Kaiba's Fierce Tenderness
He was just as scared as she was, at first.
The first thing he did was feel for her eyelids with his fingertips, to make sure they were closed. They were. And they were wet. She was crying already. Her breath was a chain of hiccupping sobs. She was curling into herself from the head down. He didn't get it. He hadn't even done anything to her yet.
He pushed around her. The room began as a narrow rectangle and then opened into a broader square. That's when she saw an opportunity to run. She leaped backward and twirled around in the air, clawing at the door. It fell open and she ran, her legs a blur. She was fast, but she was right when she thought he could take her easily. He tackled her, and they both almost fell.
He grabbed her around the waist and felt her belly inflate to let loose a scream. He slapped a hand over her mouth. She squirmed and bucked in his arms as he dragged her back to the room. He yanked the door shut behind him. She jumped up and down, trying to slam her head into his face. He felt her teeth scrape his palm as she tried to bite him. Trails of fire blazed down his arms where she scratched him. The pain invigorated him, like a cold shower or his muscles' screams of protest during a workout, and he pressed down harder on the skittish colt in his arms.
"Calm down," he hissed into her ear. "Relax. CALM DOWN."
He feared he might have to use the gun in his briefcase on her.
He hoisted her up and carried her toward the foam mats. She was very light. That was his first surprise. He hadn't expected her to be so light. She was daintier than stocky, resilient Mokuba.
He lowered her onto the mats and took his hand from her mouth. She stopped crying then, probably because she wasn't breathing very well. Her air came in short gasps. She curled away from him, her body shaped into a stiff comma. He pulled her over onto her back and forced her legs down. He sat on her feet. When he tried to pull her hands away from her face, her whole body followed. He had to keep one hand on her shoulder and the other pulled her wrists. He was beginning to wonder if this was worth it. He looked down at her, at her eyelashes, her mouth, the curves of her cheeks. He touched her face.
Her skin was so creamy it literally took his breath away. He actually stopped breathing for a moment. That was his second surprise.
He flattened his hand on her forehead and ran it through her hair. Silk hair, satin skin. He cupped her cheek in his hand, and then slid it down her neck.
"Your skin is so soft," he murmured.
She inhaled sharply and bit her bottom lip.
He suddenly felt shy. He felt his face grow hot. His hips rocked back and forth. His cock pulsed. He crawled over her until he was lying down next to her. She smelled like oranges and strawberries, of course. Her smell reminded him of a Creamsicle. He slid an arm around her and held her tightly.
He laid his palm across one of her knees. It was bony and smooth. He let his hand roam up her inner thigh. So soft. He began to grind his crotch into her hip. She whimpered. Her long legs were stiff.
He rolled over until he was half on top of her, forcing his knee between her legs. He rocked back and forth, jimmying her open. Her leg felt so thin and fragile between his. He thrust his hips against her thigh.
She became very quiet, then. She even held her breath until she was forced to gasp for air. Her gasps were timed with his thrusts. His hands went through her hair, to her face, to her neck, to her thighs, and back again. He yanked her blouse up out of the waist of her skirt and slithered his hand over her belly. Every new part of her seemed smoother and more tender than the last.
For some reason, he couldn't bring himself to do more than run his fingertips over the cotton of her bra. For some reason, he didn't think he was ready, that it should be saved for later. But he did grip the hem of her skirt and drag it up her thighs to look at her panties. They were sky blue. He could see the slight rise of her mons and the way the fabric clung to her soft parts—what were they called?—oh yes, her labia. He let the skirt fall back over the panties and her parts. He didn't want to come yet.
He looked down at her face. Her eyes were wide open and wet. Was she the same between her thighs? He could see himself suspended in her pupils. His face was stark. His teeth were bared. He looked like he could be foaming at the mouth. He was a lion, a blood -thirsty lion, living up to the meaning of his name.
She remembered his instructions and covered her face with her hands.
He leaned over her, panting, one hand on the bony span between her breasts, the other still restraining her around her ribs. His hips hadn't stopped grinding on her. He felt something other than silken skin under his hands. It was a hard, fast thudding. It was her heart. He had made her heart beat faster. This galvanized him like nothing else.
"Please," she whispered. "Please, don't hurt me."
He rolled further on top of her and began to pump at her body, alternating straight in-out motions with circles of his hips. He dragged himself down her side until he buried his face into her hair. He thrust so hard the mat was sliding off the top of the stack. He didn't care. It was only three feet down.
His body tensed. He was melting, dissolving. Every molecule of his body, down to the nucleus, was humming with a powerful electric energy, a powerful heat.
When he came, his cry felt like a roar on his tongue. He arched his back, shouting his pleasure past the moisture spotted concrete of the ceiling to the sky. It was more than orgasm—it was a triumph.
He remained in that position for a few moments more, his hands squeezing her shoulders. He felt himself come back to the concrete room and the foam mats and the cooling stickiness in his pants, and he thought he could still hear the echo of his climax as it was absorbed into the walls, the floor, and the ceiling.
He came back to Tea. She still had her hands over her face. She was lying still and stiff underneath him. She reminded him of the people in Pompeii, frozen under the hardened lava of Vesuvius in whatever positions they were in when the volcano erupted.
He lowered himself down and rolled to the side so he could lie down next to her, her leg still trapped between his. The semen in his pants was filling him with anxiety. He squirmed out of his uniform jacket, unzipped his pants, and cleaned himself off a bit with his jacket sleeve. When she heard his zipper she winced, but relaxed a little when she heard him zip himself back up.
He wrapped his hand around her wrists and pulled her hands from her face. She was so small and soft and warm, and he didn't feel right leaving yet. A part of him felt that staying here like this kept something at bay, something frightening. He sat up a little bit and gazed down at her. She stared up at the bare light bulb, her face haunted and resigned. Her pupils constricted in the light. Kaiba realized that he liked looking at her face, even when it was scared and sad. Her hair was spread out like the wings of a robin behind her head, her cheeks were softly rounded, her eyes were large pieces of sky fringed with feathery lashes. Her skin was a blend of strawberries and white peaches. Her hair smelled like rosewater and vanilla, like citrusy summer afternoons. He put his hand on her cheek and pulled her toward him, forcing her to roll over so her face was in his chest. He stared off into space, wondering what he should do next, as his hand unconsciously stroked up and down her back.