Chapter 2: Claiming Her Mouth
The word still hung in the smoke-thick air between them. Girlfriend. It had landed like a stone in a pond, and the ripples were still moving through her, visible in the tremble of her knees, the wild hope in her wet eyes. She looked dizzy with it.
“Well? Don’t just stand there glowing, princess. The bed.” Sukuna nodded toward the sagging mattress, his voice a low rumble. He took another drag, the ember flaring, highlighting the sharp planes of his face. The tattoos on his chest seemed to shift in the unstable light.
Megumi moved, a clumsy backwards shuffle until the back of her knees hit the edge of the box spring. She sat, the ancient springs groaning in protest. She was trying to look brave, but her nakedness made it impossible. She was all exposed nerve endings and shaky breath.
He stood over her, a tower of ink and muscle. He let the silence build, punctuated only by the drip from the bathroom faucet and the distant thump of bass from another room. He enjoyed the way her gaze dropped, then flicked back up to his, drawn like a magnet to the cruel amusement in his crimson eyes. She was already learning to take the weight of his look.
“You said anywhere,” he reminded her, his tone conversational, as if discussing the weather. “Any surface. You offered this mouth.” He reached out, not roughly, but with an undeniable firmness, and took her jaw in his calloused hand. He tilted her face up. Her lips parted on a gasp. “So show me what it’s worth. Earn the title.”
He let go of her jaw to work the button of his jeans. The sound of the zipper was obscenely loud. He pushed the denim down just enough, freeing himself. The cool, damp air of the room hit his skin, followed by the heat of her stare. He was already hard, the metal of his piercings catching the pink neon glow.
Megumi’s eyes widened. She’d seen him before, felt him inside her, but not like this. Not presented as a test. Her throat worked as she swallowed.
“What’s the holdup?” he asked, tapping ash onto the carpet beside his boot. “Changed your mind already?”
“No.” The word was a breath. A vow. She leaned forward, her dark hair curtaining her face for a second before she pushed it behind her ears. Her movements were hesitant, unbearably tender. She pressed a kiss to the tip, a flutter of lips that was more innocence than skill.
Sukuna made a dismissive sound in his throat. “Cute. That’s not what I meant.” His hand fisted in her damp hair, not yanking, just claiming a solid hold. “Open up.”
She obeyed, her mouth going soft and willing. He guided himself in, past her lips, over her tongue. He watched her eyelids flutter, saw the initial panic as he hit the back of her throat. She gagged, a wet, choked sound that vibrated through him.
“Breathe through your nose,” he instructed, his voice oddly steady. He held himself there, letting her adjust, feeling the frantic flutter of her throat muscles against him. Her tears started again, hot and silent, spilling over and tracking down her cheeks. He watched them. He didn’t look away.
Then he began to move.
It was not gentle. It was a steady, punishing rhythm, his hand in her hair setting the pace. He fucked her mouth with deep, measured thrusts, each one pushing a little farther, demanding a little more surrender. The gagging sounds became a ragged symphony, punctuated by her desperate snatches of air through her flared nostrils. Spit dripped from her chin, coating his length, making the slide wet and filthy.
He kept smoking with his other hand, the cigarette lodged between his fingers, ash growing long and precarious. His eyes were half-lidded, fixed on the mess he was making of her. The absolute trust in her submission, even as she choked, even as her body fought the intrusion, sent a current of pure possession through him. This was his. His messy, crying, perfect princess. Taking every inch he gave her.
“That’s it,” he growled, smoke curling from his lips. “Take it. All of it. You wanted this, remember? You begged for it.”
Her hands, which had been fluttering nervously at her sides, came up to clutch at his thighs, her nails biting into his skin. Not to push him away. To anchor herself. To hold on. That small action, that total acceptance, unspooled the tension coiled in his gut.
The pleasure built, a dark, tight heat. His thrusts lost their measured control, becoming sharper, more urgent. The cigarette dropped, forgotten, sizzling out on the damp carpet. A gutteral sound ripped from his chest.
“Gonna come,” he warned, his voice thick.
Her eyes, wide and streaming, looked up at him. She didn’t pull back. She tried to open her jaw wider, a silent, aching invitation.
He pushed deep one last time and held there, his release pumping hot and bitter down her throat. She convulsed, swallowing reflexively, again and again, until he was spent.
He slid out with a soft, wet sound. She collapsed forward, coughing, her body wracked with tremors, strings of saliva and semen connecting her swollen lips to him. She dragged in huge, sobbing gulps of air.
Sukuna watched her, his own breathing rough. He tucked himself back into his jeans, the movement automatic. Then he crouched in front of her, his knees cracking. He caught her chin again, tilting her ruined face up. With his thumb, he wiped a stray pearl of white from the corner of her mouth, then smeared it slowly across her lower lip, painting her with him.
“There,” he said, his voice quieter now, a rough caress. “Now my princess is fed.”
He leaned in and kissed her, a deep, consuming kiss that tasted of smoke and salt and his own spend. She melted into it, her coughing subsiding into weak, grateful whimpers.
When he pulled back, he reached for the pack on the nightstand, shook out another cigarette, and lit it. He took a long, considering drag as he looked down at her, curled and trembling on the edge of the stained mattress.
The smoke filled his lungs. It still tasted sweet.