Page 43 of A Boy Is a Gun: Part II
I didn’t.I reached for the line of his shirt, smoothing it flat as if that was the answer.His fingers threaded lightly into my hair, testing, waiting.I nodded once.
“One minute we were talking,” I whispered, a smile sneaking in, “and the next...”
He finished the thought for me, mouth brushing mine with the gentlest pass, a promise disguised as a question.I answered with a real kiss—soft, then firmer when he caught my lower lip, when his hand at my waist drew me forward until there was no space left to negotiate.
The wine sat untouched.The music knew better than to interrupt.And the candles kept their secrets.Slow at first, almost testing, and then deeper, hungrier, like he’d been holding back for weeks.
By the time we reached his bedroom, we weren’t walking so much as stumbling into each other—his mouth dragging mine down into a kiss that felt like it could bruise.Jiro’s hands were everywhere—skimming my waist, gripping my ass, sliding under my dress like he had a map and was determined to find every place that made me gasp.
The dress came off in one impatient pull.His mouth was on my neck, tongue hot, teeth grazing skin before sucking just enough to make my knees shake.My bra was gone next—one flick, one tug—and his palms closed around my breasts like he’d been thinking about them all damn day.
I arched into him, and he groaned, low and rough.“I knew you’d feel like this,” he said, thumb brushing over my nipple.“Perfect.”
His shirt hit the floor, and I got a full view of him—lean muscle, a stomach cut into hard planes, the kind of body that told me he took his time on himself but didn’t live in a gym.A man who knew how to use his strength, not just pose with it.
He pressed me to the bed, his mouth tracing a hot line down my chest, sucking one nipple into his mouth while his hand worked the other.I felt it everywhere—between my legs, in my spine, in the way my breath came short and shaky.
Then his hand was sliding down my stomach, under my panties, fingers finding my pussy and stroking like he already knew exactly what I needed.“Fuck...”The word tore out of me before I could catch it.
“You’re soaked,” he murmured, rubbing my clit slowly, then circling harder until my hips rolled up to meet him.“Good girl.Let me hear you.”
I did.Every drag of his fingers, every time he pressed right where I needed, I gave him my voice.My orgasm came hard, sharp, pulling me tight before snapping me apart.I clutched at his shoulders, trying to catch my breath, and he kissed me like he was claiming the sound of it.
He stripped me completely, kissed the inside of my thighs until I was trembling again, then covered me with his body.I felt him—thick, hard, the blunt head of him nudging where I was still aching—and he sank in slow, watching my face like he wanted to burn it into memory.
“Shit,” I gasped, nails digging into his back.
“That’s it,” he groaned, bottoming out.“Take all of me.”
He set a rhythm that was deep and deliberate, hips rolling, the stretch of him making me bite my lip to keep from screaming.But he didn’t let me hide—he caught my chin, made me look at him, and it was too much.The way he stared at me, like I was the only thing worth looking at, had me unraveling all over again.
When I came, I dragged him with me, his curse breaking against my mouth as he thrust hard, spilling into me.We stayed like that—breathing into each other, skin slick and hot—long after the aftershocks faded.
And still, that tiny flicker of unease curled in my gut.The way he seemed to anticipate me, the subtle sweep of his gaze, the quiet security I’d noticed earlier—it was a different world from Cameron’s, but the shadow of it lingered, warm and dangerous, as he held me through the night.
I must’ve drifted because when I opened my eyes, the room was quiet and dim, the candlelight low and syrupy.Jiro was already watching me, propped on one elbow like he’d been memorizing the curve of my mouth while I slept.
“Hi,” I breathed.
He smiled like I’d just said something important.His fingers traced a lazy line from my collarbone to the dip of my waist, not asking for anything, just...reminding my body it belonged to heat.
“I’m not finished with you,” he said softly.
The kiss started like a secret and turned into a decision.He took his time this round—no rush, no proving—just slow, certain hunger.His palm slid beneath my thigh and hooked it over his hip; the change in angle sent a bright, quiet shock through me.He felt it, too—his breath caught, his mouth breaking on a quiet curse that sounded like my name.
He held my gaze the whole time.No performance.Just us.The rhythm he set wasn’t frantic anymore.It was decadent.Patient.He’d ease me right to the edge and pull me back with a kiss to my jaw, a murmur against my ear, the press of his hand in mine like he was anchoring me there.
“Breathe,” he whispered.“I want all of it.”
I did.My body softened, then tightened around each slow stroke, a steady climb that made everything louder—the slip of our skin, the small, helpless sounds I couldn’t swallow, the way his voice dropped when he told me how good I felt, how he wasn’t going anywhere.
When I finally broke, it wasn’t a snap—it was a melt.Like sugar over flame.He followed a heartbeat later, head tucked into my neck, a rough sound leaving him as he held me through it.
We stayed tangled, slick with sweat and candlelight, his thumb drawing circles on my wrist until my pulse settled under his touch.He shifted to his back, and I rolled with him, cheek on his chest, listening to his heartbeat slow.He kissed my hairline.Nothing wild.Just a quiet, steady promise in the press of his mouth.
“Stay,” he murmured.
I should’ve gone.I knew I should’ve.But the room was warm, and his hand felt right on the small of my back, and the roses still scented the air like a dare.I closed my eyes.
