Work Text:
Indulgence is not something Utahime resorts to quite often.
Not when she is financially unable to, and even when she is, the guilt seeps through her like plague. Luxuries are something she often cannot afford, having been too used to saving up in her youth, collecting cash and copper to pay for meals her mother couldn't cover for.
Indulgence is not something Utahime is accustomed to, until now.
That man was here again tonight. That man who came here every Friday, sat at the furthest corner of the bar, didn't drink, didn't smoke, didn't speak unless spoken to—only sat back and watched, his eyes trailing after her like a shadow that refused to detach, as though he believed that if he looked long enough, she would eventually belong to him.
It had been weeks before when he made his appearance, and had been hovering around the bar ever since. By the looks of it, Utahime could point out that he was rich, very rich indeed. He had the kind of money that was dangerous, the kind that smelled old and was snatched away from countless hands forcibly, amassed over years of misdeeds. She had seen the curl of tattoos on his neck, the wisp of red, greens and blacks displayed on his wrist when he cuffed up his sleeves. She had seen the people who stood by him, the guns tucked safety under their coats, heavy and demanding caution.
The string of gifts started a week after he began to show up. Bouquets, a simple yet elegant starter, followed by bags, purses, clothes, shoes…slowly inching towards expensive, extravagant, and sometimes, scandalous territory.
Every Friday when she'd be there for her shift, he'd come there and simply watch. His eyes would follow her from the stage to the dressing room, watching her sing, dance, and flirt with the club patrons, but he wouldn't lift a finger or say a word. But when it came to his relentless splurge? Those could never be stopped. One night he saw her unbashfully toying with a man; the next day, the club manager gave her an awfully expensive box of perfume, saying it was from the "sexy guy in the suit", handing it to her without giving her an inclination as to what to do with it.
Soon enough, everyone in that dingy bar knew about the man in the suit. From her manager, to the bartender and even the club habitué. It wasn't that Utahime didn't like gifts, because who didn't? It was that she didn't know what to do with them, because she was so unused to the concept of them that receiving presents befuddled her more than brainstorming what to gift someone.
Utahime hadn't been in many relationships, and her previous boyfriends were all self-absorbed, narcissistic, inward-looking losers, and her only parent was a mentally ill mother who'd rather spend money on alcohol than food, so indulgence in objects of luxury was something that she was the least used to.
Now, Utahime wasn't a total idiot, so she kept the gifts but stayed mum, thinking that if she didn't reciprocate anything, the man would leave her alone. She had tried to send back the goods a couple of times before, but she didn't know this guy's name or any way to contact him, so all her attempts at being unselfish and kind ended in vain.
She didn't understand, if this guy was totally enamoured by her, as the club goers liked to say, then why didn't he come forward and just talk to her? Granted, she wouldn't reciprocate; of course, she knew what happened to silly little girls from nowhere who got close to guys like him, but having him reach out to her would make things so much easier.
"Why do you want to end things so badly?" Mei asked her, eyeing the stuff laid out on her bed with the gaze of a hungry vulture. "You act as if you're allergic to having fun. You won't get rashes if you use what he sends you, Uta."
She sighed, sitting down on the floor, her fingers pushing a needle into the skirt in her hand, which she had managed to get a big rip in at the bar last week. "It is wrong, Mei. I can't help but think I'm leading him on. What if he thinks I'm interested in him, if I'm not giving all this stuff back?"
"Stop being a wuss," her friend replied back. "That man has given you no number and no address to contact him. It's not your fault that he's such a goner."
In a way, Mei did make the slightest of sense, despite Utahime's moral stance on receiving gifts she'll never be able to payback. So she kept the gifts, although quite reluctantly, and went on with her life. Some of those, she sold off online, surprised at how much they cost, and how desperately people were willing to buy them.
But it all came to an end with the odd man's most recent gift, which left a fuming Utahime to stalk around in apparent anger after she'd opened the box to receive the latest addition to her collection of things she could pay her rent with.
The lapel on the skirt said that it was indeed from a high-end branded store, but for once, its price wasn't what caught Utahime's attention. It was the present in itself. The audacity of that man, to send for her a skirt after he'd seen hers getting torn at the bar table, as if she were some poor charity case. The said skirt was all sewn up nice and clean, ready for another few weeks of use before she would be forced to turn it into something else, and replacing it with a new one never crossed her mind, because some people like her just couldn't afford to think of doing it. But that didn't give that man freeway to humiliate her like this. She didn't need his help. He wasn't sponsoring her. He was an old freak trying to worm his way into her life, no matter how much she resisted.
Evidently, Utahime didn't wear it, of course. She didn't throw it away either (it was, after all, quite expensive), so she stowed it into the deepest corner of her wardrobe and shut it with a bang, hoping to come across the clothing in the near distant future when she would be forced to clean out her closet. She showed up to the club in her usual, did her work as was intended, but she couldn't shake off the feeling of being watched from the shadows, the man's gaze stalking her as she walked from room to room. She'd pause her singing to look up to the VIP lounge and would find him there as always, but his heated stare was different, sharper and more pronounced, like it was berating her for doing something awful. Utahime would hide the shiver and snatch her eyes from his line of sight, the unmistakable flush of red dotting her cheekbones.
In all honesty, the mysterious man was undeniably attractive. From what the veil of shadows would let her see, he had light coloured hair and a lean build, but she could still make out the hard muscles on his chest and arms under his clothes. He looked remarkably older than her, somewhere in his mid-thirties, and had an air of laid-back smugness to him, which Utahime didn't blend well with. Despite the heavily mature look, there was something so grating about his appearance, it was maybe that know-it-all persona or the fact that he wore sunglasses indoors, beyond midnight.
Doesn't matter, Utahime thought, because she was no longer going to care whether he sent her presents or not, and if he did, she was going to use it to her advantage and sell them off to pay her bills.
She wasn't doing anything wrong, wasn't she? Even if the man in the suit's gaze made her feel otherwise, she was going to stand her ground.
Before her song could end, she noticed some commotion in the upper longue. That man in the suit had gotten up, along with his buddies, and descended down to leave the club. In less than a minute, they had left, leaving Utahime more conflicted and confused than before.
Perhaps he had finally gotten the message. Maybe now, the constant surge of unwanted presents would stop.
The next day, Utahime realised how wrong she was.
Her club manager called for her after her shift, levelling her down with a stare.
"We've had an offer." He started, looking at her as if she'd just committed a crime. "Someone wants to book you for a private song."
"Me?" She blurted, bewildered. Taking the likes of their club, this place attracted a lot of people of a certain type. She had been asked for a private booking a lot of times before. Sometimes, she relented, while other times she refused, if her clients were the type she tried to vehemently avoid. Seeing the look on her manager's face, it was definitely the latter.
"Yes, honey. It's you who they want. It's the odd one." He leaned in, adding the last bit in a secretive whisper. "He demands that he sees you. Tonight. I offered other entertainers, telling him that you don't do private, but he insisted. He's willing to pay the biggest sum of bills I've ever seen someone pay to a club. Big commission, darling." Her manager's short, clipped, black polished nails clinked against the marble countertop. "I can, of course, refuse. If you want. I'll tell him you're too busy."
"He never stops, does he?" Utahime crossed her arms against her chest, scowling.
"Mhmm, kind of seems romantic. Rich older guys usually are."
"It's not romantic. He thinks I'm some charity case. That's why he's doing all this," She waved her hand around in defeat. "Honestly, why does he even care?"
"Awh, you know, men. Being fixated on you is like falling in love with a stripper, no offence, of course. I don't know what he's onto, but I'd tell you to milk it outta him. You've practically struck gold."
Utahime rolled her eyes, but the little inkling of doubt started to form in her head. Her manager wasn't exactly wrong. She could use this situation to her advantage. Any sane man would know from meeting her that she isn't into something serious at the moment. Maybe this guy wasn't as dim-witted as she thought he was.
Slowly, the thoughts in her head started falling in place.
"Alright," She relented, and her manager perked up from his phone. "Tell him I'll take it."
Unlike the VIP section of the club, the private lounge was a semi-circular concave nestled in the furthest corner of the second floor of the club, bathed in neon lights and curved, blood red cushioned seats stuck to the circumference of the walls, with ample space around the centre table ladled with drinks and food.
Utahime had been waiting in the same space for about half an hour, seated in the same place till her ass went numb. She thought of leaving, half sure that that man might've ditched her in some twisted sort of revenge to soothe the ego his type of people usually had, when the door to the longue flew open.
He was here alone. No longer flanked by the group of men he usually was, his aura seemed dimmed, no longer as intimidating as before. Here, in the low lights of the longue, she could see him clearly. His hair wasn't just lightly coloured—it was completely white, and to confirm her suspicions, his tailored suit filled out the rest of her imagination. He was tall, insanely tall that she had to crane her head from her seat to look at his face.
He staunered in, and since the first time they'd met, he actually cracked a smile.
Two minutes into finally meeting him, and Utahime realised he was nothing like the man she had imagined him to be.
"Did you actually submit the song request for me to sing or are you here to waste my time?" She was seated adjacent to him, scowling as he pushed a plate of food towards her. He had paid a bulk of money just to show up here without company, sitting in front of her to watch her gulp down a few bottles of beer.
"Not really. You sing well, but if I wanted to hear her song, I would've just watched you from afar like any other day." He said, pouring her another glass. His sunglasses gleamed in the low light, the slosh of beer a subtle under the heavy music that bled out from the club below.
He said it so casually it irritated her. Utahime narrowed her eyes at him.
"Then why are you here?"
He leaned back into the curved couch, stretching one long arm across the backrest like he owned the furniture. Like he owned the building. Like he owned her time.
"I wanted you alone. Was that so bad?"
"You have me alone every Friday. You just choose to sit in the corner like some creep."
A soft laugh left him, something warm and amused that settled low in her chest. Utahime knew she ought to watch her tongue around him; he was a dangerous man, if the tattoos on his neck didn't make it clear enough, the outline of the gun strapped to his waist did.
"I don't creep." He corrected mildly. "I wait."
Utahime scoffed, taking the glass of beer from his hand. She leaned back, tipping the rim of the glass to her lips. "By throwing money at me?"
"By making sure you're comfortable." The eyes behind his glasses tracked her every movement, watching her like a hawk. "I like it when people rely on me."
Utahime bristled at that, keeping her beer down. "Oh yeah? Comfortable or dependent?"
He stopped at that. For the first time since he'd walked in, he removed his sunglasses.
Utahime sucked in a sharp breath. His eyes weren't like anything she'd ever seen before. Startlingly bright, luminescent blue irises emitting a pulsating warmth that sent a shiver down her spine. They weren't cold, not predatory like she’d convinced herself they would be. Sharp, yes. Calculating, absolutely. But beneath it?
Interest. Undeniable, focused interest.
It should've felt intimate, but it did. Utahime gulped down the dryness in her throat, parting her lips to speak before he broke the silence with a chuckle.
"I knew you'd say that. You hold yourself in a way that makes you seem stubborn.
Utahime's jaw tightened. "And you hold yourself in a way that makes you seem insufferable."
"Hmm…Accurate."
The audacity of this man to agree. Utahime gets up, leaving her drink on the table between them. "Why are you doing all this? This—buying me dresses and clothes. Covering for my drinks. What do you get from all this?"
He simply leaned back, putting an arm around the back of the couch. He pushed his glasses back on, the figure of easy languidness. "Isn't it obvious? I wanna take you out."
"And you do that by showering me with unwanted gifts? I can't be brought, Mr.—"
Shit. She didn't even know his name.
The man in question gave a lazy smirk at her misslip, annoying her further. "Satoru Gojo. And I'm not trying to buy you—" He leaned forward, putting his elbows on his knees. "I'm spoiling you."
He said it as though it were the most natural thing in the world. As though spoiling a near-stranger into comfort was a harmless pastime. As though he had not quietly inserted himself into the fragile architecture of her life and begun reinforcing the beams.
Utahime folded her arms across her chest.
"Don't you have anything better to do?"
"Loads. But you take up my priorities on Friday nights."
"Look," she stated, picking up the purse finally, having had enough. "If you don't have anything you actually wanna say, I'll be going." Saying this, she heads to the door.
"Why didn't you wear the skirt I sent you?"
Utahime stopped, her hand on the doorknob. Looking back, she sees his glasses off again, those blue eyes glued to her back, that familiar stare. She holds back a shiver and replies.
"Because I'm not some charity case you go donating to when you feel bad."
He stands to his full height, walking to her with ease in his steps. "Well, if you feel that way, you could just pay me back, y'know."
Utahime reeled back, the metallic door hitting her spine as Gojo crowded her in, leaving only a smidge for escape. His thumb meets her hand, staying useless by her side, an almost soft caress over her knuckles.
Utahime's breath hitched as Gojo's thumb lingered on her knuckles, the gentle stroke sending unwelcome sparks up her arm. She tried to pull away, but the cold metal of the door pressed into her back, trapping her in his orbit. His blue eyes, hidden behind those ridiculous shades, bored into her with that infuriating mix of amusement and hunger.
"Pay you back?" she echoed, her voice sharper than she intended, though it wavered under his proximity. "With what? My dignity? Because that's all you've left me with."
He chuckled low, the sound vibrating through the scant space between them. Leaning in closer, his free hand braced against the door beside her head, caging her completely. "Dignity's overrated, Utahime. What you need is someone to take care of you. Spoil you."
His fingers intertwined with hers now, squeezing just enough to remind her who held the power.
"If you feel too prideful to accept it, you can pay me back for my generosity. It's a good deal, isn't it? I don't buy people, Utahime. I merely remove inconveniences."
"Would you remove yourself from my peripheral if I asked?"
He chuckled, his warm breath ghosting over her neck. "If you agree to do this with me, we'll have to work on your bratty attitude."
"As if," She scoffed, pushing at his chest. It managed to put some distance between them, but his hand stayed poised on the door beside her, caging her in from the left side, but still giving her a way out on the right.
"Come on, Utahime. I do have so much planned for us, for so long," Gojo's free hand snaked up her arm, reaching the juncture of her shoulder, toying with the strap of her dress.
"I don't want to date you. I'm not a kept woman."
"That's more than okay. Just let me take you out. I'll cover your expenses, while you…" He trailed off, his eyes meeting hers, before falling onto her lips. Utahime instinctively sucks her bottom lip into her mouth to wetten it up, watching how his eyes darkened at that.
"While I? While I do what?"
"Just be good for me." He finished off, pulling the thin strap of her dress down one shoulder, leaving it there before his warm hand splayed on the side of her neck, fingers reaching the seam of her jaw. "That's all you'll have to do."
"You're ready to spend bucks on a woman who wouldn't even date you?" For some reason, she didn't swat his hand away; instead let his other hand over her head reach down to hold her waist while he leaned forward, his nose brushing over her scar. "You sound like a doormat."
He chuckled against her cheek, a deep reberating laugh from the chest. "Oh, you'll see just how firmly I take charge."
Her breath hitched, eyes widening as his words sank in, heat flooding her core despite the hesitation flickering in her gaze. She shifted slightly, her body betraying her intrigue, thighs pressing together under the thin fabric of her dress. The scar on her cheek tingled where his breath ghosted over it, a reminder of old wounds that his touch somehow soothed.
"Is that a promise?" she murmured, voice laced with challenge, though her hand came up to rest lightly on his chest, fingers curling into his shirt as if to steady herself. He pulled back just enough to meet her eyes, his grip on her waist tightening, thumb tracing slow circles over her hipbone.
"More than a promise, sweetheart. It's a guarantee." Leaning in again, his lips brushed the edge of her scar, then trailed down to her jaw, nipping lightly at the skin.
"Alright then," Utahime relented, biting her lip, an action that made him sigh against her neck. "One chance. If I don't like it, we stop."
"Yes." His lips formed words on the skin behind her ear, making the nipples under her dress harden, liquid heat pooling in between her legs. "Anytime you want, baby. Just say the word."
Invitation given, Utahime felt a bold surge of arousal take over her. She reaches for his collar, wraps her hand around it and pulls him to her lips, crashing her mouth onto his. He groaned in response, quickly gaining the upperhand as he pushed her back, his tongue slipping between her parted lips as a gasp escaped her. The kiss was nothing shy of desperation, teeth clashing as a wanton whimper leaves her throat as they part for air, but she wasn't given much of a reprieve later as his tongue slid down the slope of her neck, teeth nipping into the flesh with fervour.
His free hand slid up her thigh, bunching the hem of her dress higher, exposing the soft skin beneath. Utahime gasped, feeling the cold rings on his fingers bite into the inside of her thigh as he squeezes the flesh, lips working against her neck, dipping sacaloiusly to her collarbone. His fingers danced higher, teasing the edge of her panties, feeling the warmth already radiating from her drenched pussy.
"I've waited for weeks," he whispered, voice a low rasp, unlike the heated movements of his hands. "I didn't know how to cross the line. Fuck." He hooked his fingers into the seam of her underwear and tugged her panties aside, his touch bold as he stroked her slick folds. She was soaking wet down there, evident by the way his index easily parted her lips, pushing into her cunt and making room for himself. He circled her clit with his thumb, and she pressed her lips to stop a whimper, her breath coming in short, needy pants.
"No," He pulled back suddenly. His finger slipped out, resting on the outside of her entrance, coating it with her wetness. Gojo's hand on her waist became scalding, and he bit into her bottom lip, pulling it downward with his teeth. "You keep your mouth shut when I tell you to keep it shut. I want to hear it now."
His finger made an appearance again, and this time, she moaned at the intrusion, making a smug grin form against her mouth.
"Good girl," he praised, slipping another finger inside her, curling them to hit that spot that made her whimper. His mouth claimed hers in a deep kiss, tongue mirroring the thrust of his fingers, dominating her completely as she clung to him, lost in the building heat.
Utahime's lips worked against his, stifling her cries as he added a third finger to stretch her further, his thumb pressing firm circles over her swollen clit. The wet sounds of his hand working her filled the air, mingling with her soft whimpers. He pumped faster, angling to drag against that sensitive ridge inside her, feeling her body tense and tremble.
"You've got a greedy cunt here. Sucking me in when I'm halfway not even there yet." His voice washed over her ear as he nipped at her lobe. "You're gonna be one demanding sugar baby, aren't you?"
"You'd have to do—a lot more than this."
His fingers reached an unrelenting crescendo as he eased her further towards an orgasm. Then, without a warning, his fingers slipped out, leaving a stifling emptiness in their wake.
"On the couch. Now,"
"What?" Utahime asked him in a daze, but all he did was level her with that frissioning stare and wipe his fingers on a napkin.
"When I'm the one paying for shit, you can at least do the favour of listening to me when I tell you to do something, hm?"
The scent of him, strong and heady with a lick of cold aftershave, invaded her senses, making her feel lightheaded. Utahime’s brows knit together, indignation finally cutting through the haze.
“Don’t talk to me like that,” she shot back, breath uneven. “You think paying for something gives you authority over me?”
A beat passed in silence.
Gojo’s expression shifted — no longer amused. But focused instead.
“Authority?” he echoed softly. “Utahime… if I wanted authority, I’d have it.”
He loomed over her, the hand splayed over her waist, reached down to fully tug her skirt over her legs, exposing her soiled panties and midriff. She gasps, but he simply tuts at her expression, eyes travelling down her navel, his smirk widening at the dark spot left on her underwear. "But I'm being nice, am I not? Am I not, Utahime?"
"So why don't you go, sit down like a nice little doll for me?" He dragged his thumb slowly over her pulse, eyes dark and knowing as he leaned in just enough to make her breath catch.
Her breath stuttered, pride flickering for a second before melting under the weight of his stare, and instead of arguing she simply nodded, thighs pressing together as if to steady herself.
“Fine,” she murmured, voice small but certain, lifting her chin in quiet surrender as she let him have his way.
Utahime walked over to the edge of the couch and flopped down where she was previously seated, placing her heeled shoe on the table with deliberate defiance, chin tipped up and eyes blazing with wounded pride. He only chuckled as he came forward, sitting down next to her.
"I didn't know I was signing up for such a bitchy brat," He placed a hand on her knee, suddenly pulled her leg to the side, manoeuvring her body so that her feet were placed on either side of him on the couch instead. Utahime bites back a yelp, her back falling on the cushions, while she cranes her neck to look at him. His hand travelled further up her legs, pulling the waistband of her underwear, looking down at her with eyes dark and intent.
"But it's okay. I'll fuck that attitude right out of you." He pulled her panties, tearing them with a sharp rip of fabric. "And the first thing I'm gonna buy you is some good underwear."
Utahime could only let out an audible, offended pant before he leaned down and kissed the inside of her thigh, sinking his thumb into the flesh, inhaling deeply as he kissed a heated line to her cunt.
His hands gripped her thighs, spreading her wide, exposing her glistening pussy. The scent of her arousal filled the air, making his mouth water. Gojo leaned in, his breath hot against her folds, teasing her clit with a gentle puff.
His tongue flicked out, tracing the length of her slit from bottom to top. She gasped, hips bucking slightly. He pressed deeper, lapping at her wetness, savouring the salty-sweet taste. His lips sealed around her clit, sucking lightly while his tongue swirled in firm circles.
Utahime couldn't swallow her moan this time, fingers tangling in his white hair washed blue from the lights, pulling him closer. He obliged, delving his tongue inside her, thrusting it in and out like a mini cock. Her walls clenched around it, juices coating his chin. He alternated between sucking her swollen nub and licking her entrance, building her pleasure steadily.
Her breath came in ragged pants, body trembling. He hummed against her, the vibration sending shocks through her core.
When his tongue left her pussy all of a sudden, letting the cold air hit her centre, Utahime let out an insistent, annoyed whine. Gojo sucks in her swollen labia, refusing to meet where she really needed him. "Do you need me? Need me this bad?"
"Gojo," She moaned and her head fell back, chest rising with each heavy intake of breath.
"Mhm-hm," He replied back cheekily, brushing the side of his face against her thigh, the strands of his hair tickling her skin. "Not so fast, baby."
"Gojo, please," Utahime lifts her head from the cushions, only to drop it back down when his tongue makes contact with her clit. Just that touch sent an electrifying shock through her spine, rendering her a pathetic whimpering mess.
"Begging now, I see." He spoke against her thigh. Gojo's lips curved into a smug grin as he nuzzled closer, his breath hot against her inner thigh while his fingers traced lazy circles just inches from her aching pussy. Utahime's body trembled, her stubborn resolve fraying with every denied touch, her hips lifting instinctively in search of more. He pressed a firm hand on her abdomen, pinning her down, and dragged his tongue in a slow, deliberate line up her thigh, stopping short of where she needed him most.
"Please what, Utahime?" he taunted, his voice low and teasing, eyes locking onto hers with that infuriating playful glint. "Say it right—call me daddy, and maybe I'll let you come all over my tongue."
She clenched her fists in the cushions, biting back a retort as his fingers finally dipped into her slick folds, sliding in knuckle-deep before curling against her inner walls, pumping once, twice, building that coiling tension until her thighs quivered around his head. Just as her breath hitched and her pussy started to pulse, he pulled away again, leaving her on the brink, his chuckle vibrating against her skin while his hard cock throbbed against her calf.
"No?" He said when she stayed silent, panting and irked. Sweat beaded on her forehead, her body arching in frustration, the ache between her legs unbearable now, until finally, in a shattered voice, she whispered,
"Daddy, please—let me come." Gojo's eyes darkened with satisfaction, and without another word, he buried his face between her legs, tongue lashing her clit while his fingers thrust deep. Faster now, his tongue assaulted her clit relentlessly until she shattered, crying out as her orgasm flooded his mouth.
He didn't stop right away, easing her through it with slower strokes until she sagged against him, spent but still humming with aftershocks.
"Good girl," he said, and Utahime almost whined at that praise. Withdrawing his fingers with a slick pop and bringing them to his lips, tasting her essence while holding her gaze. "But we're not done yet. You still have to pay me back, remember?"
With gentle but firm hands, he guided her back onto the soft expanse. She watched him through half-lidded eyes, her dress hiked up around her waist, panties still askew. He shed his clothes quickly, his hard cock springing free, thick and veined, already leaking at the tip. Positioning himself between her thighs, he rubbed the head along her dripping folds, teasing her entrance.
"Gojo," she breathed again, the word a soft anchor as her hands reached for him, nails digging into his arms. It felt right, that subtle claim, heightening the intimacy without overwhelming it.
"No. What did I tell you to call me?" He gripped her chin, harshly, index pulling at her bottom lip, tilting her face to the side. "Say it, baby."
"Daddy," She breathed it like a confession, heart hammering wildly beneath her clothes. "Please fuck me, Daddy."
Gojo groaned, his mouth on hers again, as he pushed in slowly at first, inch by inch, grunting at the way her pussy gripped him like a vice, still fluttering from her climax. "Fuck, this is one tight pussy, baby," he rasped, bottoming out with a final thrust that made her gasp. He paused there, letting her adjust, his hands pinning her wrists above her head in one loose hold, asserting that quiet dominance.
Then he started moving, pulling back and slamming in deep, setting a steady rhythm that had her breasts bouncing under the thin fabric of her dress. She wrapped her legs around his waist, meeting each thrust, the scar on her cheek flushing with renewed heat as his body covered hers. He slipped his tongue against hers, swallowing her moans, his free hand sliding between them to rub her clit in time with his hips. "You're such a good girl for me. Perfect girl. God, baby,”
"I’ll buy you whatever you want—diamond necklaces, designer bags, that penthouse downtown, first-class flights to Paris, your own little black card—just say the word and it’s yours.”
The angle hit her perfectly, his cock dragging against her walls, building that coil tighter and faster than before. "Come on, sweetheart", Gojo urged, voice rough with his own building release. "Give me another one. Milk my cock with that pretty pussy."
She shattered again, harder this time, her cry muffled against his neck as her body convulsed, inner muscles squeezing him rhythmically. The sight and feel of her coming undone pushed him over too—he thrust deep one last time, spilling hot cum inside her with a guttural groan, filling her completely.
They stayed locked together, breaths mingling in the aftermath, his weight a comforting press as she trembled beneath him.
As he got up, reached for the tissues on the side table and cleaned her up, Utahime realised this man absolutely knows how to please and enjoys it. Gojo dressed swiftly by himself, after he had made sure that Utahime's skirt was back the way it was, and no one could know she wasn't wearing any underwear on the way back home.
"So, what do you think?" He asked as he clicked his belt back on.
"I dunno," Utahime replied back after a beat, arching her back to stretch as she lay there. "I need time to think it through."
"That wasn't enough time for you to make up your mind?"
Utahime prodded his thigh with her foot, twisting round to sit straight. He caught her ankle and pulled her back, crashing his lips on hers for a quick kiss. "Well, if you do make up your mind, let me know. I'll be here. And I'll send a gift."
"Again? I just paid you back for all that stuff you sent."
"This one," He states, kissing around her scar. "Is complimentary".
His next gift turned out to be a pair of lingerie. Utahime almost regretted saying yes.