#hakari

not rushing, nor obvious, just slow. intentional enough. you circle the table like you belong there more than anyone actually playing. manicured fingers grazing lightly along the felt, strappy kitten heels clicking softly against the floor. when you lean over someone’s shoulder, a glimpse of just enough skin to make their focus slip.

and hakari; well, he encourages it. admiring but unphased because he’s familiar with your teasing by now. 

“don’t mind her,” he says lazily, a smirk tugging at his lips. “keep your eyes on your cards . . if you can.”

he knows they can’t.

he’s watching them fold under it— watching the way their tells start slipping. the tension in their hands. the way they hesitate a second too long.

and every now and then, his gaze flicks to you. not jealous.

ever so pleased.

because you’re not theirs to look at. you’re his partner in this, moving exactly how the two of you silently agreed. it’s chemistry. strategy. utmost trust.

by the time the final round hits, he already knows he’s won. kinji doesn’t celebrate loudly, no. just exhales a low laugh, stacking chips like it was inevitable.

then he finally looks at you fully, crooking a finger for you to come closer.

“c’mere,” he mutters, voice softer now, just for you. when you lean down, he presses the winnings into your hand; half without even counting. he makes sure to slip the rest beneath the plush padding of your lacy bra.

“your cut,” he says, lips curled into a smirk, “go get somethin’ nice. you earned it.”

you press a sugary kiss to his tan cheek, “thank you, papa.”

but the real reward isn’t even the money.

it’s the way his hand lingers at your waist for a beat of seconds. the quiet, satisfied look in his eyes. like the whole thing only worked because it was you.

his pretty little partner. his good luck charm. his favorite distraction.

hakari fucks you so good that you feel like he’s lit you on fire. kinji has always burned hot. the same wild instinct that built his gambling empire now pours into the way he manhandles you— hand in your hair, curls spilling over his tightened knuckles, guiding, molding, coaxing your body into a rhythm that feels dangerously perfect for the both of you. 

“mmm, this pussy’s so fuckin’ greedy, baby . . . suckin’ me in like that,” he growls, and the drawled rasp mixes with the damp skin-slapping that’s already permeated the atmosphere. your pussy, leaking and sloppy, clenches at the rawness of the sound. he only laughs and drives forward harder, punctuating his amped pace with a sharp slap to the globe of your ass, stinging the right side. two more rain down on the other cheek, and one falls harsh upon your creased hip. a fresh tinge of fleshy-red blooms over warm cocoa skin, and he brings his heavy palm to soothe it over, fix his own doing; kneading and rubbing the fat of your ass like he’s working in an oily balm.  

hakari shifts his balance, moving from stabilizing on both knees to brace himself on one meaty-thick thigh, the sole of his foot planting firmly behind you for leverage. one hand drags slowly down the curve of your back, so warm it almost feels like it burns in its wake. his palm presses down, insistent, urging your spine to arch deeper, to jut that perfect ass out for him. the adjusted angle changes everything— with renewed force, he thrusts back in hard, hitting the rightest spot with the new hitch in positioning. a shock of pleasure jolts straight through you. 

“k—kinjiii! f-fuck, daddyyy,” your ass ripples beautifully, slamming back on him with reckless abandon, pussy streaking juices all over the firm plane of his defined hips. his pelvis, dusted with coarse dark hair, glistens with the slick evidence of how thoroughly he’s worked you over. the mess only seems to spur him on. large, calloused hands close around the small of your waist, firm and unyielding, dragging you back and forth over his cock.

“fuck! y’r tight as shit, baby . . you’re close, aren't ya?” you nod helplessly, blubbering into the sheets, only now noticing the thin line of drool that’s slipped from the corner of your mouth to pool beneath your cheek. hakari dips lower, delivering slow, deliberate strokes that have your voice breaking on his name. 

“c’mon mama, let go fa’me,” he croons, hips pistoning in and out of you with the steadiest, most wrecking pace. he pairs it with thick fingers curling around your throat, gentle but firm. a pressured squeeze to your carotid artery has your sopping cunt fluttering rapidly around the girthy stretch of him. you wheeze softly at the intentional force of it, fractured little ‘ papa, papa’s spilling from your lips.

“yes, yes, yessss . . k-kinji, make me cum, please— oh!” he inches low to deliver thorough swipes to your clit. a wide grin spreads across his face— all teeth and unrestrained satisfaction— when you finally shatter beneath him, your body spasming as white-hot pleasure crashes through you, spotting your vision and leaving you limp.

he doesn’t slow, hips steadily rocking against your ass as he works you through it. the way you fall apart around his pulsing dick finally snaps the last thread of restraint he had left, and with a low groan he pulls you tighter against him, grinding sloppily against you while burying his face into your shoulder.

“lemme feel you nut all over this fuckin’ dick— yeahhh, cum with me. so good, mama,” he revels in you unraveling beneath him, just as he’s sent tipping over the edge himself. a rough groan tears from the depths of his throat as he clutches your hips and rides out his own release. you feel it; kinji spurting thick loads of sperm to coat your quivering walls. you weakly hum at the warmth of it.

the room settles into quiet, the last tremors fading as the two of you finally catch your breath. hakari’s arm stays loosely draped around your waist, warm and heavy, like he has no plans of moving anytime soon. he lets out a satisfied huff against your shoulder.

“damn . . . guess i’m on a winning streak tonight.”