Fem!OC (she/her) x Itachi snippet
She unzips his coat, slow and steady, like unwrapping a present. She pulls it as low as she’s able with the way she’s straddling his lap and the trail end very suggestively between her legs.
When she looks up, Itachi is not quite fast enough to look away, but he refuses to meet her eyes anyway.
Her lips twitch in amusement and she resists the urge to coo. Always so polite, her Itachi.
But he wouldn’t appreciate her mirth, so she distracts herself by spreading her fingers over his stomach. She feels his covered skin flex under the sudden touch. His fishnet shirt is warm, heated by his skin, and she splays her hands there. When she looks up, Itachi is looking back. She can feel the weight of his stare, dark eyes piercing and heady with the implications of allowing her to to touch, even indirectly, the soft skin breathing under her fingertips.
She could so easily gut him.
She doesn’t.
Instead she lets her eyes slide away and tips her head forward to press her lips against the warm skin between neck and shoulder. His skin is so soft and so warm, and it lingers as she pulls away. She presses a second gentle kiss, lower.
This close, she can feel the way Itachi sighs and melts into her touch.
Her hands slide up, stroking, tracing the lines of his muscles that the fishnet fails to hide. She hears the way his breath catches, faintly, when she reaches the panes of his chest, as her fingers skim over the hardening nipples.
She pinches one of them and is rewarded when Itachi whimpers, not stifled fast enough. A blush climbs up his neck. She can’t resist and nips gently at the reddening skin, feeling the way he swallows. She trails up his neck, teeth skimming at the skin until she reaches his jaw. There she peppers the skin with kisses and love bites, loving the way Itachi tips his head back and gives her more room. He gasps and sighs under her, hips twitching, but she doesn’t grind back, letting him twitch and squirm fruitlessly.
She strokes up, fondling his hardened nubs one last time, tracing his collarbone, and over his shoulders, pushing off his coat that still stubbornly clung on.
She traced down his arms, giving his firm biceps a squeeze, before sliding down under to guide his arms up. The fishnet shirt slides off of him in one smooth motion.
She shifts in his lap and then she’s pressing against his bare chest, feeling his body heat through her clothes. Her hands catch his arms before he brings them down and then she’s pushing him back.
Itachi goes willingly. He falls back onto the sheets, body sinking into the cushions. She follows him down, chest to chest, his wrists pinned over his head.
She feels his wrists flex, testing her strength, and watches his eyelids flutter closed. A dark flush spreads over his face.
She looks at him—all pale flushed skin, long lashes, and long dark hair splayed out and—
Gorgeous. He’s gorgeous.
She adjusts her hands so she’s using only one hand to pin him down, and reaches to trace Itachi’s bottom lip with her thumb.
His breath hitches. He opens his eyes to look at her through his lashes, pupils dilated. His hips twitch under her and she tuts.
“You know the rules,” she reminds him. She presses her thumb against his lip and drags it down. His mouth falls open readily. “If you’re good, I’ll let you cum.”
Itachi trembles under her. She slides her thumb up into his waiting mouth, his hot breath puffing over her hand, and she presses her thumb down on his tongue.
He moans, her hand preventing him from muffling the sound.
She extracts her hand and looks him over.
Itachi lays limp and loose, face flushed red, chest heaving. His mouth still open where she left it. Eyes closed, tense, waiting for her next move.
She hums.
“You’ll be good, won’t you?” She asks, picking up where she left off.
There’s a pause, and when she says no more, he inhales and opens his eyes.
His eyes are dark, appearing darker than they usually are, and hazy with lust. Yet there’s no delay in meeting her gaze.
“…I’ll be good, “Itachi says, voice deep and rough. His darkening blush is the only sign of his embarrassment.
“Good,” she tells him and pats his cheek.
Then she slides her hand back to his lips, pressing, watching them part for her and letting her slide two fingers into that wet heat.
“Good,” she repeats, praising. Her eyes warm and she smiles down at him. “So good to me,” she croons.
And he is. His jaw falls open with a groan, hot tongue pressing up against and around her fingers.
“So good,” she praises.
It’s so warm and soft inside of him. She pets his tongue like a beloved pet, and coos when he blushes harder.
“Now suck.”
