I Fuckin’ Lust You

 

The Town Car pulled up behind Kitahara’s own battered vehicle at the side of the club. Ran purposely parked bumper-to-bumper out of spite and got out while the woman was stating her issue, him shutting the door on her and walking towards the staff entrance, locking the immobilizer the split-second she opened her door to get out. This time, Rindou chased after his brother, his shoulder almost brushing the slightly taller suited man as Hanma hung back to settle his eyes on the buxom figure dowsed in drying blood.

Rain dripped off her hair and caused dried sanguine to reanimate, spreading down the front of her torso, off the once-fuzzy cream sweater neckline and onto the toes of her boots, growing in the puddle their feet were sharing. Fixing the tops of her thigh-high boots, Kitahara glanced up, rainwater soaking the man in front of her. He lifted the hem of his shirt sticking to his well-sculpted torso, wafting it to rid it of the excess water, but verdant eyes caught the defined lines of his hips. Augh…again, she was snagged by that spot. And by the smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth, he had caught her clench and her tongue slick over her lower lip in dehydration.

“Ya don’t have to just stick to window-shopping, y’know?”

Straightening up, Kitahara snorted a burst of air from her nose and made for the side entrance, her fingers brushing his crotch, nails grazing the fabric, causing minor vibrations against him getting hard. Tilting her chin up to look him in the eye, her chest against his arm, she spoke slowly, “I’ve not clocked-out yet.”

Vulpine eyes flickering from green-bottle orbs, to full lips partially parted in teasing, Hanma held her upper arm, pulling her closer. “’Didn’t stop ya before.”

“Let’s go, then.”

“H-heh?”

“Providing you have a rubber. I don’t think the ones I carry will fit you.”

“Are ya for real right now?”

“I wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t mean it.” Pulling her arm free from his grip, she went inside the nightclub without waiting for another word.

It took a moment for Hanma’s brain to restart but as soon as it had, his hands patted himself down as if he was carrying protection. That fucker had never bought a condom in his life. “Shit-” head snapping from side to side, he caught one of the lackey’s who worked for Kisaki. “Oi, you,” he called out and when the man sat on the back of the motorcycle met his line of sight, Hanma wagged his fingers, gesturing him to come over. “Go and get me some XL rubbers.” Shoving a few slips of paper cash into the bewildered grunt’s palm, the much taller man shooed his hand, “and make it quick-time.”

---

As soon as Kitahara had made it into the main space of the club, Kakuchou waved his hand at her, beckoning her over as if he had been looking for her. “Mikey wants to speak with you.”

That was the last thing she wanted to hear. It was almost two months ago that she had the shit scared out of her by the volatile dwarf - or at least, due to his orders as she had later found out. To the other’s, she must have seemed as though she had just sauntered into the organization without any background checks or having to prove herself to the upper echelons. Kitahara definitely did have to prove herself. In early August, a black van had pulled up beside her as she was walking down the street and had been snatched off her feet, pulled into the vehicle by a group of thugs before being taken to an abandoned block of apartments in God knew where. She had been startled and it all happened so quickly that she could barely recall the sequence of events that transpired over an eleven hour period. The building stunk to the high heavens of urine and hard drugs heated with mid-summer weather, there were rats scuttling around and graffiti everywhere, and when she was sure she was going to be murdered for no one to ever find her body, she was told to strip down to her underwear and questioned on the syndicate she had been doing odd jobs for for only seven weeks.

Kitahara was sure she pissed her pants a little but complied in removing her clothes despite being surrounded by half a dozen men in ski masks, firearms on show and bats in their hands. She had been tied to a chair and interrogated for hours, the punishments for her lack of co-operation in handing over information growing more extreme as time passed. They’d hurt her and humiliated her, and it was clear that they were becoming frustrated with the run-around she was giving them. Perhaps it wasn’t one of her brightest ideas to test a bunch of thugs while she was practically naked and tied to a chair in an abandoned building, nobody knowing where she was, but she was no snitch. She hadn’t been part of the organization for long, but she refused to let them get the better of her; she needed this job so they were either going to have to let her go or kill her because she’d be screwed whatever the case if she let any of Bonten’s secrets loose.

They had threatened to rape her and torture her to death, and they meant it; she could see it plain as day on their faces. However, her pride made her refuse to hand over the information they wanted. And then, just after darkness fell, the man she had gathered was their leader walked over to her after finishing a phone call she hadn’t been able to make out. He leaned forward, bent in half to look her in the eyes before huffing and straightening up, nodding to one of the others who flicked open a knife in his approach. 

Ah, shit. She was positive that was how she was going to meet her end until the ropes around her slackened and the leader removed his mask, his expression somewhere between baffled and impressed. “You’re one tough bitch.”

“What’s going on?”

“You passed.”

“E-eh? Passed what?”

“We were sent by Mikey to test you, to see if you would blab if you were put under enough pressure.” Dropping her clothes onto her lap as she rubbed the friction burns around her wrists, the leader ran his hand through his hair tacked with sweat. “Lucky for you, you were able to keep your mouth shut because we would have made good on those threats.” Gesturing for her to get dressed, the stout man gestured around, rounding his men up ready to leave. “He said if you gave us the fake information passed to you, we could do whatever we wanted with you.”

That last moment stuck with Kitahara. That night alone, she did nothing but replay it over and over in her head. Hell, it still stuck with her now, especially as she was being led up to the top floor by Kakuchou, meandering through the dark hallways reminiscent of The Stanley Hotel from The Shining, the wall-lights flickering until they came to an elevator with a security pad - she’d only been up to the boss’s office once before and that time wasn’t any fun, either. She felt like a lamb being led to slaughter.

---

Bounding into the main area of the club, Hanma’s eyes scoured the space, gold irises bouncing over the swaying bodies. Rindou watched the lanky man for a few seconds before deciding to ask why he looked like he had been told the FEDs were there. Turning his head, albeit a little delayed, the younger man held up a small metallic box, shit-eating grin stretching his features and squeezing his eyes almost shut in utter glee. 

At that moment, Ran, Akashi, and Kakuchou made their way over from the hallway which led to the private quarters. They had also been in Mikey’s office until their boss had told everyone but the woman to leave. Even from forty yards away, the older men could see Hanma flouncing, Rindou’s stoic expression twitching while he held balled up fists below the table which separated the pair.

“’The fuck are you so happy about,” Akashi asked the younger of the pair glaring at each other.

Hanma ignored the question to ask his own, “where’s Kitahara?” 

“She’s upstairs with Mikey.”

Rindou and Hanma’s expression flicked like a switch, them now wearing matching ones. “Why?”

Akashi grunted, his shoulder shrugging, “how the fuck am I supposed to know? We were kicked out before he said a word to her.”

“Is she in trouble?”

Grumbling, the eldest dropped down on the gaudy velvet sofa and poured himself a three-finger shot of bourbon. “I just said I don’t fuckin’ know. Jesus, ‘you got nothing but fluff between your ears?” 

Akashi was generally an amicable man but he seemed especially ratty that night. It probably had something to do with being pulled away from a threesome with two of the dancers who worked at one of the strip-clubs under Bonten’s heavy hand only to be pushed down half a flight of stairs when he got into it with the guy he was sent to chase.

“If she’s in trouble, she deserves it.” Ran told, pouring himself a drink after sitting beside his brother. “We’ve been trying to broker an alliance with the West Side bosses for over three years and she just pissed that down the drain in less than two hours.” Pushing his hair off his face, the older sibling pinched where his brows and nose bridge met, his eyes closed as he tried to kneed away the migraine he’d got from the ten minutes he’d spent on the upper floor. “She needs putting over someone’s knees and showing some damn manners.”

“The night ain’t over yet,” Hanma cooed, his eyes fixed on the door which led to the elevator corridor in wait.

Kakuchou swirled the untouched drink in his glass, his eyes slowly moving to the faces of the others. “She was told to make her own judgement in matters like with Nakamura.”

The other men turned to look at their VP’s right-hand man, varying degrees of confusion forming on their features in the pretty low-lighting. “What the Hell are you talking about, Kaku?”

“After passing her test of loyalty and a secret job a month back, I was there for part of the meeting between Mikey, Izana and her. Mikey told her she was free to exercise force if she saw fit, providing she used her sound logic over emotions.”

This was the first any of the other men had heard of such a thing; even Izana and Kisaki had to ask permission before blowing off and fucking someone’s day up.

“Wait, when did she have her test of loyalty?”

Kakuchou looked up in recollection, “August, I think. I’m not clear on the details; it was Ikeda’s group who took part in it but I heard he was pretty impressed.”

Ran grumbled into his drink, unable to gain a buzz due to the stress and thoughts whirling through him. “Just where the fuck did this bitch come from?”

“Akita, originally, I think.”

Rindou’s head turned slowly, an incredulous frown on his face, “how the fuck do you know that?”

“Pretty sure she mentioned it when she was saying something about missing the snow when we worked a job together a couple of weeks back.”

“You’re such a mushy prick, y’know, Kaku?” Hanma snorted a laugh, pouring himself a drink as he waited for the woman to return. “Who the fuck listens to girls when they say shit like that?”

“Normal human beings not being assholes?” Kakuchou really couldn’t understand the older men around him. Half of them were dying to get into her pants and they couldn’t even be bothered to ask something as simple as where she was from. It was guys like them who gave them all a bad reputation as men. As if the murder, extortion, prostitution and arms dealing wasn’t enough to tar them all with the same brush, these pricks were horrendous at relationships with women to boot.

The security door off in the corner opened but it went unheard as the group of five debated on the current remark. Making her way over to the bar, Kitahara waved at the bartender and then held up three fingers. Recalling the woman’s order and tripling it, the pretty young woman in a navy bobbed wig placed the drinks down on the counter in no time at all. Downing each one in quick succession, the tall woman told her to put it on her tab before picking up her purse off the stool beside her and making her way towards the staff door. 

Hanma was lucky enough to catch that Rindou had been staring right past his head, eyes fixed on following something by the bar. Turning his own head, the tallest glanced back to the younger Haitani with a bite, “you snide little bastard.” Almost tripping over his own feet as he fought to get around the furniture, Hanma scoffed at the slightly older man. “Ya think it’s gonna be that easy? If ya didn’t have such a stupid-ass pining look on ya face, I wouldn’t have even noticed.” Pushing his way through the crowd, Hanma chased after the woman.

Downing his fourth drink, Akashi leaned back into the sofa which was due replacing, his head lulling on the top of the support, “’fuck’s that about?”

“Hanma won the bet last night.”

Jerking upright, Akashi stared at the side of Ran’s face. “'The fuck he did. You are joking, right?”

“I wish I was.”

“Man, that’s rough. I went to the bath with him, Sanzu and Mochi. ‘Woman’s not gonna want any other dick after taking that.” Raising both brows, he cocked his head as he looked off in wonder, veil of surprise washing over his features. “Hell, I’m surprised she could take that at all; the human body sure is pliable.”

Rindou leaned forward to glance to the eldest, “can you stop talking, Akashi San?”

“My bad, little Haitani-” Akashi was cut off by Rindou shooting to his feet, causing the table to clatter when he knocked into it. “-o-oh, no. That’s not what I mea-” The eldest huffed when the younger sibling stormed off towards the bar with his fists balled by his hips. Looking at Ran who was silently stewing, Akashi nibbled the inside of his lower lip. “Hah…kids these days…Amaright?”

---

Catching up with the woman before the staff door had even shut, Hanma dashed out into the night, the rain eased up for the moment. “Oi,” he spoke to the female’s back as she was getting into her car. “Don’t go making promises and then run away.”

“I already told you, if you don’t have a cond-” halted by the shake of the metallic box taken from his pocket, Kitahara nodded upwards slowly. “I see; you’ll have to follow me on your bike - I’m not driving you anywhere once we’re done.”

“Then just let me stay-”

Devoid of expression bar the flash of disgust in her eyes, Kitahara held her palm up as a stop sign. “Not a fuckin’ chance in Hell.” That said, she got inside her car and shut the door behind her before the man could even blink, making a start on trying to inch out of the tight spot between a concrete roadblock and the Town Car Ran had trapped her with.

Wobbling his head, Hanma walked around the side to where his motorcycle was parked. “Tch, cold bitch.”

---

Arriving at the woman’s apartment, Kitahara parked in her designated spot - not like there was much of an issue either way. She lived in a block of apartments that had two floors, a wing on one side and only two other tenants owned a vehicle. She’d barely taken the keys out of the ignition when Hanma pulled up beside her car, jumping off the seat with his hands at his belt. If nothing else, she guessed she should at least be a little flattered he was so eager. Although, she was rethinking letting him come here: she’d already let one Bonten weirdo know where she lived that day. Still, she was riled up from the evening's prior activities; the adrenaline still sparking her nerves from the close-call of Sato threatening her; the rush she got from lopping off Nakamura’s fingers; the conversation she’d had with Mikey while the image of Hanma’s hips replayed in her head like elevator music.

“Which one is it?”

Kitahara rounded her car after locking it, standing just before the metal steps which led to the second floor when the neighbour below her croaked out the hit from the glass pipe in flailing hands.

“Eve’nin, Kitah-hara S-San,” he choked on the dirty drug, the pungent stink lingering in damp air, his hair askew as a girl who was definitely under-age lolled over his lap on the battered old sofa under his window.

“That fuckin’ stinks, Arai. If you’re gonna be a scumbag, at least do it in the privacy of your own home.” Kitahara inspected the girl she’d not seen before, her wearing a school skirt from the public school ten minutes away. “You better get her home before I lay eyes on her again.”

“Hai~ hai~~~” He sang but it was clear he had no intention of removing the teen playing with his zipper in a daze.

Following the woman now ascending the unsafe metal stairway which led to the communal walkway shared by the six apartments of the second floor, Hanma leaned over the railing to get a look at the exhibition between the junkies but reeled his neck in when he got a whiff of the vile smoke coming from the crackpipe. “This is nothing like what I imagined ya place to be like.”

“I would say I’m sorry, but I honestly don’t give a shit.” Unlocking her front door, a small lamp on the sideboard behind the door giving enough light to safely take her shoes off, she did just that and hung her coat on the rack. “Do you have a preference for what you drink?” The end of the question floated off when the woman turned to her right, into the open-plan kitchen space which was shared with the sitting room.

Hanma kicked his shoes off in the foyer and began to nosey through her very few personal belongings: a tiny lamp and key-dish on the sideboard which fit snugly behind the door, shoes and outerwear neat and in their designated places. There was a paper calendar on the wall which separated the foyer and the kitchen - coded short-hand notes on specific dates he’d have a hard time trying to fathom even if he had care to, and a small ancestral shrine-cupboard with a vase of flowers atop of it between the first open door to his left and the only other door at the far end of the space which he presumed to be her bedroom. The place was extremely clean and tidy to a disconcerting degree; it smelt like clean laundry, her perfume and astringent antiseptic.

She pointed to the bathroom door as she poured drinks for them, “go wash up while I roll-up. There’s a trimmer under the sink.”

Hanma’s head jerked to look at the woman, “what do I need a trimmer for?”

Struggling to fight the gunked-up sweater turned sticky with blood over her head, she tossed it onto the veranda; it was dead - there was no way to save the luxury piece but she could not be bothered to dispose of it properly at that moment. “You think I’m going down on you when you don’t even try to keep it neat?”

Pulling a mocking face, the man puckered his lips. “So bossy. I happen to like my bush - it’s manly.”

“I’m not putting your dick in my mouth just so I can get pubic hair stuck in my teeth and at the back of my throat. Show a little consideration, it’s not like I’m asking you to shave down to the skin.” Leaving the balcony door open a fraction, she wobbled her head before chugging down her first drink.

Hanma weighed up the pros and cons: itch and get head, or don’t itch but no head. Fuck it, he’d deal with the irritation. He wanted to see how much of him she could fit in her mouth. He’d imagined it since the first time when he fucked her outside of The Orchid House, perhaps even before that when he saw her slink around the club without knowing who she was. 

He jut his thumb towards the closest door to his right, “this way?” 

“Hm,” sparking the end of the herbal roll-up hanging from her lips, she followed after him, flicking the switch for the shower with one hand as the other pointed to the wrap-around unit below the sink bowl. Smoke floating from her nose, she pointed at the sliding button on the device while shimmying out of her pants, copper stains distorting her tattoos. 

Hanma thanked every God there was he hadn’t been shaving so low down when the woman continued to strip off right beside him. Sure, he had fucked her last night, but it was dark then, he hadn’t really got the chance to see her bare body. He almost clipped his dick off when she hunched over to stand inside the bath, the shower water pelting off her inked skin.

“Do you do this often?”

Standing under the janky showerhead, Kitahara washed the crusty blood off her skin, her eyes closed. “Do you usually ask so many questions when trying to get your dick wet?”

Shaking his head quickly, Hanma rushed the shave-job, nicking the side of his cock when he tried to shear down the pubic hair he’d only ever bothered to trim once before that night. It was a bad idea of vanity in high school but at least this time had some kind of pay-off. Gold irises scanned his pubis, clenching his hips forward to check if he got it all, his glances to the body in the shower becoming more and more prolonged. Fuck this shit. Turning the device off, he tossed it in the sink, his hair all over the tiled floor. He couldn’t simply watch the woman lather herself up in that sweetly spiced shower gel anymore, her lips lax while she stuck her head out every half-a-minute to take a tote on the joint between her fingers. One foot inside the tub, he was shot a look by the woman. 

“Condom,” she hummed as she rinsed her face, one hand out to protect the pungent vice she was smoking.

Staggering back out in the buff, his wet foot slipping, he snatched up the cuffs of his pants and shook them upside down in agitation, his keys, some loose cash, a torn-up beer mat and the box of condoms clattering and splaying over the floor. Snagging what he was after, he took a foil from the pack and tossed the box in the sink an arm-span away. Tearing the foil with his teeth, one hand held his cock up. Damn, he was throbbing; it was starting to hurt how wound up he was. 

“If you rip it and don’t tell me, I’ll really kill you.”

“Like ya haven’t had my cum in ya already.”

Moving her hips away from him when he haphazardly leapt into the bath, Kitahara glowered something wicked over her shoulder, “I had to go to the clinic this morning for a check-up - cost me a fuckin' fortune.” Twisting around, her back against the shower fixture, she prodded him in the chest with a long nail as his hands fumbled with the latex ring. “I’m not on birth control, so you better fuckin’ watch it.”

“Oh, I’ll watch, alright.” Fingers over her shoulder, he spun her around, her breasts against the cold tiles. Rolling the condom down his length, it over an inch short of reaching the base and tight around him, Hanma was sure that any amount of vigorous activity would break it if he wasn’t careful. “Spread your legs,” hot breath brushed Kitahara’s ear before her upper half was pushed forward, her palms slapping the tiled wall to save her face from another knock that night. 

One foot raised on the ledge of the tub, the woman grit her teeth when the head of his cock rubbed over her slick, him threatening a full thrust without preparation. His long fingers tangled in her wet locks, calloused knuckles pressing against the back of her skull when he wrapped her hair around his hand. His left hand slapped down on her tit, his hips jittering when he tried to push into her. She heard him huff and pant, the grip of his free hand moved from her hips to her waist, to the top of her shoulder and then grab her ass cheek to spread her, then back again all within a matter of seconds.

“Ya good?”

Blowing air from between his teeth, Hanma adjusted his footing and tried again, the friction making his muscles tight and his throat dry, “’rubber’s tight, s’all.”

“Yeah, sure.” Taking a final drag on the joint, she tossed it into the sink with a smirk.

“Are ya laughin’ at me?” Nerves shaking, Hanma yanked the woman’s head back, her spine curling so he could see the side of her face. Golden eyes scanned the pinched corners of her lips, a glint of danger flashing in her own. “Let’s see if ya laughin’ when I’m done.”

---

Turning the shower off, Kitahara towelled herself off and took the silk robe from the back of the door-hook, putting it on and fastening the tie around her waist. Brushing her teeth with one hand, she put the trimmers away. Glancing at the man sitting on the edge of the bath, his left hand holding his head through the reflection of the mirror, her lips twitched. “You still in there, Shu Chan?”

Pricked by what she called him, the way she had sung it as if everything was fine - as if she was fine - Hanma rose his head. “How the fuck are ya still standing up?”

“Oh, the big, bad Shinigami feeling on the rocks?”

“If I’m a reaper, you’re the damned devil.”

Finishing cleaning her bathroom, she spat out the toothpaste and gargled with mouthwash, a blunt ‘pah-tchoo’ hitting the sink as the tap ran. Sniffling her nose clear, the home-owner patted his shoulder in condescending as she passed him and walked into the main space. “Perhaps.” Lighting the end of a new herbal roll-up, Kitahara sat on one of the tall stools which had been nestled under the kitchen island, an ashtray and pint glass of alcohol to her left as she scrolled through her phone. 

Hanma shuffled out of the bathroom bow-legged, his hips and thighs aching with the offset of cramp, his balls stinging from the vigorous slapping against her cunt, and his mind fuzzed. “What are you doing?”

“Looking over the pictures I took at Nakamura’s place.”

Hanma might have well had been stabbed in the gut when she said that. They’d been fucking for almost an hour in that shitty shower. He’d ragged her so hard she’d slipped and hit her cheek on the bath taps; she’d moaned his name and they’d even pulled the shower curtain rail out of the wall in the tussling. He’d really piped her so hard she had to cry out when his tip smashed into her cervix, her babbling nonsense when his sack slapped her clit from the force of his thrusts and his teeth clamping on the top of her shoulder. 

“Were you faking it?” Nah, there’s no way she’d be able to fake the way she had been behaving.

“What good would that do me?” She asked, her eyes struggling to focus on the tiny words on the small screen - she needed to get her laptop to be efficient while working - she was very close to being legally blind, and the booze and bud didn’t help in the slightest. “Your keys are here and I dried your shirt.”

Hanma’s eyes flickered, his tongue stuttering before he could conjure an actual sentence, “are ya serious right now?”

Glancing up, Kitahara’s line of sight landed on her company, Hanma standing there with his underwear and pants low on his hips, the outerwear still left unzipped. “I have a lot of work to finish before Monday’s meeting comes around. I also have a day-job, ya know?”

Watching the side of the woman’s profile, her type and scowl at the screen, Hanma gestured towards the front door. “I’ll just go then…”

Kitahara held her hand up over her shoulder, her eyes going back to her phone.“’Kay. Drive safe.”

“Huh, ya thought that’s what I’d say?” Marching over to where the woman was, Hanma took her phone out of her hand and threw it on the sofa. Slamming the box of condoms down on the island in front of her, he jabbed the worktop. “We’re finishing this entire box.”

Raising her chin to look up at him looming over her, Kitahara stared him in the eye, her voice coming out in a low husk, “is that right?” Watching his expression flicker, his chest rise and fall in his breath picking up again, she traced a nail down the crevice of his chest and abs all the way down until her nail plucked the band of his underwear. “You think you can?”

Brows flickering up, his eyes widening at the challenge, Hanma plastered his hand along the underneath of her jaw and jerked her head up. “I’ll show ya so.” Noses brushing, his eyes bore into hers in the low-light, the scent and body heat radiating off her and that damn expression got him worked up again. Worming his way between her knees, he ragged her robe down to her elbows, her tits spilling out when he trapped her with the silk grasped in his palms.

Locked under the lecherous gaze scanning her bare upper torso, Kitahara felt heat prickling throughout her frame when his erection grew against her throbbing cunt past his pants and underwear. She was on the verge of mewling when his lips met her neck, his teeth clamping down and rough hands fondling her chest while he pushed into her. Stool toppling, Kitahara staggered into the counter, her hands letting go of him to hoist herself up on the island while he took another condom from the box, spitting the foil on the floor without a second thought as he rolled the latex down his shaft.

Tripping over his own feet in his rush, Hanma pushed her down, her back flush with the worktop, hooking his hands under her knees and pulling her hips closer to him in one swift motion. “A-uh, fuck,” sinking into her exposed hole, he took her wrists, his fists down on the work surface to keep her steady. Picking up the pace without any regard for the woman on her back, her skin squeaking on the surface, her tits bouncing up her ribs and her face twisting with her moans, her slick was already smearing across his pelvis. Looking at her splayed out like that, her eyes rolling back as her tattoos animated beneath him, that expression which could be confused for condescending barely visible in the lamplight, Hanma felt his insides twist. 

He’d been with enough women of all shapes and sizes to be unfazed by this point in his life but the way this bitch mewled and kept her gaze on him, not a single shred of shyness or embarrassment, blush veiling her skin with a growing sweat while rolling her hips into his slamming, the way she was working at her own pace for her own enjoyment really bothered him. She was clearly out for herself and it got inside his head. And then she huffed his name, attempting to ease up onto her elbows regardless of jerking with each of his thrusts, her damp hair sticking to the tops of her shoulders and between her breasts.

“Let me get on top.”

Hanma thought about it for the entirety of two seconds. Any other time, he’d be glad to lay on his back and have a woman ride him until the cows came home but there was something in her voice that pissed him off. Defiance? Perhaps a try at dominance? Whatever it was, it was as if she was the one in charge of this exchange and he wasn’t having any of it.

“Nah,” was all he said as he pulled her up haphazardly by her biceps, his forearms under her knees as he turned around. 

Back hitting her fridge, the few magnets clattering to the linoleum, she had the air knocked out of her by the change in position and the fact her entire weight was down on his cock in the folded up position. Clambering to wrap her arms around his neck in order to save her insides, Kitahara yelped when he returned to fucking her as if he hated her, one hand holding the counter from underneath her thigh so he didn’t topple, the fingers of the other hooking over her shoulder from behind her back to keep her clamped to him.

“O-oh!” When her skin squeaked against the appliance and the tip of his dick hit her from a new angle, Kitahara let out a yowl. “T-the-e-hmme~” Biting down on her lower lip, the tingling itch that never seemed to be satiated spread from her lower stomach and out, zapping her nerve endings at every edge of her body. Fingers raked through his hair, her nails grazing his scalp and down to between his shoulder blades when the familiar sensation of another orgasm stuttered her breathing.

Fucking Hell, he was going to blow again with the way her walls constricted and spasmed around him. He wanted a release, but he wanted to see her beg him even more. Halting all together, her tits sticking to his chest from the sweating of their bodies, Hanma smirked down on the woman groaning, her attempt to move her hips futile in such a position.

“You asshole, don’t stop,” her palm slapped the top of his back but all it did was make his cock twitch at the sting. Reaching out, she stuck her index finger in his mouth, her thumb pinching from the outside, her nails threatening damage as they locked in a ring and tugged. “You wanna play mean?”

By the way his eyes fluttered and the quiver of his dick inside of her, she was guessing he would enjoy it if nothing else. Pulling the pinch a little harder, her other hand slapped his ass cheek, sharp nails leaving a sting in the wake of the scratch which followed.

Hissing at the assault, Hanma dropped the woman to unstable feet. Ragging her by the back of her hair, he led her to the living room and shoved her onto the sofa. He was about to throw himself down on top of her but she had rolled onto the floor and sat on her knees, patting the seat cushion. Lewd gaze glazing over olive orbs taking in the entirety of his naked body, she wagged her finger, urging him to hurry up. “Want me to take you in my mouth?”

Holy shit, yes he did. What a stupid fucking question. Dropping his pants and underwear completely where he stood, Hanma would have easily beat Usain Bolt making his way to the couch. Flopping over the armrest, he sat himself in the middle of the two-seater, his ass scooting to the edge of the cushion in awaiting. Long black almond nails traced down the curvatures of his stomach muscles, lingering on those hips she had fallen for the instance she saw them the night before for a good fifteen seconds before doing anything else but burning the image into her brain. She didn’t love people, she loved ‘things’ and she was drowning in the bask of that horrid man’s hips. The firm muscles mapped out with defined lines leading to his pubic area; those indentations would and could kill every single sense of logic she was proud of while she blew hot air against the underside of his shaft and his balls in teasing if only his body kept reacting to her like he was.

Hanma felt as though he had enough blood for three people in his body and it had all rushed to his dick. Puppy-dog eyes looked up at him from between his legs, dexterous fingers caressed everywhere but where he wanted it, needed it. “Ya gonna do it, or are ya chickenin’ out?” His voice was breathy, barely audible as he watched Kitahara hover around his crotch with a partially opened mouth, plush lips slick with her spit leaving sporadic kisses and the occasional sharp suckle to his inner thighs and hip bones. The lack of pattern to the contact had him on edge. His own spit was gathering in the back of his throat from being unable to focus on anything besides the anticipation for what she had promised.

“I don’t back dow-hmnn-” The end of her words were cut off by her mouth surrounding his tip, her head stopping a few inches down and the vibration shooting to his very core while she gobbled down the mass filling her mouth.

Hanma’s fingers instantly curled into the cushion covers as warmth engulfed him, the murmur of her voice fuzzing his mind. Blowing his breath through puffed cheeks at the tongue swirling around his length, the small ball-bearings of her piercing flicking over the prominent veins, all he could do was huff in an attempt to take in the oxygen his body was desperate for while his head fell onto the back support. At least she hadn’t been all mouth - or in this case, she had - but she wasn’t lying about taking him. Although, she was bobbing at only halfway down.

One hand atop of his pubis, the other constricting around his length, Kitahara began pumping him. Precum mixed with her spit and dribbled from the corners of her mouth, her lips tight and her tongue mimicking the action of swallowing to cause friction against the underside of his cock.

“Go l-lower...” Giant hands reached out, bony fingers tangling in her damp hair just behind her ears. Chubby fingers cupping his balls, Hanma couldn’t keep a single thought between his ears besides how she was making him feel at that very moment; her throat tightening in a gagging reflex when she eased a little lower every few times, the way her fingers brushed and tightened against him as if she could read his mind for the exact thing he wanted, “atch, shit,” he choked the words out when she did as she was told and forced her head lower, his chase for the building orgasm within reach.

‘Pop’, her head jerked up, saliva and pre-cum leaving a string connecting her lips to his cock, hard and twitching, sore from the previous session but aching all over again, she looked him in the eye with a smirk.

“T-the fuck are ya doin'?” His head lifted to look at the woman between his knees. 

“I thought we were playing mean?”

“Oh, ya gonna pay for that, ya bitch.” Taking a fist of the back of her hair, he yanked her close to the point her tits were blossoming over his crotch, their body fluids smearing between them when he hunched over to sneer in her face. It wasn’t the intention to get any stimulation from the action, but it had occurred all the same. Those tits were beginning to be his favourite thing in the world and he unexpectantly found that he enjoyed them the most when his dick was between them. “Open ya fuckin’ mouth,” staring down into glass bottle irises, narrowed slits danced over the lack of comprehension she was showing. Maybe it wasn’t a lack of comprehension at all, but perhaps care. Maybe, she really just did not give a single fuck about the situation she was in. 

Looming over the female grasping his thighs, her nails tight, digging into his flesh, Hanma ragged her hair when she pulled back in play.

Licking his precum from her lips, her piercing and chin glistening, Kitahara cooed, “you sure you wanna play this way? You’ll be the one riled before me.”

As soon as the words floated from her lips, Hanma took her throat, his long fingers touching behind her neck. “I’m already riled, ya teasing bitch.”

“You started it.”

“Ya really wanna get on top that bad?”

“It’s the quickest way for me.”

“What happened to women wantin’ to enjoy the experience rather than the outcome?”

“I dunno which lying bitches or virgins you’ve been talking to, but the sooner I can cum, the better; I’m a busy person.” 

“Ya like this with everyone?”

“Yeah, don’t think you’re getting special treatment,” she patted his chest, her brow flickering in mocking. “We’re not a couple, we’re not making love or doing this to get closer to each other - we’re fucking to get each other off - that’s all - why wouldn’t I be trying to cum as quickly as possible?”

“Damn, ‘din’t think someone so hot could be made of ice.”

Crawling onto his lap, her knees either side of his hips, Kitahara stared down on the criminal. “You looking to wife me, Shuji?”

“Can’t make a wife out of a hoe.”

“At least you know that much, so, shut the fuck up and let’s stop playing, ‘kay? I have shit to do.” Positioning his member against her entrance, Kitahara eased down, a squelch audible when she shifted down to meet his base. 

Despite being on the slim side, his forearms constricting around her waist was would cause damage if he squeezed any harder - she was going to have another new album of bruises again tomorrow. 

---

Her head had been down as she rode out her nth orgasm. She lost count over an hour ago how many he’d given her. His stamina was seriously no joke. Kitahara had slept with plenty of people from all walks of life but this guy was taking the piss; they’d just used the last condom in the box and the sun would be rising soon, through the veranda she was facing as she laid flat on her stomach on the floor, her sight jittering as Hanma's hips stuttered into her ass with a grunt. She was raw, and by the way he hissed when he put on the last two rubbers, he wasn’t faring much better. The last three rounds had only lasted fifteen minutes each because they had both been so overstimulated, it was really a wonder why they’d bothered at all when all that came from continuing was them both whining and squirming, panting and tears beading in their eyes as they worked each other to a point they almost didn’t want to be at.

Hanma dropped onto her, his chest flush with her back and sweat streaming from them over her ribs and thighs, onto the hardwood. His chin hooked over the top of her right shoulder, his breath huffing the ends of her hair against her face. 

“'Kay, get out of me,” she grunted as she tried to push herself up in a push-up but the weight on top of her back planted her where she was. “Uh, c’mon. I have to shower and get ready for work soon.”

“Just gimme a minute,” his fingers brushed the sides of her breasts pushed out past her ribs, his nose stuck in her hair.

“I don’t have a minute. I have to sort myself out and leave for work at eight. I would like to at least get a couple of hours before I have to start getting ready.” The man hummed against her neck absent-mindedly, the pressure above her growing by the second and making it harder to breathe. “Oi, you shit-head, you better not be falling asleep like that. Oi, Shuji!”

Jerking at the call, Hanma groaned and put his hands down on the floor by her head, easing up. Really, being called that was like a cattle-prod to the centre of his being. Nobody he knew in this time or place ever called him by his given name: not his ‘superiors’, not the other girls he slept with - Hell, the last person he recalled ever calling him ‘Shuji’ was his mother when he moved out at the age of fifteen. It was all fun and games during sex, but when she addressed him so casually outside of that, it kind of stung.

His dick ‘shlopped’ when he pulled out of her, the condom barely hanging on and dangling from halfway down his shaft. Removing the latex with one hand he rolled onto his hip to sit like a toddler with his legs splayed. His mind was hazy and his eyes refused to focus. Whether it was the hours of fucking, the weed he’d been smoking or the booze he’d induced trying to keep up with the woman was anybody’s business.

Clambering up from all-fours, Kitahara winced when she managed to stand up, her hand on the back of the sofa for support when her legs buckled. Her eyes landed on the wall clock: it was 3:45am. “I have just over three hours to make myself presentable. You have to go.”

Go? Hanma Shuji was never told to ‘go’ after hooking up - he was asked to stay. Who the fuck was this woman? What was she? She was already redressed in her robe and making coffee. He’d laid ten inches of thick pipe six times over a near-four hour period and she was still mobile. This had never happened before. He didn’t like it. In fact, he would be furious if he wasn’t so exhausted and in physical pain.

“Lemme stay. I don’t think I can ride my bi-”

Kitahara held her hand up before he could even finish his sentence. “I already told you that you’re not staying before we even got here.”

“I’m sore, though.”

“Not my problem - you’re the one who said you wanted to use the whole box.”

A small pout was starting to form on the lips she never saw without a smirk, his brow flickering up as if that tepid begging would get him anywhere. “C’mon-”

“No.”

“Why are you being a bitch?”

“I’m not being a bitch; I’m setting boundaries.” Eying one of the pre-made joints in her case on the kitchen counter, she made a mental debate on whether it was a good idea to spark up. “This is where I live and work from often; it’s a small bit of space I have that is mine and I need it to unwind and feel safe all by myself. I don’t let anyone I sleep with stay over.”

“You let Sanzu sleep here,” he snipped, very close to sounding like a child.

“I didn’t fuck Sanzu, nor do I plan to. He needed help, so I tried.”

“I need help, my legs won’t work.”

“Again, your problem. Call someone to pick you up,” by this point, she was clicking her fingers at him like a dog while he sat there wiggling his toes while he stared up at her.

“What about my bike?”

“Your bike will be safe here. Nobody wants that monstrosity.”

Hanma looked as though she’d just slapped him across the face the way his eyes had shot wide and his mouth was agape, a gasp leaving his lips. “The fuck ya sayin’ about my bike?”

“It’s ugly as Hell.” Lighting the end of a cigarette, she shuffled around the kitchen space, “a high-back with leopard print? Euuch, it's damn gaudy.”

“Don’t hold back, will ya?”

“Never. Drink this.” Sniffling her nose of the seasonal snotting, Kitahara placed a cup of coffee down on the island counter separating her from her guest. “We can hook-up whenever we’re both free - the sex is great, really - but we’re not friends. Don’t make the mistake of thinking you can drop by like this is a take-out joint, though. I don’t do 24/7 exclusivity.”

“Wasn’t askin’ ya to-”

“-Good. You’re not the only person I’m seeing.”

“’There many others?”

“None of your fuckin’ business. Outside of when we meet and have sex, you have no right to know anything about me.”

“S’a little rough.”

“I get tested every other month, so I’d worry more about what holes you’re sticking your dick in. When was the last time you went for a check-up?”

“A’ight, no need to get pissy.”

“I’m not pissy, I’m trying to be safe. I’m putting down guidelines so we don’t end up destroying each others lives later down the line.”

Standing up and walking over to the kitchen island, he picked up the cup of coffee she had afforded him. The way she just presumed pissed him off but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t find a spark of enjoyment from her unabashed confidence. “Oh, ya think I’m coming back?”

Exhaling a bloom of smoke as she turned away to warm up a breakfast roll she’d made the morning before, Kitahara’s lips curled. “Oh, yeah, you’ll definitely come back.”

Irritated, Hanma pulled his dried shirt over his head. “What gives ya that kind of confidence?”

Turning around, the silk barely hanging onto her frame, she leaned her elbows onto the island and peered up at the man across from her with her rolled tortilla in her grasp by her mouth, her a dark glint sparkling from under fluttering lashes. “Because you’re probably still thinking about that BJ I didn’t finish and are wondering how far I can fit you into my mouth.”

Well, holy shit, she wasn’t wrong. Even after having her bent every which way, those minutes of her having him choked down did leave an impression which he had definitely mentally saved for the wank-bank. His poor cock twitched as the image of her mouth around him brought back the recollection of warmth clamping down and consuming him. No. No, he really couldn’t get hard again - it hurt. He needed to think of anything but the soft lull of her tongue and the piercing which rippled over his-oh, fuck. No.

“Are you for real,” Kitahara’s eyes danced over his crotch, the beginning of a tent pitching in his boxer shorts. 

“What can I say, ya just have that effect on me.” Sarcasm dripped from his voice as he wobbled his head, palming his dick down only to wince at the pressure. Although he was clearly meaning to tease her, he hadn’t been entirely wrong about what he had said. It had been a long time since he tried to go that many rounds in that time frame. Shit, he felt like a horny teenager again and he wasn’t sure if he liked it.

Finishing getting dressed, his erection subsiding as he thought of pretty much everything he found sexually unappealing - there weren't many things on that list - Hanma nodded to himself with conviction. “Next time, I’m breaking that record.”

“Please don’t even try it; you will die,” she shook her head at him before looking away to head to the bathroom. 

“’Didn’t know ya cared~”

“I don’t want to have to dispose of a body because there’s no way in Hell I’m explaining to cops you fucked yourself to death.”

“Same time tonight, then?” Ah, there it was. That cocky, shit-eating smirk was back on his lips.

“I’m busy.” Fingering up the two keys joined by a simple metal hoop, she wagged them by her head, “don’t forget these because I might not be here when you come to collect your bike.”

Corners of his lips pinched, Hanma walked over to the woman and took a moment to stare down at her, his eyes boring into hers, an irritation growing at the lack of emotion she was showing from the close proximity or what had just transpired. “Ya know, you’re not the friendliest, are ya?”

“If you’re looking for a friend, join a chat room.”

“Tch, ya probably a bore anyway~”

Kitahara’s lips twitched and she bared her teeth, utterly offended. “I’m the fuckin’ life of the party, I’ll have you know. Shit-head.”

“So childish~”

“Get the fuck out of my house before I change my mind about letting you come back.”

“I know where ya live now. I’ll call around when I please. Just try an’ stop me.” Twinkling his fingers over his shoulder, Hanma shut the door behind him. She could hear him laugh all the way down the steps and into the car park.

“Asshole.”

 

---

Updated: 31st October 2021 - 15:10