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It started to form within him not even a week ago, the clouds heralding the storm of his desire for her.
He was taking a stroll around town with Suguru, when he spotted a beautiful uchikake made from brocade hanging up on a storefront. Its outer layer was intricately adorned with white, red-crowned cranes in mid-flight embroidered against the purest black; the inner layer was silk – the richest red, a color that suited her so much. It looked cozy, warm, perfect for this winter, he thought.
And, when he rubbed the fabric inside between thumb and index, he hummed appreciatively; he could imagine the silk caressing her wrists, her fingertips as she moved... Were she to wear it without anything underneath, it could touch her more intimately. Something he got her. Mmm, yes. Naturally, it was there to be hers.
The merchant sold it to him, thanked him for his patronage, voice tainted with fear. Ah, but he couldn’t help it, as Satoru was too flashy, the coloring the Six Eyes blessed him with was thought to be a bad omen by his people. A demon, they called him. Others, more benevolent, thought of him as a necessary evil.
“I never tire of them shaking at the sight of you,” laughed Suguru. “Your duty as their lord and as a sorcerer, saving them from actual curses, is truly thankless.”
“As far as they know, I may indeed be a demon,” he shrugged, their fear so common that it no longer stung.
The uchikake was cleaned and properly washed upon arrival at the castle. When it was ready, he pressed his face against the inner layer before sending it to her, marked it with his scent, so she’d smell like him when she put it on.
On the third day, when he was riding, he saw in the distance a nishi tree. He dismounted and cut down the most delicious looking ones for her. He had them washed before he sent them to her. He could imagine her teeth sinking into its skin, the juices trickling down her chin, her breath, smelling like pears. Like pears he cut with his own hands for her – for her nourishment, for her pleasure.
On the fifth day, he was having a council meeting with his father and his retainers, talks of honor and duty. Her father was present, offering his point of view to their lord, and Satoru, seeing her ideals in him, acted pretty much biased, siding with him and his (admittedly sound) advice.
“My lord, I beseech you,” her father said, “we must send help to Edo. We must aid the people, not only to deal with curses, but the fire devastated more than half of the homes in the city—”
“Iori, you are much too naïve for a warrior,” some old fart started, “sending help to the shogun, when he imprisons our lord in his rotten city for years at a time is simply—”
“Aiding the people of Edo,” Satoru said, “is our duty not only as samurai, loyal to our liege, but as sorcerers, too. Grievances such as these, tragedies like these, are bound to birth stronger curses. Perhaps strong enough to be up to par with the calamity that was Ryomen Sukuna.”
The men of the little council murmured, shocked that their usually uninterested lordling was sharing his thoughts, for once. Even his father was looking at him – slightly surprised, thoroughly amused.
“Your future lord makes some sense,” said his father. “Do as Iori advised. Send help to Edo.”
That same day, after he finished his duties, the urge to see her consumed him.
He just had to see her face, smell her hair, look into her eyes. Perhaps news of my good deeds would have already reached her ears, he thought.
So deep was his yearning, that he just directly warped into the armory, where she worked on weapons all day, maintaining and purifying them, imbuing them with her energy.
The moment he stepped into the room behind her, she sensed him looming, and she turned around in a defensive stance to press the katana she was working on against his neck.
Oh, how he longed for her touch.
He lowered his barrier on a whim and felt the scent of her invade his nostrils and the sting of her blade as it pierced his skin, a biting pleasure. Her beautiful brown eyes widened when the katana drew blood.
“I told you many times,” Utahime hissed, lowering her weapon, the cut already healing, “to not do that. Don’t just pop out of thin air like that.”
Satoru wrapped his fingers around her left hand and lifted it to his cheek. She smelled like him, and steel, leather, and the camellia oil she applied to her hair every night that he so adored. A decadent, unique aroma, hers… he remembered when she only smelled of camellias, before she bloomed.
“Sorry,” he said, nuzzling her hand. I was dying to see you. “Did you eat?” She hummed her ascent as she swiped her thumb against his cheekbone. “What did you eat? Do you want to eat meat? Boar? This Satoru shall go hunt the biggest for you right n—”
“Lordling,” she said, narrowing her eyes, “is it about to rain?”
Rain. His rut was fast approaching. His breath got caught in his throat, “It appears so,” he swallowed, stepping back, and hating it.
He should have noticed that his autumnal rain was near. What if his rut suddenly broke and he hurt her again?
“Satoru. You won’t,” she said.
Oh, he must have said that out loud.
She gave him a soft smile and stepped closer to him, her hands caressing his chest, calming the restless beast within.
Still, desire burned his sinews as if lightning had struck him and left only charred flesh, as it was bound to do for her every minute of every day until his dying breath. He closed his eyes, feeling her warmth seep through his robes. Her closeness made his heart beat loudly. It wanted to be ripped out of his chest and rest in her hands.
“Satoru,” she called, worry lacing her voice. “Would it reassure you if I were to bound you tonight?”
He exhaled, closing his eyes.
The binding was a precaution he insisted they take when his rain was coming. Although he could tell she relished him surrendering control to her more than she let on, it was truly meant to keep her safe from his savage impulses when his mind was addled by the preternatural urge to claim, possess, impregnate.
Ever since that winter five years ago when her blooming and his rain coincided with each other, they’d been at odds, and only recently did she agree to complete their bond.
It had been disastrous, really, the outcome of that first time.
They hadn’t seen each other in so long and were only getting reacquainted when she bloomed – so deliciously, that it had triggered his first rain.
He hadn’t known what to do, or what he was doing. Hunger and thirst paled in comparison to the need to sink his teeth into her flesh, cover her in him, eat her up. He could see that she was in pain, and he wanted to make it go away, be one with her, and by the end of it, he had the bizarre need to trap her under him forever.
The moment he came to, Satoru tasted blood in his mouth and found that she was still joined to him. To make matters worse, he could not see her face, but could almost taste her unhappiness. Panicking, he asked for her forgiveness again and again, but she had not said a word.
As soon as she was free from him though, she pushed him aside and quickly grabbed the katana he had given her when he went into her chambers, moments before she bloomed.
In a flash, she moved, swift and lethal, and hacked and slashed at his body.
“You are a monster that only knows how to take! You are a curse!” she screamed, cleanly slicing up an arm he had raised to cover his face.
His blood, blessed by the gods, coated her chambers in red, soaked her futon and seeped through the tatami mats.
“You gave me a bite that will forever bound me to you,” she cried, shaking, naked and with his blood and his seed painting her skin. “Do you even know what this means?”
“But I am your destiny,” he had said angrily, kneeling at her feet, ignorant of her feelings and her struggles. “I, Satoru, told you this many years ago. You are to be my bride, my woman. And you belong to me now that I have claimed you.”
She shrieked then, a vengeful spirit, and she knelt on her blood-and-sex-soaked futon, to stab through his abdomen, the blade embedded to the hilt. A cold fire burned in her eyes as she stood up and said, “I hope my lord has enjoyed this body, for it is the first and last time he will be allowed to touch it.”
In an instant, his arm grew back, and his wounds healed, but hers didn’t. Not the one on her neck, much less the ones under the surface. After that, it took Satoru a long time to earn her trust, to gain her forgiveness. Longer still, for her gaze to warm up and for him to be allowed to share in her pleasure again.
“Satoru,” Utahime called, in the present, rubbing her hands on his chest.
“Please forgive me,” he croaked, opening his eyes.
She clicked her tongue, “Gods, you are so sensitive when you’re like this. It is in the past, lordling.”
“Forgive me,” he repeated, lowering his eyes. Like this, he could see her wrists under her kosode, her dainty fingers that empowered hundreds, that with a sign made them stronger than they had any right to be. He grabbed her shoulders, “Let me go hunt that boar for you—”
She shook her head, “You have provided me with enough, everything I could desire for this coming season.” Utahime said, pushing him down by his shoulder so he was on his knees on the armory’s mat, “You sent a coat to keep me warm,” she patted his head and he closed his eyes, “You gifted me the last perfectly ripe pears,” she threaded all her ten fingers through his hair, pulling a sigh from his lips, “And you secured long awaited aid for people that need it,” she lightly scratched his scalp and he whimpered.
“Am—am I good to you?” he wanted to know, leaning his head on her abdomen, so close to her womb. Her womb that should be full, round with his child, any day now.
“So good, Satoru,” she knelt in front of him, her hands on his cheeks, “Now, stop thinking of the past and answer me,” she said, softly. “Would it reassure you if I were to bound you tonight?”
“It would,” he assented.
“Then,” she kissed the tip of his nose that made him smile, “you will meet me in my rooms,” a chaste kiss, that tasted like pears.
“Yes,” he sighed against her.
If it were any other time, Utahime was sure he’d be his usual demanding self. He’d be the lordling who bashfully proclaimed at twelve years old ‘You are to become my woman, when I come of age.’ He’d be pestering her already, rubbing his face on her neck, impatiently insisting that she needn’t preen, ‘what for? you know perfectly well that this husband will mess you up in no time,’ he’d probably say, while tugging her toward the futon before tearing her yukata apart as if it were made of paper.
But then, it was not any other time. And so, his needs, wants and attitude differed.
When a storm was brewing, he was almost docile in his approach – afraid to cause her any discomfort, careful not to do something that displeased her or hurt her. So, at that moment, he was silently waiting for her, sitting on a red cushion, those nearly divine eyes following her movements as she painted her lips and eyes. Never mind that his energy was heavy around her, as if he was seconds away from using Blue to pull her onto his lap.
When she extended a hand to reach for the bottle that contained her hair oil, he spoke, “Can I do it?”
Utahime had half the mind to chide him, but he sounded so strained from the effort of containing himself, that her heart was moved.
She turned her head to him and waved her hand to signal him closer. Quickly, he gracefully undid his sitting position and stood up. He took the bottle from her and rubbed the camellia oil between his palms before he started massaging her hair.
“Utahime has such pretty hair,” he muttered, probably not even realizing it, and she smiled fondly.
She could see his focused visage reflected in the small, circular mirror. His flushed skin, pink from the heat gathering in his veins, and his beautiful all-seeing eyes. When he finished, he reached for the wooden comb he brought her as a souvenir from a mission to Heian-kyō last spring, and as he worked, he moved the already brushed strands to her left shoulder.
“Would it please my bride if this husband were to permanently share his bedchamber with her?” he asked politely, this time intentionally, setting his chin on her right shoulder, looking at her through the mirror, black pupils swallowing the blue of his eyes.
Hm, this was a subject they’ve been dancing around ever since they came back from Ezo after defeating that wretched curse user, when she, emotions high and her longing for him so potent, decided to finally yield to her destiny and bit his neck, claiming him too. However, despite their bond being finally completed, their living situation had not been sorted out—she was too shy to cross this last boundary, and he was too careful not to be overbearing.
He caressed her scarred cheek with his own unmarred one, bringing her to the present. She hummed, “Why don’t we revisit this another time—”
“Not asking due to my current situation,” he said, appeasing her. “I’ve been meaning to ask you this, I hate waking apart from you.”
Goodness, so direct when he was like this.
Utahime smiled, eyes glittering playfully. The answer was yes, naturally. Yes, she felt the same way. Yes, it would please her to wake up every morning enveloped by his scent, wrapped securely in his arms. But, after years of being by this man’s side, she had learnt to be a little mischievous too.
“If you stay still for me until the end, I promise I’ll consider it.” He inhaled sharply, understanding what it would take. “Can you do it? Or can’t you?” Utahime insisted.
He looked so eager to please then, so willing to trade obedience for long-term benefits, that the sliver of guilt she felt vanished completely.
“I can,” he said, with such conviction that Utahime’s heart was moved once more.
Smiling, she stood up and offered him a hand. They walked together to the laid-out futon in the center of the room, where they would be spending the next few days in each other’s embrace. There too was the wooden beam to which he would be tied up against, at least until he spent himself inside her for the first time that night.
They came to stand at the feet of the futon, and she released his hand. He hadn’t bothered with a kosode, and just donned a hastily tied white hakama, also foregoing the fundoshi. Seeing him like that, Utahime couldn’t resist caressing his upper thighs, his naked torso, and his chest with her fingertips.
His eyelids fluttered close at the contact, and a hand flew to her wrist to make her press her palm against his chest, the other went to the back of her neck to pull her flush against him, to trap her in his arms, letting her feel his inflamed desire for her, grinding against her belly.
She clicked her tongue.
“Lordling,” she chastised, “do not become greedy so soon.”
“Utahime is too tempting,” he grumbled, but released her after a deep inhale.
When she looked up at him, he had a pout on his lips. Gods, he was adorable, and she could not wait to have him tied up and whimpering at her touch.
“Haste makes waste, my lord,” she teased, and pulled at the ties of his pants, letting it fall to the floor in a silky pool at their feet. His cock – dripping, red and beautiful – twitched, as if it had life of its own. She tilted her head, gaze fixed on the head, “Goodness, that must hurt. What shall we do to alleviate you?” she hummed.
“Utahime,” he warned through gritted teeth, and she suppressed a giggle. For how much he loved to tease in these kinds of situations, he was surprisingly thin-skinned himself.
“Sit with your back against the beam,” she said, a commanding tone that came naturally in his presence.
He obeyed after a beat. Once sat as she instructed, he rolled his shoulders, stretched his arms above his head. The muscles of his abdomen and chest rippling under his snow-white skin, his cock bobbing with the movement.
At the sight of him like that, she could feel her cunt pulsing deliciously with want, moisture surging from within. Gods, she could feel the ghost of the weight of him in her palm, her mouth. Taste the thickness and all the ridges of him. The flare of his crown, the way he stretched her when he was inside her, how he made her squeeze, and how he throbbed just as needily for her, how the unsuspecting knob at the base of his cock swelled, trapping her as he pumped his seed into her.
She blinked and swallowed, trying to regain her composure. There would be time later for her to admire him, to feel it all. Now, she had to get to work, as this measure was for his peace of mind, and he depended on her for this. Trusted her to carry out his request, silly and unnecessary as it was in her opinion.
Turning from him, she located the ropes and the tanto blade she had prepared for the occasion. The ropes had been previously boiled to make the fibers softer and more pliable, then they were subjected to a strengthening ritual, as the ropes were meant to hold him still during their nightly activities. This time, they were also dyed red, her favorite color, to bind her favorite person.
The first time they did this, she thought of making a point, all to keep a promise she had made to him years ago. She was planning to keep him tied up to that very same wooden beam for however long it took to exhaust his rut while using him for her pleasure.
Her plans were thwarted, however, by her own wants and needs; she had not accounted for the all-consuming longing to be held by him as his knot settled firmly inside her, as she shivered and cried and drooled. So, after that one time, they always started like this, with him tied up, for appearances’ sake and because he was still terrified of hurting her.
“Show me your wrists,” she said, settling in the space between his legs. He obliged, extending his arms in front of him, offering his wrists to her.
Folding the rope in half, she found the bight and held it two fingers above the skin of one of his wrists, before going around both of them and pulling the ends of the rope through the loop and tightening, cuffing him. Utahime then wrapped the rope four more times, making sure there was enough space between the red rope and his skin. Then, with deft fingers, she pulled the ends of the rope into the bight created by the cuff, and tied it up through the middle, cinching the rope and creating a beautiful knot.
Utahime rose to her feet then, grabbing the ends of the rope and bringing his wrists above his head to work the remaining length around the polished cedar beam, imprisoning his hands there.
When she was done, Utahime withdrew to look down and took him in. The skin of his chest, neck and cheeks was flushed, and his lips were parted as he took shallow breaths.
“Hmm, being completely at my mercy truly suits you,” she mused.
He huffed, his energy dense and oppressive around her – his rut finally settling in. “You know I can easily tear these up if I want to.”
“Ah,” she said, pushing through the desperate need for him and grabbing his chin, “but you will not.” She caressed the corner of his lips, before leaning closer and feeling him tremble under her fingertips.
“I will not,” he confirmed, through gritted teeth, reigning in his energy and making it easier for her to breathe.
“I know,” she said over his lips. “You wouldn’t want to disappoint me.”
As she pulled back, he followed her mouth, needy, desperate lordling. But she wasn’t any better, she could feel her heartbeat surging, a restless river rushing through her veins. Her nipples were pebbled and pushed against the thin material of her garment and her thighs were soaked with slick since before she finished tying his wrists.
Utahime resumed her seiza between his legs and rested her hands on top of his knees, letting her fingertips travel up his thighs. She watched as her caresses made his soft skin prickle with gooseflesh and his cock twitch – the head glistening and her tongue craving for its taste.
“Fearsome warrior,” she said, sliding her hands to his hips and leaning into him, “the strongest of them all,” her fingers found his nipples and twisted them slightly, softly, and he almost purred. “The so called honored one,” she spoke over his parted lips, looking into his eyes, “What do you think the others would say if they saw their lord all tied up like this?” Utahime asked, her chest pressed against his torso, her belly against his trembling cock.
“Utahime,” he pleaded, tugging at his restraints, impatient.
“What is it?” she asked, calmly, sliding her knuckles against the skin of his arms, causing his biceps to tremble under her touch.
“Your mouth, please,” he begged, closing his eyes, white lashes against the backdrop of his flushed skin.
It amused her how up until last winter, she hadn’t been sure he even knew the word ‘please’ existed, and now he used it frequently with her.
“Oh? Where should I put it?” she pondered, “perhaps here,” she touched a finger to his neck, “or here,” she thumbed his lower lip and he parted his mouth further to offer her his wet, pink tongue, an irresistible gesture that had her slipping her thumb into his mouth. “Ah, I know” she said, blood singing in her ears, “you want my mouth here,” she swiped her wet digit against the tip of his cock, mixing his saliva with the moisture already present there.
His hips bucked into her body, and he gasped her name.
“Please,” he exhaled, moving forward and trying to steal a kiss.
“Cheeky brat,” she tutted, withdrawing from his body, “you should be honored to be made to wait.”
He was about to speak, when she slid one hand from the sensitive head of his cock to the base where a small nub sat, deceivingly inconspicuous above his balls. He moaned, eyes focused on her movements as she continued stroking his length, his tip, in the way that made him whimper and thrust into her hand.
His energy thrashed, impatient. It engulfed her, filled the air around her, the sliver of it stored in the scar of her neck compelled her; but she expertly ignored it.
“Utahime,” he tried to use his own commanding voice, but the sound came out choked, pitiful.
She just loved to hear his strained voice, see his honest reactions, wanted to see them more.
So she sped up her movements and used her free hand to roll over the sensitive head of his cock, palming it as she ran her fingers across the tip, the nub at the base increasing its size and his hips wildly thrusting up into her hands.
But then she stopped, and he whined, the sound caused another wave of slick to flow out of her and her cunt to clench around nothing.
“Forgive me, I got carried away,” she said unapologetic, looking into his eyes and licking between her fingers, her palm, tasting him. “Here,” she said, moving toward him again and pressing her chest to his, a hand grabbing his chin before slotting her mouth with his.
Satoru moaned into her as she licked his lips, slid her tongue against his, twirled it around in his mouth; the taste of him, the heat making her stupid, her mind going blank too soon as she straddled him. It felt so good, his tongue wet and warm as she sucked on it like it was his cock, that it melted her brain. He bit her lip, hungry and rough and she groaned, grabbing the hair at the base of his neck, crashing her chest against his, rubbing herself.
Taking advantage of her being completely lost to their kiss, he thrusted up, rubbing himself to the inside of her thigh as he tugged on his restraints, and she had half the mind to sink her hips down, to let him take control.
Not yet, she chastised herself and gathered her determination. After all, she had vowed a long time ago that she’d never let him get exactly what he wanted from her. The vow of course had been amended recently, to never let him get exactly what he wanted from her, at least not before she got her fill.
Utahime pulled her mouth from his, her lips falling to where his neck met his shoulder and licked over the mark she had left there, all the while she carefully slid her slippery folds over his length, her oversensitive lips sliding over his every ridge.
“Inside,” he gasped, body taut as a bowstring under her.
“Patience, lordling,” she said over his skin, nipping at the fine skin where she had cut with her blade earlier, rubbing herself on his throbbing length, grinding her kernel against his cockhead. She swallowed, not wanting to sound as breathless as she was, before adding, “your bride is still not done teasing you. Are you not mine to do with as I please? Do you not like it?”
“Yes—”
“Remember our deal,” she looked up at him and grabbed his chin, her voice taunting and mean. “Are you backing out?”
He clenched his jaw and banged his head against the beam. “Not backing out.”
Stubborn, adorable Gojo Satoru. Hers to toy with.
She hummed, “as expected of the strongest sorcerer.”
Utahime withdrew then and stood up, saw his hips thrust up to nothing, felt her cunt wrapping around the ghost of his cock, as it bobbed tantalizingly. She pulled the sash of her garment and let it fall at her feet, saw his nostrils flare at the sight of her, heard the rumbling in his chest.
He kept quiet and stood still, and such obedience warranted a little reward.
Without preamble, Utahime fell to her knees and leaned over, her elbows on the futon as she grabbed Satoru’s cock in both hands. He groaned and pulsed in her hands as she gave him one, two pumps. Then, unable to resist it, she brushed his tip with her lips smearing his moisture over her painted lips, and he cursed.
Utahime trapped his tip inside her closed hand, and then parted her lips to let her tongue reach out the thick length of his shaft. She swirled her tongue around the knob above his balls and slid her tongue up against his veins, drawing delicious groans out of him. She licked at the crown and moved her hands to let her mouth take over.
She closed her lips around him and sucked, circling the tip slowly with her tongue, relishing the taste, getting lost in the sensation of his hot, wet cockhead against her tongue. Then, she opened her jaw and dipped her head further down. When his tip hit the back of her throat, she swallowed, and he cried out.
He started moving his hips then, shallow thrusts that made it hard to breathe, the white hair at the base tickling her nose and tears streaming down her eyes, but she endured it all. She enjoyed the way her cunt only clenched and unclenched, how it gushed and ached to be filled with his cock, his knot, his seed.
She dislodged her jaw and pulled back, panting, when she noticed the nub was growing in between her lips, for as much as she loved being filled with his seed, she didn’t fancy drowning in it. Instead, she decided to slowly pump her fist around him, her own pattern hypnotizing.
“Utahime,” he gasped.
She looked up, and the sight of him was otherworldly, his pleasure unmistakable. His chest was flushed, raising and falling with breathless gasps, his eyes fixed on her, no longer blue, spit running freely from the corner of his mouth to his neck.
Seeing him like that sparked wild, selfish impulses in her.
Utahime swallowed, before saying, “what is it?”
“I want you,” he said, tugging at the ropes, with such force she feared the ceiling falling over them.
She smiled at him, sitting up on her knees, halting her caress. “But you already have me, I am here.”
Satoru shook his head.
“Please, I need you,” he insisted, voice hoarse. “Let me be inside you.”
“Ah, but I just took my husband into my mouth,” she taunted, moving her hand faster; he groaned, banging his head against the wood. “Don’t tell me—do you want more? How greedy.”
“Yes, I am,” he admitted in a pitiful voice, “I want to take you, fill you up. Feel you come undone for me. I need to breed you until you lose your mind, until I exhaust myself and there’s no seed inside of me left. How much longer must I endure? How much longer can you?”
Her hand stilled, felt his cock throb in her fist.
‘Look at this brat, spouting such scheming words,’ she wanted to say, was about to—but the words died in her throat as she saw a tear rolling down his cheek.
And for a third time that night, her heart was moved.
If he cried, she could no longer deny him.
Utahime straddled him, her hands on his broad, strong chest, then she finally lowered herself onto his waiting cock.
She was so wet that she did not stop until the head of his cock kissed her womb, even his enlarged knot easily entered her.
The two of them moaned, and she dropped her forehead to his; the bit of his energy embedded in her skin warmed her whole body, the potency of the sensation leaving her utterly dazed.
“Don’t cry, my love. I am here, I told you.” she spoke, rocking her hips.
“Forgive me,” he choked out, grinding up and making her moan.
“Worry not—” she gasped, her walls clenching around him.
She wanted to add something, needed to assure him, but he started to mouth at her neck the way she liked, the way that made her moan and twitch and shudder around him. They were the type of kisses and bites that addled her mind, and then he shifted and trapped one nipple between his lips and sucked, setting her synapses on fire. As such, she was left with no other choice but to chase the release that was just there and wildly moved her hips against him.
Up and down, swallowing his pulsating cock, slamming her body into his. Grinding, feeling him so deep inside, feeling his knot grow larger with each thrust, losing her mind.
Utahime grabbed his head and kissed him, biting his lips, moaning into his mouth, growing restless. She could not take it anymore, she needed to have him holding her, needed him looming over her, overpowering her. She stilled abruptly, whole body trembling, and Satoru whimpered in protest.
“Shh, you did so well,” she placated him, “N-now I’ll just cut the ropes,” she stammered, when he thrusted up.
She reached to her left for the tanto blade and, with shaky hands, started cutting the red cuffs she had made for him. When she was halfway done, Satoru tugged at the restraints, snapping the ropes. Quicker than lightning, he pulled the blade from her hand, threw it to the other side of the room, and pushed her onto her back.
Grabbing her wrists above her head, he said, “You are so cruel, Utahime.” Satoru slid his cock out of her, only to thrust deep and slow as he berated her, “Always teasing this husband, when I only want to properly fill you up and breed you. Don’t you want me to plant a babe in you? Won’t you fulfill my dream to see you round with an heir?”
“Please, put a babe in me, Satoru—” she cried, arching her back and locking her legs around his waist. Her voice hoarse, debauched.
She wanted all of it, every last drop of his seed, the child. She wanted to make him as happy as he made her.
Looming over her in the lanternlight, Satoru smiled, a curse that wanted to devour her whole.
“I feel it deep in my soul,” he grunted, before thrusting deep, “that tonight I’ll give it to you.”
Keening, she thought yes, or perhaps, she said it out loud. It was unclear; she was lost to the the profound satisfaction and the weight of his words igniting the sparks of her release, and it only took a couple of thrusts more for Utahime to come undone around him, feeling his energy in her, around her, choking her and heightening the pleasure.
Outside the haze, Satoru’s voice praised her, and she felt he moved them to position her on top of him once more, her head on his chest, his hands on her hips, holding her in place as he moved up against her.
When he started to shake all over, a telltale sign of his imminent release, she clung to him, and as his knot expanded inside her and spurts of his seed filled her to the brim she choked on a sob, once more coming apart.
After a while, Utahime felt Satoru’s fingers thread through her hair, and she rubbed her face on his chest.
“You are magnificent,” he said, lovingly.
Utahime hummed, content, the pleasure still rolling off her sinews. “And you are a flatterer.”
She felt his laughter as it reverberated under her.
“Not a flatterer, simply an admirer,” he told her, sliding two fingers down her spine, making her shiver and clench around his knot. “And from tomorrow onward, this Satoru will be permitted to admire your beauty upon awaking every day.”
To that, she smiled cunningly.
“Oh, but that is simply not true,” she said, lifting her head to face him, and saw his blue eyes flashing. “You cheated.”
“Cheated?” Satoru scoffs, indignation plain on his face. “How did I cheat? I am nothing but honorable.”
“You used underhanded methods, with all your begging and crying.”
In a flash, he turned them around, so he was on top of her, in between her legs, “You were merciless with your teasing, you made me cry. Besides, all you said was that I had to stay still—” he huffed, at a loss for words. Then, he petulantly added, “I did my best.”
“I think you still fell short, lordling,” she shrugged. “The ceiling almost fell over our heads.”
“Come off it,” he complained, grabbing her chin, dropping a kiss to her lips. “You could wake up to this every morning.”
“To you clinging to me?”
“Yes. And to my cock buried deep inside you,” he moved his hips against her to emphasize. “We have heirs to make, after all.”
“Oh? So do you want to share my bed out of convenience? What happened to hating waking up apart?” she asked, pushing against his chest, trying to get away. Not that she was able to, his knot was still keeping them together.
Satoru grabbed her hand. “I am trying,” he said, biting the skin of her palm, making her squeal, “to convince you. I do hate waking up apart from you and I do want to give you a child. Both are true.”
Utahime hummed in feigned disbelief, but he saw right through her pretense.
“I see,” he said, as his knot deflated, “You just want me to try harder.”
“I am unaware of what you mean, my lord,” she rolled her eyes, secretly delighted.
“Prepare yourself, wife.”
“What for? To sleep alone?”
He gave her an annoyed growl, before kissing her breathless.
“To be ravished all night long.”