Chapter 118 Before Dinner

This chapter is 100% NSFW content, and since it involves Kuro, it violates policy and has therefore been posted elsewhere.

If you wish to read it, please use the following link https://archiveofourown.org/works/66075871/chapters/184674596

Another shitty rewrite I won’t even put my name on… except I kinda did that by sharing it… oh well.

Chapter 118 (Rewrite)

By the time we made it back, Koji was already stripping, impatience tearing his fly before the door even finished sliding shut. Kuro trotted in behind us and flopped by the foot of the bed—alert, head up, ears pricked—watchful and silent as a sentry.

“Fuck, Yuki,” Koji rasped, hooking an arm under me and hauling me up like I weighed nothing. “The way you played for me out there—rolling, tail wagging, that ass on display for the whole clan—gods.” He threw me onto the mattress and followed, straddling my waist, his heat pinning me. His cock settled between my breasts as if it belonged there. Maybe it did.

“The way your tits bounced when you crawled,” he went on, palms swallowing my chest, pushing my softness tight around him. “The way that tail swayed.” His grin flashed sharp. “My perfect bitch.”

“Alpha,” I breathed, already dizzy. “I want you. I want all of it.”

“Good girl.” He rolled his hips—slow, deliberate, a promise he could make me beg forever—and his shaft slid through the channel of my pressed-together breasts. Pre slicked my skin, warm and sticky, and the scent of him hit the back of my throat like lightning. I inhaled shamelessly.

“You love that?” he teased, voice rough silk. “Love my smell stuck on your face?”

“Yes, Alpha,” I said, words muffled as the head brushed my lips and tapped my nose. “It’s… intoxicating.”

He laughed low, pleased. “Then breathe deep.” He squeezed, thrusting harder now, using my tits like handles while his pre painted my cheeks, my mouth, the bow of my upper lip. Each wet glide dragged a needy sound out of me I couldn’t bite back.

From the floor, Kuro gave a single approving huff—ears forward, tail flicking once—and went still again, yellow eyes steady on us like he was keeping count of Koji’s heartbeat.

“Look at you,” Koji murmured, gaze gone wolfish. “Pretty face poked by my cock. Say you’re mine.”

“I’m yours,” I whispered. “Only yours.”

He rewarded me with a slow grind that had the head nudge my chin, then my nose, then my mouth again. “Tongue,” he ordered.

I pressed it out obediently, letting the tip smear me open, tasting him in small, stolen licks he allowed and withdrew. He liked the control more than the contact; I could feel it in how he kept me wanting. When I tried to take more, he pulled back, clucking his tongue.

“Patience,” he said, thumbed my lower lip, and then—because he is exactly the kind of bastard I adore—he started slapping me lightly with it; playful at first, then harder, rhythmic, claiming. My cheeks, my mouth, the bridge of my nose—each brisk smack left heat, shine, and a little tremble in its wake.

“Fuck, this view,” he groaned, and angled the next few strikes across my eyes—right where the pale Byakugan sat under skin. Pre stung faintly; I gasped. He did it again. And again.

“White eyes for white mess,” he taunted, breath hitching. “Pride of the Hyūga… and all I see is a perfect target. Do you like that? Your Byakugan marked by me?”

“Yes,” I panted, the word wrecked. “Mark them. Make them yours.”

“That’s my girl.”

He shifted forward and sat on my face, balls heavy and hot over my closed eyes, the soft slap of skin turning my world dark and feral. The weight, the scent—thick musk and salt—wrapped me up, made me small and his in a way that throbbed low in my belly. I moaned without meaning to, and he laughed, short and sharp.

“Now,” he said, lowering until I felt the press of him at my mouth in a different way—the blunt, obscene circle of his other mouth. “Show me what that tongue is for.”

I sealed my lips to him and licked—slow at first, reverent. His breath stuttered. I explored the tight ring with patient strokes, tasting sweat and soap and Koji. He ground down, rubbing his balls over my eyes while I rimmed him, and the humiliation hit so hard it looped back around to heaven. I held his thighs and worked deeper, and he rewarded me with a low, helpless sound he almost never made for anyone.

“Didn’t even have to say a word,” he muttered, voice gone wrecked. “Smart bitch.”

One hand slid into my hair, gathering a thick handful, and he used it—stroking himself through the silky curtain he’d wrapped around his shaft, slow pulls that made the strands rasp slickly. The other hand kept my breasts pressed tight around nothing now but the memory of his heat, which only made me ache more. He rode my mouth with shallow grinds, groaned when my tongue circled just right, and let me feel him shaking just a little.

On the floor, Kuro’s head tilted at the sound; he didn’t move otherwise—quiet, steadfast witness.

Koji lifted finally, letting me breathe again, and crawled down my body in a prowl that left fingerprints on my ribs. He slid between my breasts once more, braced his weight on his forearms, and looked me in the eyes.

“Open,” he said softly.

I did. He lined up and pressed just the tip into my mouth—only the tip—then pulled back to my chest, using my slicked-together cleavage to stroke himself while feeding me quick, ruining tastes each time he reached my lips. The denial made my whole body buzz. The tail inside me twitched every time he took that tiny mercy away.

His pace roughened. “Bowl,” he gritted.

I fumbled the engraved steel from the nightstand with shaking hands and held it beneath my chin like a chalice. He snarled, thrust once, twice—then yanked back and stroked hard with my spit and oil and pre shining across my skin.

“Eyes,” he said, not a request.

I stared up, lids half-lowered, Byakugan pale and waiting. He finished with a groan that vibrated through my sternum, streaks hot across my lashes and seal and cheeks before the rest fell heavy into the bowl with little obscene sounds. I kept my eyes open until he told me I could blink; tears and cum mixed at the corners and slid warm down my temples.

“Fuck,” he breathed, shivering. “Look at you. White eyes painted whiter.”

Kuro made a small sound—almost a chuff, almost approval—and laid his head on his paws, still watching.

Koji wasn’t done.

He dragged the head through the mess on my face as if signing his name, then smeared what was left across the swell of my breasts and down my sternum with his palm. “Stained,” he said, satisfied. “Just how I like you.”

I was shaking, not from cold.

“Please,” I whispered, not sure which thing I was asking for.

He cupped my jaw, thumbed away a drop that clung to the edge of my seal, and kissed me—deep, filthy, tender—like an apology he had no intention of making good on. Then he broke it with a smile I could feel in my bones.

“Dinner can wait ten minutes.” He tapped the bowl with two knuckles, metal ringing. “You, however, still get to eat.”

My breath caught. He laughed quietly and tipped the bowl, letting a ribbon of heat paint my tongue. I swallowed obediently, eyes on his, the collar tag at my throat tink-tinking against the steel like a bell.

“Good girl,” he said again, softer than before.

When he set the bowl aside at last, he wiped my eyes with the heel of his hand, smearing what he could, and stood. “Up,” he ordered, voice warm. “Wash your face. Keep the collar. Keep the tail,” he added, gaze flaring when the plug made me squirm. “We’re walking to Yakiniku.”

I slid off the bed on shaky legs and padded toward the washroom, the leash already trailing, the tag singing. Behind me, Kuro rose and stretched, shook once, and fell in at Koji’s heel as if he’d always been there and always would be.

“After dinner,” Koji called, lazy and lethal with promise, “we pick up right where we left off.”

“Yes, Alpha,” I said, breath fogging the mirror as I wiped my eyes clean and left everything else exactly as he’d made it.