Page 15 of Pragma
“What the fuck are you doing?” I hiss, grabbing his hips to stop him from moving. If he doesn’t quit this shit, I’ll come in my boxer briefs.
“I believe that blowing off steam after an adrenaline rush is very important. Like destroying stuff, hitting a bag, fucking.”
What did he just say?The curiosity I see in his eyes throws me off for a moment. He takes my left hand and pushes my ring finger inside his mouth biting hard on the base.
“Goddamit, Akira! What are you doing?”To me!My grip on his hip tightens. He sucks on my finger like a damn lollipop, making my dick weep precum.
I can barely keep my hands away from him, and now he does this? He crosses lines without hesitation, without thought or reason, drawing me into a new game with no clear rules.
I welcome the uncontainable pleasure and the suffocating feeling of uncertainty because it’s from him. How many times have I imagined this? Having Aki filled with uncontrollable desire for me. On his knees, against a wall, from behind, lying on a bed, and more, trembling, begging, screaming, even biting.
Dreams I felt embarrassed about. Guilty, even pathetic.
His brown eyes turn impish. “What do you think I’m doing?” he asks while licking the tip of my finger, waking up my hunger.
How am I supposed to resist this? And what is this? He’s always been very tactile with me, but never at this level. What’s gotten into him?
“Did you throw all of your shame out the window?” I hear the sound of my voice, too hoarse, too weak, just before my phone starts ringing. It’sKumicho’s ringtone. It’s like a bucket of cold water over my libido.
“Get off me before I make you.” I look straight into his eyes to show him I mean it. He doesn’t seem to care as he pulls my hand near his mouth and bites my wrist.
I growl. I hadn’t thought the nickname Mad Dog would suit him this perfectly. Biting me seems to be a pastime for him.
“You sure you want me to?” He rides my eager dick once more, like an expert cowboy would, with that plump ass of his.
What I want isn’t what’s important. Even though I’m filled with lust, I can’t let my greed rise. I look at the smug smirk on his face, and I know this is just an impetuous decision for him, an ill-considered action, a momentary itch. While for me, indulging my own desires would only lead to chaos and self-destruction.
I grab his waist and unceremoniously throw him on the sofa—actually enjoying his oomph. I immediately callKumichoback.
“Why the fuck didn’t you answer before,gaijin?” The big boss always goes straight to the point—Aki got that same brazen attitude from her.
“My apologies,Kumicho.We encountered some obstacles tonight.”
“Fuck,” she mutters, adding some cussing in Japanese too. Understanding the language is expected if you want to be part of the family, and foreigners are still not welcome. I’m the only exception.
I hear her taking a long puff of smoke and then releasing it. “Obstacles my nephew removed.”
“Hi.He did,Kumicho.”
Another fuck uttered. Another puff blown. “I’ll see you both tomorrow morning. I want to hear directly from him what happened.” She ends the call without waiting for my reply. She doesn’t need one. Whatever the big boss orders is done.
“What does she want?” Aki asks with a slightly annoyed tone, heading toward the kitchen. This time I don’t look at his ass, but I can clearly see those juicy cheeks jiggling with every step in my memory.
“To see us tomorrow.” I grab the clean Henley I left on the chair before and put it on. The waistcoat I was wearing when I got stabbed could be fixed, maybe the coat as well. I don both of them. The blood is not visible on the dark fabric.
“She wants to know what happened at the restaurant.”
“Doesn’t she have Masa to do it?” He sniffs with irritation.
Masa is an extra manKumichoadded to our crew when we moved to New York. His real job is to keep an eye on us. Aki is very irked by it, but as usual he will try to find a silver lining, like using Masa as a puppet or turning him into a punchball.
“He wasn’t there since you gave him the wrong place,” I remind him.
“He’s a fucking snitch! A glorified babysitter! I’m not a damn kid who needs supervision.”
I’d like to remind him how, at times, he actually needs some supervision, but I don’t want to risk another wrestling encounter. My dick is still throbbing inside my boxer briefs.
“I’m going,” I let him know, as he sets two tubs of ice cream on the counter.
