatiable.”
“You made me this way.” She rocked her hips, the damp, swollen heat of her settling against him, not taking him in, just grinding slowly. A soft, needy sound crept from her throat. “I’m sore. And I’m empty. Fix it.”
His hands came up, big and warm, to settle on her bare thighs. His thumbs stroked the bruises he’d left. “You’re a greedy little slut. You know that?”
“Your greedy little slut,” she corrected, whining the words into his neck. She kissed the pulse there, then bit down, not hard enough to break skin, but enough to make him suck in a breath. “Please. I need to feel it. I need to feel you before you leave for the day. Before the world gets a piece of you.”
That did it. The last vestiges of sleep vanished from his eyes, replaced by a dark, focused intensity. His grip on her thighs tightened, biting into the tender flesh.
“Before I leave?” he echoed, his voice a low rumble. “You think this is about getting a piece before I go? This is about you remembering. All day. Every time you sit down, every time you move, you’ll feel me. You’ll remember who you belong to.” His hands slid up to her hips, fingers digging in. “Who owns this.”
In one brutal, fluid motion, he lifted her and slammed her down onto him.
Megumi cried out, a sharp, shattered sound that echoed in the quiet room. The fullness was blinding, a stretch that burned through the soreness and rewrote it as pure, shocking pleasure. Her head fell back, her back arching.
“There,” he growled, his hips bucking up to meet her, driving himself deeper. “That’s what you are. That’s all you are.”
He didn’t let her set the pace. He held her hips firm and drove up into her, again and again, the force of it jolting through her entire body. The couch springs screamed their familiar protest. Each impact stole her breath, turning her moans into desperate, rhythmic gasps.
“Say it,” he demanded, his own breath coming in harsh pants. His eyes were locked on hers, unblinking.
“I’m yours,” she whimpered, her hands braced on his chest, sliding against sweat-slick skin.
“Louder.”
“I’m yours!” The declaration became a scream as he shifted his angle, hitting a place that made white light flash behind her eyes. “Only yours, Kuna-nii, please, don’t ever let anyone else—”
“Never.” The word was a vow, gritted out between clenched teeth. One hand snaked up, tangling in her hair, fisting it to control her writhing. “This is mine. This cunt. This heart. This fucked-up little soul. Mine. You don’t even look at anyone else. You understand?”
She was beyond words. She could only nod, her hair sticking to her face, tears of overwhelming sensation leaking from the corners of her eyes. Her body was coiling tight, a spring wound to its breaking point. The world narrowed to the slam of their bodies, the smell of him and sex, the possessive fury in his eyes.
He could feel her tightening around him, the fluttering pulse that signaled her end. With a final, deep thrust that forced a choked sob from her lips, he spilled into her, his own release a raw, shuddering convulsion that seemed to pull hers from her in a long, unraveling wave.
For a minute, there was only the symphony of their breathing, the wet sound of their connection, the distant hum of the city outside.
Slowly, he loosened his grip on her hair, his hand smoothing down her back in a crude approximation of comfort. She collapsed forward onto his chest, her body boneless, every nerve singing. She could feel him, still inside her, his heartbeat against her ear.
“Satisfied now?” he murmured into her hair, his voice rough but tinged with that particular tenderness reserved only for her.
“For now,” she mumbled against his skin.
He chuckled, a low, rasping sound. He shifted, pulling out of her, and she winced at the sudden, sensitive emptiness. He patted her ass. “Go shower. You reek of me.”
“Good,” she said, but she rolled off him, her legs shaky as she stood. The evidence of their morning trailed down her inner thigh. She saw him watching it, his eyes dark with a satisfied pride that warmed her more than the sunlight.
He swung his own legs off the couch, standing and stretching with a groan that spoke of a good night’s sleep and a better morning. He snagged his boxers from the floor and pulled them on, then lit a cigarette, the first drag seeming to center him.
“Got that shipment at the dock today,” he said, exhaling a plume of smoke toward the ceiling. “Gonna be late.”
The words were casual, but they landed in the room with a weight. The outside world was intruding, claiming its share. Megumi wrapped her arms around herself, the cool air now feeling intrusive.
“How late?”
“Don’t start,” he said, but his voice lacked its usual edge. He glanced at her, saw the petulant set of her mouth. “I’ll bring you something. That stupid peach soda you like.”
It was a peace offering. A tiny leash. She shrugged, trying to seem indifferent. “Whatever.”
He crossed the room in two strides, cupping her chin, forcing her to look at him. He kissed her, hard and brief, tasting of tobacco and sleep. “Be good. Don’t burn the place down.”
Then he was gone, padding toward the bedroom to get dressed. Megumi stood in the wreckage of the living room, the hollow ache returning faster than she’d anticipated. She looked at the couch, at the indentation they’d left. She’d feel him all day, just like he’d promised.
But as the sound of the shower turning on in the other room reached her, she knew it wouldn’t be enough. It was never enough. The door had closed on Yuki, but the world was full of doors, and he had to walk through them. All she could do was wait in the chaos he left behind, marking the time until he came back to fill the silence again.