you don’t know how to explain it without sounding insane.
you’re not just horny. it’s not a normal craving, not some fleeting kind of want. it’s deep, low in your belly, aching between your legs and humming through your blood like a fever.
you want him. not like a fantasy, not like a distraction. you want him like it’s biological. like your body is demanding him.
and he’s being so… him about it.
soft linen shirt, sleeves rolled up. a few buttons undone. glasses slipping a little as he reads the paper with one hand and stirs his coffee with the other.
you stare. you squirm. you try to keep it together. fail miserably.
“kento.” you say it like a warning. like a prayer.
he looks up, instantly attentive. sets the spoon down. folds the paper. eyes on you. “yes, love?”
you shift in your seat, thighs tight, your oversized t-shirt sticking to your too-warm skin. no underwear. no bra. just fabric and need.
you chew your lip. he tilts his head. “…what is it?”
you swallow. “i want you.”
his face doesn’t change. but you feel the shift. like he knows exactly what you mean.
still, he gives you a moment. “want me… how?”
you stand. cross the room slow, almost dizzy with how badly you need to touch him. press your hands to his chest. look up at him.
“like i’m going to die if you don’t fuck me,” you whisper.
his breath hitches. and then his hand is on your waist. firm. grounding.
“what happened?” he asks gently.
“i don’t know,” you say, voice shaking. “i woke up like this. i’m- i think i’m ovulating or something. i can’t stop thinking about you. my body just-”
he nods. murmurs, “i understand.”
then he kisses you. not rushed. not teasing. just full, slow, thorough. like he wants to give you everything and take you apart all at once.
his hands slide down your back. he lifts your shirt just enough to find bare skin. his palm splays against your lower back. warm. steady. safe.
“you’re burning up,” he murmurs against your cheek. you whimper.
he walks you backward until your thighs hit the dining table. you grab at him, needy and breathless.
“slow,” he says softly, kissing your jaw, your throat, your shoulder. “you’re overwhelmed already.”
“i need you,” you say again. “i can’t- kento, i need you now.”
he exhales. his jaw clenches. he cups your cheek. “you’ll have me,” he says. “completely. i promise.”
he sinks to his knees like it’s nothing. like it’s natural. reverent.
and when he spreads your thighs and leans in, his mouth is hot. his tongue slow, deliberate. like he’s reading your body and translating it to a language only he knows.
your hips jump. you gasp. your hands fly to his hair.
“oh my god-”
he hums low in his throat. holds you steady. you’re wet already, messy and warm, and he doesn’t say a word about it. just takes you in stride. devoted. focused. you come like that, fast and high-pitched, trying to stifle it in your fist.
“don’t hide from me,” he says, rising to his feet. “i want all of it.”
you pull at his shirt, desperate. he lets you. unbuttons it slowly, lets it fall. then his belt. then everything else.
he presses you down against the table, eyes sweeping over you like he’s seeing something sacred.
“you’re beautiful like this,” he murmurs, lining himself up. “so needy. so honest.”
you feel the press of him and moan. loud. he shushes you softly, kisses your temple.
“i’ve got you.”
he fucks you like he means it. not just to get you off. not just because you asked. he fucks you like it’s the only thing that matters in the world. like it’s worship. like your need is a gift.
slow strokes at first, then deeper. harder. your hands scrabble for him, nails raking his back, your mouth clumsy against his shoulder.
“just like that,” he whispers. “you’re taking me so well, sweetheart.”
you cry out. he kisses the sound from your mouth.
“you needed this, didn’t you?” he murmurs. “needed to be filled. taken care of. i know.”
you nod frantically, tears prickling. it’s too much. not enough. everything.
he’s panting against your neck now, thrusts getting rougher, hand slipping between your thighs to rub you again.
“you’re perfect like this,” he says, voice strained. “so warm around me. so fucking wet. you want it all, don’t you?”
you come again, shaking. sobbing through it.
he follows with a low groan, head buried in your shoulder, body tense and trembling as he empties into you.
the silence after is thick with breath.
he pulls back just enough to look at you, hand brushing your hair off your sticky forehead.
“you all right?”
you nod, dazed. completely fucked out. “yeah.”
he kisses you. so soft it makes your throat close.
“next time,” he murmurs, “tell me earlier. i’ll take the whole day off.”
you laugh. then gasp when he lifts you into his arms, carrying you toward the shower.
“we’re not done,” he says. “not if you’re still aching.”
he sets you down gently.
and starts all over again
