Chapter 12: Lats day
The scent of night-blooming jasmine wove through the salt-tinged air as Akira slid the keycard into the suite’s door. The click of the lock was unnaturally loud in the quiet hallway. He’d spent the last two hours at a solitary dinner on the terrace, his mind a reel of images from the afternoon—the torn swimsuit, the heat of her against the glass, the raw sounds she’d made.
He pushed the door open and stopped.
She was standing in the center of the room, illuminated by a single, low lamp that cast long shadows across the floor. She was wearing her old racing silks, the familiar vibrant colors stretched taut over a body that had long outgrown them. The fabric strained across her chest and thighs, a testament to the woman she had become, not the girl she had been. Her hands were clasped behind her back, her posture a perfect mimicry of a recruit standing at ease, but her eyes held a blazing, insolent challenge.
“You’re late, Trainer,” she said, her voice cool and flat.
Akira felt the familiar shift, the ground tilting beneath his feet as he stepped into her game. He closed the door softly, the latch engaging with a definitive thud. He let his eyes travel over her, from the tight, high ponytail to the way the silks hugged the powerful curve of her ass.
“I decide when I’m late,” he replied, his own voice dropping into a lower, authoritative register. He walked a slow circle around her, his shoes silent on the plush rug. “This uniform doesn’t fit you anymore.”
“It’s the one I was issued,” she said, her gaze fixed on the wall ahead.
He stopped in front of her. “It’s disrespectful. You’re spilling out of it. You think that’s appropriate for a trainee?”
A slow, wicked smile touched her lips. “I think it gets your attention, Sir.”
His hand moved faster than she expected, snatching her wrists from behind her back. He held them in one of his, his grip firm. “My attention is the last thing you want right now.” With his free hand, he traced the neckline of the silks, his finger dipping into the space between her breasts. He could feel her heart hammering against her ribs. “You’ve been a problem since day one. Undisciplined. Arrogant.”
“Maybe you just don’t know how to handle me,” she breathed, her defiance cracking to reveal the heat beneath.
“I know exactly how to handle you.”
He released her wrists only to grab the collar of the silks. With a brutal, lateral pull, he ripped the fabric open. The sound of tearing cloth was shockingly loud. Buttons pinged against the furniture. He didn’t stop until the garment was hanging in tatters from her shoulders, exposing her torso, her breasts bare and heaving. She gasped, her eyes wide, but she didn’t try to cover herself.
“On your knees,” he commanded.
For a heartbeat, she hesitated, the fire in her eyes flaring. Then, slowly, she sank to her knees before him, the ruined silks pooling around her waist. Her gaze was level with his belt.
“You think you’re so clever,” he said, unbuckling his belt, the leather sliding through the loops with a soft hiss. “You think you can manipulate me with this… this display.” He unzipped his trousers, freeing his already hard cock. It stood thick and urgent before her face. “This is what you wanted? This is the attention you were begging for?”
“Yes, Sir,” she whispered, her breath hot against his skin.
He fisted his hand in her ponytail, not gently, and guided himself to her lips. “Then show me your gratitude.”
She opened her mouth, and he pushed in, not waiting for her to adjust. He filled her, the head of his cock hitting the back of her throat. She gagged, her eyes watering, but he held her there, his grip in her hair unyielding.
“That’s it,” he grunted, watching himself disappear between her lips. “Take it. All of it.”
He began to move, setting a rough, punishing rhythm. Saliva slicked his length, the wet, obscene sounds of her taking him filling the room. She brought her hands up, not to push him away, but to grip his thighs, her nails digging into the fabric of his trousers as she worked to accommodate him. Her submission, so complete and so willing, sent a surge of pure, dark possession through him.
He fucked her mouth with deep, measured strokes, watching the tears track through her tan. “You’re mine,” he growled, the words torn from somewhere deep inside. “Every trophy, every win, every fucking scream. Mine.”
He felt the tension coiling in his gut, a familiar, urgent pressure. With a final, deep thrust that made her choke, he held himself there and came, hot pulses jetting down her throat. She swallowed convulsively, her body shuddering, taking every drop.
When he finally pulled out, she slumped forward, coughing, her breath coming in ragged gasps. Strings of saliva and semen connected her lips to his softening cock. He looked down at her, a wrecked, beautiful mess at his feet, and felt a strange, tender cruelty twist in his chest.
He hauled her up by her arms. Her eyes were glazed, her body pliant. He walked her backward until her knees hit the edge of the bed and she fell onto the silk covers. He tore the remains of the silks and her underwear away, leaving her completely bare. He shoved her legs apart, kneeling between them.
He didn’t prepare her. He was still wet from her mouth. He positioned himself and drove into her in one single, unyielding thrust.
She cried out, a sharp, broken sound, her back arching off the bed. She was tight, so tight, and still trembling from the force of his climax. He didn’t give her a moment to adjust. He set a brutal, driving pace, each plunge a punishment and a claim. The bedframe knocked rhythmically against the wall.
“Is this what you needed?” he gritted out, his hands pinning her hips to the mattress. “This is how you learn discipline?”
“Yes! God, yes!” she sobbed, her hands fisting in the sheets. Her heels dug into the small of his back, pulling him deeper. “Don’t stop! Please, don’t stop!”
He could feel her beginning to tighten around him, her internal muscles fluttering wildly. Her cries became higher, more desperate. He leaned down, his mouth close to her ear. “Come for me, you fucking brat. Come on my cock.”
It was the permission she needed. Her entire body seized, clamping down on him like a vice. A raw, screaming wail was torn from her lungs as her orgasm crashed over her, violent and consuming. The sensation of her pulsing around him was too much. With a guttural roar, he buried himself to the hilt and came again, his own release a deep, draining rush that left him hollowed out.
He collapsed on top of her, his weight driving her into the mattress. For a long time, the only sound was their ragged, syncopated breathing. The scent of sex and sweat was thick in the air.
Slowly, he rolled off her. She immediately turned into him, burying her face in the crook of his neck. Her body was still trembling with aftershocks. He could feel the dampness of her tears on his skin.
“We go home tomorrow,” he said quietly, his voice rough.
She nodded against his shoulder, her arms tightening around him. “I know.”
He stared up at the dark ceiling, the weight of her body a familiar anchor. The resort was a dream, a beautiful, illicit bubble. Tomorrow, the real world waited. And he had no idea what any of it meant anymore.