You hated him.
The way he talked down to you, like you were some helpless little thing that didn’t belong in the jujutsu world. The way he smirked every time you got assigned to the same mission—like it was some kind of twisted game he was winning.
But what you hated most… was that you let him talk to you like that. Because the second that voice dropped and he leaned in with that smug little tilt of his mouth—
Your thighs squeezed together like he owned them.
“You look tense,” Naoya drawled, walking in like he owned the damn room, not even glancing at you before he started pulling off his gloves, flexing his fingers slowly. “What’s the matter? Struggling with your cursed technique again?”
“Fuck off.”
“Oh?” He stepped in front of you, gaze dropping to your lips and then lower. “That mouth of yours gets filthier every day. You want me to wash it out for you?”
You didn’t move. Didn’t blink.
He chuckled. “Didn’t think so.”
And before you could call him a bastard again, Naoya pushed you back against the mission room table—fast, unforgiving—his mouth hot against your ear.
“You like this, don’t you?” he whispered, sliding one hand under your shirt. “Acting all tough when you’re dripping through your fucking panties the second I walk in.”
His palm covered your chest, rough fingers squeezing, rubbing slow circles that made your breath hitch.
“I should’ve known from the first day,” he muttered. “You looked at me like you hated me—and I knew right then you’d take me the hardest.”
“Naoya—”
He growled, cutting you off, lips crashing against yours, all teeth and dominance and spite. His tongue slid deep past your lips as he pinned you harder to the table, hand sneaking into your waistband and slipping straight beneath your underwear.
“So wet,” he muttered, smirking as you gasped into his mouth. “You’re lucky I don’t bend you over this table and fuck you in front of the entire clan. Let them see how their little rebel melts for the man she pretends to hate“
His fingers slid inside you, two at once—fast, deep, curling perfectly. You whined, grabbing his arm, but he didn’t slow. He curled them again, faster now, the slick sounds obscene as his thumb circled your clit mercilessly.
“Say it,” he said against your neck. “Tell me you need it.”
“I—fuck—I hate you—”
He grinned. “I’ll take that as a yes.”
You reached for his belt—he slapped your hand away. “You don’t get to touch me, slut. Not until you earn it.”
Your whole body jerked when he crooked his fingers again, curling into that devastating spot until your knees gave. He caught you easily, holding you up with a hand on your throat now, his palm squeezing just enough to make your head buzz.
“You’re gonna come,” he growled, biting the edge of your jaw. “On my fingers. Like the pathetic brat you are. And when you do—you’re gonna thank me.”
You could barely speak—but your hips bucked into his hand, chasing it, breaking.
And when it hit—white-hot and toe-curling—you gasped his name, louder than you should have, legs shaking as you fell apart for him.
Naoya leaned in, licking the corner of your mouth.
“Good girl,” he whispered.
Then he shoved his soaked fingers into your mouth, watching you with that smug, hungry look as you sucked them clean.
“You taste like someone who’s about to beg me to fuck her.”
And honestly?
He wasn’t wrong.
You barely had time to catch your breath before he grabbed your arm, yanked you off the table, and dragged you down the hallway of the compound like he couldn’t wait another fucking second.
“Walk faster,” he snapped, tightening his grip. “Unless you want someone to see you with your thighs still shaking.”
You glared at him. “Why? Embarrassed to be caught with me?”
He shoved you against the nearest wall, hand slamming beside your head.
“No. I’d love for them to see,” he whispered, eyes dark with heat and venom. “See how pretty your face looks when I fuck you full.”
He kissed you again—if you could call it that. All teeth and spit and tongue, biting your lip hard enough to taste blood. You moaned into it anyway.
Naoya practically kicked his bedroom door open. The second it slammed shut, you were on your back on the bed—his body on top of yours, his knee forcing your legs apart as he undid his belt with one hand.
“Take your shirt off,” he said. “Slow.”
You didn’t move fast enough—so he grabbed the hem and ripped it himself, tearing it in half with one violent tug, the sound sharp and cruel like the look in his eyes.
“Fucking brat,” he hissed, eyes dropping to your chest. “You really like testing me, don’t you?”
“I like pissing you off.”
He smirked as he shoved your legs wide apart, dragging your underwear down roughly. “Then you’re gonna love what happens next.”
He didn’t ease in. No teasing. No warning.
Just one brutal thrust—and you gasped, your back arching, his cock burying itself deep, thick and hard and stretching you to your limit.
“Shit—fuck, Naoya—”
“I told you,” he growled, snapping his hips into yours again, and again, pace already brutal. “Told you you’d take me the hardest.”
Your hands clawed at his back—he grabbed your wrists and pinned them above your head with one hand, using the other to hold your jaw in place.
“You look so good like this,” he whispered, voice like gravel. “Under me. Stuffed full. Too cock-drunk to talk back.”
You tried to argue—but the words got caught in your throat when he angled his hips just right and slammed into your g-spot again and again.
Your moans got louder. You hated how fast he could ruin you.
“You’re gonna come,” he warned. “You better fucking come when I tell you to.”
Your legs started to shake—again. His hand wrapped around your throat, thumb stroking over your pulse, possessive and rough.
“Say it,” he said, thrusting deep, wet skin slapping echoing in the room. “Tell me who’s fucking you like this.”
“You are,” you choked. “Naoya—fuck—you are—”
He groaned into your neck, hips stuttering. “You don’t even know how fucking tight you are—sucking me in like you need it.”
You shattered on the next thrust—body convulsing, mouth open, a cry ripping out of you that sounded like surrender. You didn’t even realize you were crying until his hand cupped your cheek, thumb brushing a tear aside while he kept going, chasing his own high.
“Fuck… yeah… that’s it, take it. You’re mine now.”
And when he finally came—he didn’t pull out.
He spilled inside you with a broken moan, grinding his hips down, eyes locked on yours, like he wanted to watch you fall apart with his come dripping out of you.
When he pulled back, you were breathless. Fucked open. Legs trembling.
Naoya looked down at the mess between your thighs and smiled, smug as ever.
“Next time,” he said, licking a streak of sweat from your chest, “you’ll beg for it.”
And you hated that your body was already craving next time.
Coomer
