"No one ever likes the right person." ~ Bret Easton Ellis
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
...
Helplessness is being able to do nothing but make out shapes in the texture of the ceiling while getting head. Closing her eyes would mean giving Hisoka the remaining spoonful of power she has. If she couldn't be stingy with her time, she definitely isn't going to give him the satisfaction of unraveling what she is known for. Her affectlessness.
His tongue grazes the right spot and she responds. Not loudly. The noise she makes is short of a hiccup. Instinctually she curls her back to move her hips away from his lips. He chases her and repeats the assault with all of his mouth. Hisoka moans like he's starving. The vibration makes her walls, the muscles of her thighs contract.
His phone vibrates. The room so dark it lights up the popcorn ceiling. Machi lifts up her shaky right knee and shoves her toes into his shoulder. To her surprise, in one sweeping motion, he gets up from between her legs for his phone. It's relieving and distressing. The height of her orgasm plummets.
They don't make eye contact. With an impassiveness, he responds to the text message quickly then sits it face down beside her head. Machi watches him go back down but oddly enough, it isn't the same. The 'feel good' destination changes.
He penetrates her with his tongue again, less violently than the first time. Or it just feels this way now because she has softened up since the beginning.
The phone hums again. Hisoka freezes and his hold on her thighs loosen. This time, Machi grabs his phone. He has a passcode. As she thumbs random numbers into the screen, he grabs the phone from her harshly. She can't tell if it was intentional. He doesn't wear a readable expression.
That makes her angrier than his phone buzzing.
"Hisoka." Machi watches his eyes squint at the brightness of the message screen. His eyes dart back and forth as he reads it. It dings instead of vibrates two more times. Machi says his name again. He doesn't exactly respond to her, but to the third message with a throaty 'Hm'.
She doesn't give him a chance to start typing, clasping her hands around the phone. He doesn't let her jerk it away. The existence of her orgasm makes his mouth sparkle wet. His hair sticks up and down around his face like he'd done a lot of work...for nothing. They both hold on to the phone with their respective strength. It might break.
"Machi. Please let go of my phone. You're crushing it." Hisoka cracks an amused smirk. His voice is criminally smooth.
And she releases it, angrily searching under the covers for her underwear.
"Are you done already?" He asks with concern. She finds her pink panties under a pillow, looks at him viciously for a long wordless moment.
"It never started!" Machi kicks her legs out of the bed and wiggles into her panties. She knew it would be a bad idea that she'd end up regretting anyway.
Hisoka puts his phone down, sitting an elbow on his knee, resting his chin on his knuckles and watches her shuffle around the darkness for her clothes.
"It's really not that serious." He yawns.
Machi finds her bra but holds it in her hands. She looks back at him. He stares at her owlishly. She crawls back into the bed when she sees her shirt hiding under the sheets. Hisoka rounds on her. The fact that it is easy to grip her tells him that she slightly wanted it. The phone actually rings this time but Hisoka holds her down with his body and his eyes. He doesn't blink until it stops ringing. Machi's coldness melts away—her face turns red.
"I'm going to kill you one day." She deadpans.
"Just say when." He will be anticipating it.
Machi moves her mouth to swear at him but he gives her a swift, soul sucking kiss that makes her mouth hurt. No slippery finesse. A lock-lipped peck. He rolls back her left leg, positioning himself over her body as he plants several kisses up the curve of her jaw.
"Or surprise me." He breathes warmly into Machi's ear before sliding inside of her without a condom. If she weren't already in deep lust with him, she would've protested. Nature is stronger than the wills of her womanhood. She covers her mouth to stifle a watery sigh of satisfaction.
Hisoka grips her throat to test how much she trusts him. He squeezes and she mewls his name between her tiny fingers. It amazes him how vulnerable she has allowed herself to be. He could kill her right there, squeezing tighter as he thinks about it, but that would make him a necrophile and that's not a memory he wants to live with. He stops observing her face so that he can watch himself thrusting and pulling out of her.
Machi likes the pressure building up in her head. Struggling to breathe makes the climb of her orgasm much more intoxicating. There's a word for it—she's too dizzy to remember what the kink is called. Her ears pound.
Hisoka's slow pacing is dangerously accurate. He doesn't stray from the path. Sometimes, reaching a deep point and holding her in place. He lets go of her neck and shoves his thumb into her mouth, caressing her teeth and gums. Machi inhales all the air he that he had deprived her. Her chest expands as she arches her back.
All Hisoka can think about is this being a miserable way to die. To have your rare show of intimacy betray you. He decides he doesn't want to have sex anymore if he can't strangle her to death, however he could do without suffering a case blue balls. So he focuses on getting his own orgasm and pumps into her until it happens.
.
.
.
.
.
.
...