His motion doesn’t slow, hand burning body with a speed reserved for desperate pleasure - he can’t take his eyes off her, or his lips. Kano’s kisses are hardly delicate, his affection punishment on the body of a woman who he already considers his prisoner. So disturbing is their shared gratification that anybody on the outside would wonder what it is that they have. Kano wouldn’t blame them.
The lock of hair around his neck had garnered him looks before - his men too disturbed, too scared to ask. His enemies too sickened to debate it and Sonya - Sonya surely hated it. Or perhaps she loved it? With the way that her lips meet his, the way that her body urges his touch - he has to wonder if she really hates it at all.
God, of course she does. Her heat burns for him; hellish desire. They’re burning together, all of the things that make them enemies smouldering away in the fires of their affection.
When she answers his question, a firm ‘no’ spilling from her lips like a spit on his face, he can only relinquish a breath. It’s hard not to cum upon hearing it, not to entirely lose control - to grace her skin with the spill of his seed. He instead relents; Sonya silenced with a press of his lips and clasp of her tongue.
His hand parts from his cock to instead slip down the gap between her thighs, fingers circling sensitivity while his tongue lashes her own.
“You don’t?” he pants, mouth moving from her own - his kiss wet and desperate and soon a bite on her neck “you’re lyin’, baby-” fangs don’t draw blood but they’d certainly bruise “don’t lie t’me, Sonya.” His hand goes in harder, fingers tormenting her body - an attempt to make her want him because he wants her to want him.
“P-please-” the word is alien to say, unfamiliar but slipped between the lucidity of pleasure because in the moment ( with his cock hard and her pussy wet ) there’s nothing else he can think of…only the desperation and the hope that she says it back…
that she says ‘I love you, too’.
She knows he loves hearing her say no just as much as he loves it. She’s a challenge, and that’s part of the draw, the intrigue, that she doesn’t buckle for him, cave in when he wants it, that she isn’t in love with him when he wants her to be. A challenge, a fight, an equal he can’t overcome, just as she can’t with him. She’d have his ass behind any bars that could hold him, she’d kill him again, again, again, if only for a modicum of peace in her life, but until then, she’s here, with him again, and they don’t relent.
His mouth is hard against hers, always a fight with them, it’s exhausting and exhilarating and she lets him have his way for a moment, feet braced on the ground as her hips rise to meet his touch, the thin layer of that ridiculous lingerie he makes her fight in the only thing separating him from touching her, from finding more than the outline of her clit, and he wants her so bad she can taste it.
Please, he all but whimpers, begs her, pleads for her, and it feels like victory, but she doesn’t take it easily, not without more. No victory can ever be sweet enough over Kano when there’s more to be had.
Hands find his chest, one foot against his hip, and she pushes him back with little grace and too much force, hearing the hard thud of his back on the ground, and she climbs atop him, seated on his stomach and hands pinning his shoulders, nails hard in his flesh. She aches to have him inside her, but she isn’t going to give him the satisfaction, not yet. One hand moves to his neck, a reflection of another time she had him beneath her with anger and frustration and a want she didn’t acknowledge filling her very bones.
Her hips slip back just a touch, enough to tease his cock without any real satisfaction. “Say it again, Kano,” she hisses through gritted teeth, her fingers gripping his neck tighter. “Say please and maybe you’ll get what you want. Maybe.”