genre: smut
synopsis: "taste's better on you.."
warnings: food play, rough sex, oral, dirty talk, degradation, language
pairing: bf!daehwi x fem!reader
wc: 1.9k
The air in the kitchen was thick with the scent of melted dark chocolate and vanilla. You dipped your finger into the warm, glossy bowl, the rich sweetness clinging to your skin. Across the island, Daehwi watched you, his dark eyes tracking the movement with an intensity that had nothing to do with dessert. A slow, knowing smile played on his lips.
“Testing the goods?” he asked, his voice a low rumble.
“Someone has to.” You smiled back, holding his gaze as you slowly sucked the chocolate from your fingertip. His gaze dropped to your mouth, and something shifted in the room. The playful atmosphere pulled taut.
You dipped another finger, walking around the island towards him. He didn’t move, just leaned back against the counter, crossing his arms. The thin cotton of his grey sweatpants did little to hide the growing bulge there. Without a word, you reached out, pressing your chocolate-smeared finger against the fabric, right over the head of his cock.
He inhaled sharply. “Cheeky.”
You rubbed in a small circle, feeling him harden instantly under the thin layer. A dark, sticky stain spread on the grey cotton. You looked up at him through your lashes, a challenge in your eyes.
That was all it took.
His hand shot out, wrapping around your wrist, pulling your chocolate-covered finger to his mouth. He sucked it clean, his tongue swirling around your digit, his eyes never leaving yours. Then he released you, his other hand going to the waistband of his sweatpants. He shoved them down just enough to free his erection.
His cock sprang out, already fully hard, the shaft thick and veined, the head a dark, flushed purple against his skin. A bead of clear precum already glistened at the slit.
“You made the mess,” he said, his voice dropping into a gravelly register that sent a jolt straight to your core. “Now you get to clean it up. Properly.”
He took your hand again and guided your chocolate-smeared fingers to his shaft. You wrapped your hand around him, the cool, slick confection mixing with the scorching heat of his skin as you stroked him slowly. He let out a rough groan, his head falling back.
“Good girl,” he muttered. But the praise felt like a precursor. His eyes snapped open, landing on the small saucepan of caramel you’d left to simmer. It was still hot, bubbling slightly.
He moved fast. In one fluid motion, he turned you around, bending you over the cool granite of the kitchen island. Your cheek pressed against the stone, your ass in the air. He yanked your leggings and panties down to your knees in one brutal pull, exposing you completely. The cool air hit your wet, exposed flesh, making you gasp.
“Stay.” The command was absolute.
You heard the clink of the saucepan being lifted. Then, a searing, sweet drizzle hit the small of your back. You jerked at the heat, but it was just shy of burning—a delicious, dangerous tease. The thick, golden syrup trailed over the curve of your ass, down the crease, and onto your exposed pussy.
“Fuck,” you whimpered, the sensation overwhelming.
“Look at that,” Daehwi breathed, his voice full of dark admiration. “My messy little bitch. All laid out for me.”
His finger, startlingly cool, traced through the caramel pooling on your skin. He brought it to his mouth, sucking it clean with a loud, obscene sound. Then his head dipped. His tongue, hot and broad, licked a long, slow stripe up from your perineum, through the sticky sweetness, over your heavy-lipped, flared-open cunt, and up the trail on your back.
He was not gentle. He ate the caramel off you like a man starved, his tongue rough and demanding. He slurped at the mess he’d made between your ass cheeks, his nose nudging against your tender, swollen outer lips. Your cunt, already wet from anticipation, was now a sticky, sweet, soaked mess. You could feel your own arousal mixing with the sugar, a filthy syrup dripping down your inner thighs.
“Tastes better on you than in the pan,” he growled, his breath hot against your wet skin. One hand came down hard on your ass cheek—a sharp, stinging slap that made you cry out and push back against him instinctively. “Such a greedy cunt. Dripping for me already. My dirty darling.”
He positioned himself behind you, the broad, caramel-smeared head of his cock nudging against your entrance. Your pussy was a slick, welcoming heat, your outer lips puffy and parted, your inner lips clinging to his tip. He didn’t ask. He just pushed.
And he was big. The stretch was immediate, a breathtaking, full sensation that stole the air from your lungs. He filled you in one long, relentless thrust, his hips meeting your ass with a solid, wet smack.
“Christ,” he hissed, his hands clamping onto your hips like vices. “That’s it. Take it. Take all of it, you sweet slut.”
He set a punishing pace from the very first stroke. Pulling out almost entirely, then slamming back in, his balls slapping against your clit with every deep drive. The angle was brutal, perfect. Each thrust ground the base of his cock against your sensitive, swollen outer lips and sent a shockwave through your engorged clit, which was trapped, throbbing, against your own body and his pounding hips.
The kitchen filled with the sounds of it—the wet, rhythmic slap of flesh on flesh, the slick, sucking sounds of your cunt taking him, his guttural grunts, your own fractured moans muffled against the counter. Your breasts, trapped under you, bounced and ached with each impact. You could see your reflection, blurred and desperate, in the polished oven door.
His grip on your hips was going to leave bruises. You hoped it would.
“You love this, don’t you?” he panted, his thrusts becoming harder, deeper, somehow. “You love being my fuck-toy. Bent over and used in your own kitchen. Covered in dessert.”
“Yes! God, yes!” you screamed, the confession torn from you.
“Say it.”
“I’m your fuck-toy!” you sobbed, the pleasure coiling so tight you thought you’d snap. But you needed more. The penetration was incredible, a deep, stretching fullness, but the climax was hovering just out of reach, a maddening itch at the center of the storm.
As if he read your mind, one of his hands left your hip. His fingers, sticky with remnants of caramel and your own juices, found your clit. He didn’t tease. He pressed the pad of his thumb right against the stiff, aching little nub and rubbed in firm, tight circles.
It was the final key.
The sensation exploded, a white-hot wire of pure pleasure connecting the brutal friction inside you to the frantic stimulation outside. Your cunt clenched around him in violent, fluttering spasms. Your inner walls gripped and milked his shaft, a flood of your release gushing out around him, hot and creamy, mixing with the sweat and sugar on your thighs.
“That’s it, cum all over my cock” he snarled, his own rhythm fracturing.
His thrusts became short, savage jerks. You felt him swell even larger inside you, then the hot, sudden pulse of his cum erupting deep in your womb. He held himself there, buried to the hilt, grinding against you as he emptied himself, each thick jet a visceral, claiming heat. His groan was long and raw, echoing in the quiet kitchen now filled only with the sound of your ragged breathing.
He stayed there for a moment, his weight heavy on you, his cock still twitching inside your spent, sensitive cunt. Then he pulled out slowly. The sound was obscenely wet. A mixture of his spend and your own creaminess immediately began to leak out of you, dripping down your trembling legs to join the sticky mess on the floor.
He turned you around, your back against the counter. His eyes were black with satisfaction. He looked at the mess on your stomach, your thighs, the counter. He leaned in, his lips brushing your ear.
“We’re not done,”
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