The honeymoon suite is cast in the golden wash of candlelight, the scent of sweet tea and fresh tatami mats lingering in the air. On the far wall stands a large, polished wood-framed mirror, reflecting the quiet sanctuary Zenji has built for the two of you.
For all his theatrical bravado and flowery monologues, Zenji is surprisingly flustered now that you are finally, truly his. He stands behind you in front of the mirror, his long fingers resting gently on your waist. His breath is warm against your earlobe, his voice a soft whisper that sends shivers cascading down your spine.
“Look at how beautiful you are, my sweet flower,” he murmurs, his crimson eyes holding yours in the glass. He slowly begins to kiss your neck, his lips soft and tracing a path over your collarbones. He lets his hands slide down, gently tracing your curves, his fingers finding their way between your thighs. “You are the most exquisite muse a poet could ever dream of. Let me show you... let me show you how pretty your body is.”
He plays with your body in front of the mirror, his touch filled with a gentle warmth that melts your defenses. He nuzzles against your ear, murmuring sweet praises as his fingers work on your clit. You watch yourself unravel in the reflection, your eyes half-lidded, your head falling back against his shoulder as his soft whispers fill your senses. He is entirely focused on your pleasure, coaxing a breathless climax from you before the main act even begins. You gasp, your body shuddering in his embrace, your eyes shutting tight as the reflection blurs into white.
When the waves subside, Zenji gently guides you to the plush futon. He looms over you, his elegant hair with its faint teal highlights still gathered neatly in a loose tie. He knows exactly how large he is, his gaze softening with a mixture of intense desire and worry. He doesn’t want to hurt you; he wants to worship you.
“Sweet flower... you can take all of me, right? Good girl, good girl,” he coaxes, his voice a hypnotic purr that makes your heart ache with love. He aligns himself, pressing slowly against your entrance.
The stretch is immediate, a thick, slow heat that draws a soft sob from your lips. Zenji immediately pauses, leaning down to press soothing kisses to your eyelids, catching your tears with his lips.
“I’m almost halfway in, breathe in, my dear,” he whispers against your skin. He pushes deeper, his large frame slowly sliding into yours with care.
But as your inner muscles clench tightly around him, trying to accommodate the sheer fullness of him, Zenji’s brow furrows with concern. He stops, remaining buried deep inside you.
“Oh dear... I think you’ve reached your limit,” he murmurs, his fingers sliding down to rub your clit. “You’re squeezing me so tightly... can you handle it?”
His crimson eyes are wide with worry. He leans down, giving you a quick, reassuring kiss. “I will let you take the lead, my sweet flower. You know your body so much better than I do. Tell me what you need.”
You wrap your legs around his hips, tilting your pelvis upward to draw him in further, showing him that you want all of him. Zenji lets out a choked gasp as he is buried completely inside your slick warmth.
As he begins to move, slow and incredibly deep, he looks down at where you are joined. Through the dim candlelight, he notices a subtle bulge stretching your flat lower tummy, the physical outline of his own length moving deep inside you. Zenji tilts his head, a curious wonder in his gaze. He reaches down, his long fingers pressing experimentally on the raised skin of your stomach.
The pressure of his hand on your tummy sends a shock straight to your womb. You twitch violently beneath him, a high-pitched gasp tearing from your throat.
Seeing your reaction, a sudden, darker thrill sparks behind his eyes. He presses harder on the bulge, matching the rhythm of his hand to the heavy pound of his hips. Every time his fingers press down on your belly, his cock drives deeper, the double-sided pressure hitting your g-spot. You lose all coherent thought, your fingers blindly reaching down to find some leverage.
In your desperation, your hand slides down between your bodies, your fingers wrapping tightly around the exposed base of his shaft, stroking him even as he thrusts inside you.
Zenji flinches, a ragged gasp escaping his lips. His red eyes widen in shock. The feeling of your tight grip wrapping around his member while he is buried in your wetness sends a jolt of addictive pleasure straight to his core.
“That feels—ah, pretty... Please, please,” he babbles, his voice breaking as his thrusts turn sloppy and desperate. He becomes entirely addicted to the sensation, his hips pounding into you with urgency, his usual control completely dissolving.
You reach up, your hands tangling in his dark hair as you cling to him. In your frantic grip, your fingers snag on his hair tie, pulling it free.
His long, beautiful dark hair cascades down in a sudden, silky wave, the green-teal highlights catching the candlelight. It falls over both of your faces like a private curtain, sealing the two of you away from the rest of Darkwick, leaving only the scent of him and the sound of your shared breaths.
Zenji nuzzles his face into your neck, his hair brushing against your skin. “You prefer my hair all over the place? Okay... I got you, love... just squeeze me tight, let me feel you... Please.”
The word please begins to dissolve on his tongue, losing all meaning, turning into a breathless, desperate babble as he pounds into you. He is a poet who has completely run out of words, reduced to worshiping you with his body.
He looks down at you, seeing the way you are unfolding beneath him, your body blooming like a flower under his touch. The overwhelming depth of his love for you hits him all at once, making him incredibly emotional. You feel something warm and wet drop onto your cheek.
You look up, startled, your hand rising to touch his cheek. “Zenji? What’s wrong?”
He shakes his head, a wry smile on his lips as his crimson eyes shine with a devotion that borders on worship. He lifts one of your legs over his shoulder, the change in angle allowing him to go deeper, his movements drawing soft, wet slaps of skin that fill the room.
“I just love you so much, my muse,” he whispers, planting soft, reverent kisses from your lips, down your jaw, to the hollow of your neck. “Thank you... thank you for trusting me.”
He doesn’t bite you, his touch remains gentle even as he loses his mind, but he doesn’t mind the way your fingernails dig into his back, or the way you bite your lip to keep from screaming.
As the pleasure builds, he presses his arm against your mouth. “Bite on my arm, my dear... don’t hurt your teeth.” His forearm is surprisingly firm, a solid anchor for you to sink your teeth into as he drives you over the edge.
He stops suddenly, his breath ragged, his body trembling as he prepares to pull out before he comes, still determined to make sure your comfort is paramount. But you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him back down, whining and complaining that he hasn’t finished yet.
“It’s okay, my dear... I don’t mind,” he reassures you, his voice soft and soothing.
But you refuse, guiding him back in, taking control of the rhythm and forcing him to stay. Zenji lets out a choked, beautiful groan, the sparks of pleasure finally blinding him.
“Hold me... dig your nails into my back, please,” he begs, his voice cracking as he surrenders to the tide. You hold him tight, your nails sinking into his skin as he delivers a few desperate thrusts, coming undone completely, his love spilling warm and deep inside you as you both dissolve into the quiet, starlit night.
my most toxic trait is i fucking love work gossip. i play neutral not to be the bigger person or take the high road but to hear slander and hearsay from every side. two coworkers complained about each other to me in the same afternoon and i nearly blacked out from the rush
titsay
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pixelskylines
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