Discover Top Posts Tagged with #hq kai

HEYY GIRLLL ABSOLUTELY LOVEE YOUR STUFFF. I WAS WONDERING IF YOU COULD DO A KAI NOBUYUKI FAV POSTION . PLEASE AND THANKSSSS

GIRLLL I GOT TO IT FINALLYYY HEHEH

ENJOY <333 --

Favourite Positions: Kai

You don’t expect it with him.

Not the hands tightening on your hips, not the quiet control coiled in the way he breathes — low and steady, like it’s the only thing keeping him from completely unraveling. You’re in his lap, knees bracketing his thighs, your back pressed to his chest.

And he’s… watching.

Not your face, not the curve of your waist — but the way you take him in. The way your body stutters when his hips shift, the way you roll your lips together to keep from making a sound. He watches like he’s been waiting for this, like he wants to remember every second. Like he’s never going to forget the exact sound you make when he thrusts up slowly, the little hitch in your breath, the way your head tilts when you’re this close to coming but trying to drag it out.

Kai doesn’t speak unless he means it. No unnecessary filth. No teasing remarks. Everything he does is precise, deliberate, like he's composing something you can't quite hear yet.

Just a soft exhale against your shoulder. “Stay still for me.”

You can’t, not really. Every time he pushes deeper, your thighs shake. Your hands scrabble for something to hold — his wrist, the edge of the bed — anything to ground you. But he’s already grounding you. Arms around your waist. Breath against your skin. Fingers flexing as he guides your pace, the pads of his thumbs pressing gentle circles into your hips, then gripping just a little harder when you squeeze around him without meaning to. You can feel the restraint in his body, the way his chest expands against your back, muscles trembling just slightly like he’s holding himself back for your sake.

You try to take control once — roll your hips down just a little too fast, a little too hard. He lets you, for a moment. Then his hand slides up. Wraps around your throat, not tight, not even threatening. Just there. His thumb brushes over your jaw like a quiet tether.

His voice is barely audible. “Slow.”

And you do. Not because you’re scared — because that single word hits harder than any moan ever could. Because you’ve never been touched like this. Felt like this. Every motion of your hips after that feels more vulnerable. More exposed. And he doesn’t falter once. Doesn’t rush. Doesn’t lose rhythm.

Like he’s memorizing every part of you.

He doesn’t rush. Even when you tremble. Even when your breathing turns ragged and your hips falter. He’s still holding you, steadying you — one arm banded across your stomach now, the other low on your thigh, fingertips dragging lazy circles against your skin. Every time he thrusts up into you, your hands tighten in his hair, your head falling back onto his shoulder, mouth open, gasping nothing. You’re flushed everywhere. Your chest rising too fast. Your lips bitten red.

He groans once — just once — when you clench too hard around him, a rough sound punched out of his throat like he hadn’t meant to let it slip. It’s low and brief and wrecks you instantly. It makes your walls flutter, your hands jerk against his arms, your breath stutter out in a gasp that sounds more like a sob.

It makes you whimper. Makes you grind down harder, trying to coax it out again. But Kai doesn’t give easily. He slows down instead, lets the drag of every motion sink in deep. He bites down on your shoulder — a quiet warning.

"Don’t push your luck."

But you want more. You want all of him. The heat of his breath against your neck, the tension building in his core, the way his hands stay steady even as his pace falters. You can feel the effort in him, the control it takes not to snap his hips up harder. He’s waiting for you. Always waiting.

Except your body’s already betraying you. The tight pull in your abdomen, the building heat under your skin, the way your thighs twitch with every roll of his hips. And you know he can feel it. You know he’s holding back. It’s written in the tension of his jaw, the strength in his grip, the way his thighs flex beneath you like he’s anchoring himself there. His whole body is heat and precision and barely bridled need.

You come without warning.

It crashes over you hard — no build-up, no crescendo — just a blinding snap and your voice breaking in his name. He holds you through it. Keeps moving, slower now, letting you ride it out. You’re breathless and pliant, half-slumped against him, fingers trembling where they grip his wrist. Your skin is hot and damp, nerves strung out, every inch of you oversensitive. You feel like you’re melting back into him.

And still, he doesn’t let go.

"Can you take more?"

His voice is warm and low, lips brushing the shell of your ear. You nod before you think. And it’s a mistake — you realize that a second too late. Because the restraint you’d been cradled in shatters quietly, piece by piece, like a dam cracking wide.

Because this is when he lets go of the leash.

He stands with you still on him — the movement effortless. Turns you around like your weight is nothing, like you were made to be molded to his touch. Lays you back, presses your knees apart, leans over you with that unreadable look in his eyes that makes your chest tighten. His hand finds yours and laces your fingers together as he sinks back in, and you feel it all over again — deep, slow, devastating.

His mouth hovers over yours. “Eyes on me.”

You don’t look away once.

And this time, when you fall apart, he falls with you.

But even then, he doesn’t collapse. He stays over you, breathing hard, foreheads nearly touching, hand still entwined with yours. He studies you like you’ve left him speechless — like the words are there but he’s choosing not to say them. You reach up and cup his jaw, and for the first time since he touched you, his body slumps a little, some invisible tension gone.

When you whisper his name, he closes his eyes, presses a kiss to your temple, and says it back — soft, hoarse, reverent.

You don’t need anything else. Not right now. Not when his hand is still holding yours like it matters more than the rest of him ever could.