Author: Amaya
Editor: Aiko
Characters/Pairings: [Shisui x Sakura]; mentions of [Genma x Sakura]
Categories: Romance, Drama
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Strong Language, Mature/Sexual Situations
Full Summary: As the most elite of the elite shinobi to ever grace the village, Anbu operatives were easily some of the most frightening and striking characters one could come across. The way they protected the village while cloaked in shadows, appearing like some God-appointed deities when they were needed most and forgoing honor in exchange for anonymity—was as seductive as one could get. But to Sakura, the real allure lied in the deceptive red smiles painted on their masks, and in figuring out who was behind them. ["Don't start things you can't finish, Haruno."]
Author's Note
Alright! I'm sorry for the delay in posting this chapter! I had gotten so close to finishing it, and when I saved it, FF said it was saved with over 4,500 words, but then the page crashed and defaulted back to 1,300 words! So I had to go back and rewrite basically everything! I'm sorry!
Anyway, here's the next chapter, finally. And Lord let me tell ya: it's a doozy. So get ready and BUCKLE UP, 'cause here we go!
Kamen
Chapter || Nine
The harsh crack of kunai beating against kunai reverberated across the training grounds, echoing just a second later. Shisui jerked his arm back, avoiding the edge of the blade as Itachi skillfully twirled it around from his original grip. He mimicked the move, adjusting the knife so the point now faced the ground as he swiped it up across his cousin's torso. Itachi grunted, stepping back lightly while pitching the weapon at the elder Uchiha.
Shisui expertly avoided it, listening to the knife impale into the trunk of a tree several yards away, then skillfully stepped towards the side to avoid the lightening swift petals of fire that zipped past him. The heat of the small flames lapped at his cheek, making his brows furrow slightly out of ire. His stomach lifted as he teleported, ending up directly behind Itachi with a kick aimed at the younger man's ankles, but Itachi rolled forward to avoid the attack. Shisui watched as Itachi's feet just barely managed to touch the ground before he ducked, just managing to avoid the kick the real Itachi pitched from behind him.
"You seem distracted," Itachi lightly commented, his clone exploding behind Shisui.
Shisui disappeared without a response, reappearing several yards away from Itachi, fingers already flying through a series of seals. He puffed out his chest, shoulders so far back it was uncomfortable, and let loose a dragon that could easily stretch across the training grounds in length. The dragon roared, soaring towards Itachi with a speed unlike any other, only to crash against a mirroring beast. A flurry of twisted metal flew from the smoke and flames, traveling so rapidly that one actually nicked Itachi's shoulder. Shisui appeared from the flames next, his tanto poised to strike only to be countered by Itachi's. They stood at the edge of the clearing, blades sliding and trembling at their standstill and breaths somewhat heavy.
Lifting his right leg, Shisui promptly push-kicked at Itachi, sending his younger cousin back a few steps. Itachi recovered quickly, rushing forward and swiping his tanto at Shisui's abdomen, then redirecting on the back swing to lash out at Shisui's throat. Shisui leant out of reach of both strikes, simultaneously thrusting his blade straight towards Itachi's sternum; Itachi bowed into the movement, latching onto the shoulder of his partner's shirt and driving his knee up into Shisui's stomach. On the mend, Shisui grounded his stance then swept a high kick that Itachi's bracer intercepted, then the two mirrored one another by thrusting and batting one another's weapons away. For a while, they continued in close quarters like this, neither able to land a hit with either their fists nor their blades, and ducking under stray kicks; breaking when Itachi rounded on his heels, his blade swiping behind him. Shisui leapt over Itachi to avoid being stabbed in the side, throwing in a low kick to the knee.
As soon as his boot connected, Itachi's knee folded for the briefest of moments, giving Shisui the opportunity to deck his knuckles into his jaw. A grunt drenched in blood left Itachi's lips at the assault but it hardly hindered him otherwise. His right arm shot up to block the following kick while his left drove the kunai into Shisui's calf. Shisui cursed loudly as the knife was pulled from his muscle, stumbling back a step. He ignored the sharp pain that began to spread towards his thigh even as Itachi charged him with the blade of his knife drawn to his neck, back peddling a few steps with the movement to prevent the blade from digging into his skin.
"What's bothering you so much that you're allowing me to beat you?" Itachi asked, just a touch of mirth lacing his tone.
Their dark eyes met; Shisui's lips upturned into a smirk. "You? Beat me?" He chuckled. "Cousin, I could be blind and unconscious, and I'd still beat you."
Shisui flicked his wrist, tossing his short sword towards the left and catching it in his other hand, allowing him to swing the weapon at Itachi's torso and therefore forcing him to put distance between them. Itachi jerked his head to the right to avoid a wide slash, countering with an upward one that collided with Shisui's blade and birthed blue sparks. Shisui released his grip on his sword, allowing it to drop just to catch it with his right hand and launching another blow to the midsection.
Itachi blocked Shisui's swing from the right, then the strike from above, his right hand pushing the blunt of the sword away while he twirled on his feet and slashed in one fluid movement. Shisui sidestepped, swinging his sword low but twisting it so the blunt end bounced off of Itachi's shin painfully. The younger of the two rushed forward, sliding on his knees when Shisui swung his tanto at him from the middle to duck the sword; he raised his sword into a vertical position, just barely managing to block Shisui's attack. From his position on the ground, Itachi managed to roll over the low swipe of his cousin's sword, maneuvering on his knees to return a few slashes that were easily dodged before getting back on his feet. Shisui leapt into the air, his tanto now making a jabbing motion towards the space between Itachi's neck shoulder, but the ravenette ducked his head forward to avoid it, spinning on his heel to aim a slice at Shisui's midsection, then brought his tanto up over his head to block the attack that came down on him from above.
With a smirk, Shisui deftly and artfully twirled his sword around his body, more in a show of skill rather than attempt to attack while Itachi caught his breath. Once he was sure his relative had regained his composure, he prepared to attack again, tanto turned the opposite direction for an awkward strike, but halted immediately when Itachi made no move to react. Knitting his brows, Shisui lowered his weapon and straightened his posture, head canted to the side in confusion.
"Itachi?"
The Uchiha heir had an expression of confusion painted on his face. Or at least, his version of confusion. Not much changed in his expression, but Shisui could see the faint crease between Itachi's perfect brows and the hint of a frown upon his lips. "I know you better than anyone," Itachi seemed to chide. "I won't push you, but I do know that something is off. Your attacks aren't as polished as usual."
The tone in which Itachi employed was a mature, scolding one that he really only ever used with his otouto. Frankly, Shisui found it rather amusing that Itachi thought the tone would work on him, but also irritating because it actually sort of did. Itachi rarely ever questioned him on things, whether it be directions or opinions, or even something as small as food preferences. He never liked to pry or get himself involved in things that didn't concern them, even if those things involved Shisui. So for his cousin to scold him like a child was quite an unordinary occurrence. Had he been so transparent? Running a hand through his sweaty hair, Shisui's armed hand raised slightly as if asking "so what?".
"Drop it, Itachi."
A muscle in Itachi's jaw jumped with ire. "I know you," He repeated with more finality. Despite keeping up his straight face, part of Shisui wavered under the hard glare of his future patriarch. Then his expression, as faint as it was, morphed into one completely different. Something that was perhaps amused if Shisui cared to focus. "Either Sasuke somehow managed to best you in a spar, or you've found someone equally as irritating as yourself to put up with. I don't hear my brother running around bragging about his win, so who's the poor, unsuspecting woman this month?"
"I would say I'm hurt by that, but not even your words could touch me, Cousin."
"Aa but my blade did."
Brow twitching at his cousin's snark, Shisui flung his tanto at his cousin with deadly accuracy, hardly giving Itachi time to react as he followed up with a jab to the stomach. They resumed their spar, reverting to using bare knuckles and fire techniques, but Shisui couldn't help but let his thoughts wander. It was dangerous, even if he was just in the middle of a friendly spar, but he knew Itachi was aware of his distraction and would be mindful of it.
Not that Shisui would ever admit it aloud, but if he were to be completely honest, Itachi was right: he was distracted, and even though it wasn't affecting his mission performances or his duty at the Police Force, it was unacceptable. Because for the past two and a half weeks, all Shisui could think about was at his last encounter with Konoha's coveted medic. More specifically, about that kittenish smirk she had daringly pressed upon her lips as she got him so turned on, that even now he couldn't fuck it out of his system; about how comfortably he had fit between her legs; how hot she felt when he ground his arousal against her. And then she had the audacity to throw his rank back in his face afterwards.
While on shift!
He was all for a little office sex, don't get him wrong. And he's indulged his fair share of women with such a fantasy but never when he was acting Captain, and never with a woman as prominent as the Hokage's disciple because there were lines even he knew better than to cross. Speaking of—She was Haruno fucking Sakura: Apprentice to the God Damned Godaime Hokage—not some random nurse or Jonnin at HQ! He would've never in his life thought that she of all people would've not only been so open to something so scandalous, but would initiate it.
And she thought she was so cute, giving him lip and peering up at him with those mossy eyes so full of mock innocence, acting as if she hadn't deliberately broken protocol—acting like an insubordinate, little brat. Honestly, if he wasn't so furious with her, it would've been the sexiest fucking thing in the God damned world.
It had taken nearly every ounce of restraint he had to resist bending her over the desk and taking her then and there, with his fingers tangled in her hair and his teeth reminding her just who he was—rank and shift be damned! But he didn't. And he won't.
Not yet.
Kamen
Today's interrogation lasted for four hours, much to Sakura's chagrin and her relief. She had been forced to watch with hardened eyes as this man, the enemy, withstood a painful trial for information. Ibiki was never a sweetheart, his reputation far from white, but having been present for a good portion of the man's work, Sakura could tell that this session was rather tame compared to the rest. She assumed he was finally cracking, seeing as how Ibiki's assistant was scribbling away at notes almost the entire last two hours.
It all came to an abrupt end, however, when the man abruptly snapped his own neck.
One moment, Inmate A0768 was glaring up at Ibiki, having let slip one last vague line of dialogue (she rarely paid attention to anything said during such sessions as it wasn't her job), and the next, he had jerked his head back and up, eyes rolling back as his head fell limply against his chest. While it was normally physically impossible for one to break their neck on command like that, he had managed to scrape up the fumes of chakra he had left to strengthen the force necessary for it. By the time Sakura realized what he was doing, all she could do was gasp and look away in both disgust and heartbreak. She supposed he would've rather ended his life on his own terms than face whatever it was the Hokage had planned for him.
After Sakura confirmed the man was in fact deceased, Ibiki let out an embittered snarl, a fist slamming into the steel tabletop and disturbing the bloodied utensils splayed across it's surface. "Damn it," He shouted. It took him less than a moment to regain his composure. "Clean up then get some rest, Haruno."
That would be the extent to Ibiki's sympathy towards her, she knew.
Even though she was a shinobi, and therefore shouldn't have been so affected by death (of an enemy, no less), Sakura was first and foremost a medic, so her sense of empathy was more sensitive than the average ninja. While she was devoted to her village and had killed for it, she never sought it out or wished it upon others. Most didn't understand; Ibiki was one of the few who did, even if barely. So he left her alone, the door left open, for just a moment so she could clap her hands together in silent, brief prayer, before two masked guards entered to collect the body.
She spent the next hour and a half scrubbing the room with a vindictive sanitizer that even the hospital would refuse, reflecting on her plans for the rest of the day. She promised to have lunch with Ino today, then she and Obito were going meet for some training with his kusari-fundo. Then she had to go to the market and pick up some things for her kitchen; it was her turn to host Team Seven's Friday night dinner. Naruto and Obito said they would be coming by for sure, as did Sai. Kakashi never promised to come, but he did sometimes if he felt up to it, so they always made sure to have a little extra over, just in case. Yamato had left for a mission a few hours ago. She wondered if Rin would be tagging along? She hoped she remembered to ask Obito later.
The sound of the door opening pulled Sakura from her musings, prompting her to turn to face her guest with the intention of scolding them for entering without knocking, just to cut herself off as Okami entered shut the door behind him.
His cloak was white today, hood pulled down and tanto nowhere to be seen. She didn't know much about Anbu's protocol but from what she had seen from her teammates and Okami, she deduced that the combination of weapons and cloak colors and fastenings worked as some sort of code amongst them.
Seeing the operative sent Sakura's pulse racing, but she schooled herself to keep from visibly reacting. She hadn't seen him in a while, not since their heated exchange in her office, and part of her was okay with that. Things had ended abruptly last time they met, with him disappearing almost immediately after severing his connection to her chakra. At first, Sakura assumed he was a little flustered, and looking back, she felt guilty for abusing her position and his injury like that. Had it been someone like Kiba or Genma, or even Kotetsu, there wouldn't be even a shred of guilt. But then again, all three of them would have played along all the way to the end. Well, Genma would have. Kotetsu likely would've played it off and continued where they left off later at his place, while Kiba would've thrown her onto the desk before she got far. But that was besides the point.
It was completely inappropriate and out of character for her considering her and Okami's relatively fresh relationship. She just hoped that he either moved on and saved her the humiliation, or he would follow up with a technique of his own.
"Okami-taichou," She greeted, bowing her head, hoping the movement would hide her anxiety. Then she leant back so her hips rested against the table in an attempt at coming off as indifferent. "What can I do for you?"
"Yamanaka-san will be late for your scheduled lunch date today and asked that I relay this to you," He easily replied, his cloak spreading as he folded his arms across his chest plate. Despite the casual action, his tone retained his no-nonsense polish, with hardly more than a dash of friendliness. When he tilted his head, the room's bright, artificial light elongated the shadows tattooed against his mask, warping that anamorphosis grin into something akin to a feral snarl. Had it been any other officer speaking to her with that tone, regardless of the innocence of the missive, Sakura didn't doubt that she would be shivering where she sat, but this was Okami, so she knew better.
Sakura quirked a brow at this and mirrored him by crossing her arms, but the amusement on her face was clear. "And she sent you to be her messenger?"
He made an amused sound, something akin to a chortle; the sound instantly soothed away her concern. He wasn't mad, at least. "Actually, I wanted to speak to you."
Both eyebrows shot up this time. "Oh? If I didn't know any better, I'd assume you have a thing for me, Taichou," Sakura teased despite herself, moving to sit atop the table, chin inclined and the tip of her tongue dancing along the seam of her parted lips, daring him to play along.
Okami remained silent for a moment, appearing to be considering her words but Sakura just knew that in actuality, he was grinning beneath his mask. The shift in his personality was a stark contrast to what it had been a few moments prior, and the medic wasn't sure if it should have concerned her more than it did, or if she preferred it. "I would never be so unprofessional," He replied, parroting their previous encounter.
"Of course." She bit at the edge of her smile—a vain attempt at hiding her creeping grin—then added, "A woman can dream, I suppose."
She felt his sides against the insides of her knees now. She ignored the instinct to draw him closer, allowing him to settle between her legs if he wanted to; and he did, much to her surprise. Okami leant forward, cornering her with his hands at her sides and his hips firm against hers. This close, Sakura knew he could hear the break in her breathing, could see the excitement in her eyes glinting like candles in the dark. But more importantly, with him so close, she noticed something else about him.
He was already hard.
She knew exactly what was probing her inner thigh. She had felt it—him—the last time they were in this situation; just briefly, but its girth had branded itself well into her memory nonetheless.
"Are you dreaming of me now, Jonin Haruno?"
His question was dripping with latent insinuation, so much so that she was honestly staggered for words. Sakura knew she shouldn't have taken the bait, but how could she not when he was quite literally presenting himself so blatantly? She worked her jaw, contemplating on how to respond, but all the witty, kittenish responses stashed in her head shattered in her throat when she suddenly found herself pinned against the table. He had twirled her around and bowed her over the table with her right arm drawn against her back and her left secured over her head: a very vulnerable position for a kunoichi.
A dangerous combination of excitement and fear swirled around her belly as she considered their compromising position, amplified by at least ten degrees when she caught a glimpse of their reflection in the one-way mirror. Seeing herself splayed out across the table, with Okami-san standing over her, his head canted to the side and wolfish grin wide, evoked perverted waves of excitement that ripped through her and colored her already flushed skin.
Someone could walk in at any moment, or see them through the glass if they happened to walk by. Not only would she be absolutely mortified if anyone, let alone Ibiki found her in such an inappropriate manner, but Sakura knew that there would be consequences for it. Suspension, write-ups, a long-winded lecture about the sanctity of T&I's workplace. She should've been pissed. She should've thrown him off of her and yell at him for abusing his power. It would have been so easy to break his hold, taking up less energy than it would to smile, and Sakura knew that he knew she could, too.
But she didn't.
Because she liked it.
She liked the attention—his attention—the thrill, the idea of what their position entailed. She had always had an attraction for men in uniform, as Ino often loved to point out. Being a woman of high esteem, nothing was more attractive to her than a man with power. So to her, Anbu was decadence. They were wild and exciting, powerful in that they were the very backbone of their village, and the anonymity of their masks was an added layer of sensuality that was almost overkill. Adding their location to the equation only made it all the more scandalous.
The rosette shifted against his hold, though not in a way that was resisting, just trying to alleviate the pressure in her shoulder. Her stomach fluttered, tightening, catching her racing heart. She watched, owlishly, as the Anbu Captain leant over her, his chest plate pressing fully against her back almost like a reminder. "Answer me, Haruno," He demanded, re-employing his authoritative voice.
Sakura's lashes fluttered, lowering fully as she forced herself to catch the air that tried to rush out of her just then. His low growl chased an aroused shiver up her spine and lapped at the back of her neck, demanding a response from her, and he received one in the form of a soft sigh.
A lusty chuckle rumbled in his chest then, and she felt it travel up her tailbone. "I don't even need to hear your response to know the answer! Dreaming about your superiors—on the clock, no less..." When she felt his hips slot against her rear, Sakura pressed her brow against the table and curled her fingers into a fist so tight, the blood drained from her knuckles. Okami pulled her outstretched arm back to join her other behind her back, then used his now free hand to comb Sakura's hair away from her ear. "What am I going to do with you, Haruno?"
Finding her voice, shaky as it was, Sakura whispered, "T-taichou, we shouldn't do this here."
Deaf to her comment, Okami wedged a knee between her thighs, then hooked his foot around her ankle so he could force her legs apart. Once he repositioned her, he pressed his hips against her again, coaxing another restricted gasp from her. The hand that was in her hair ran through the locks twice, then his gloved fingers lowered to brush the back of her neck, genially soothing the muscles there. "Initially, I was going to discuss your conduct from our last encounter," He husked. Then he ground his hips against her, experimentally but with a touch of confidence, the swell of his arousal tracing hers. "But it looks like I'll need to do something about your attitude first."
The embers in Sakura's stomach flared to life as she felt the sharp probing of his stiff length against her, fueled further by the venereal implications of his growl. There was such abundant innuendo woven in his speech, such potent allusion to things far from sinless that this almost felt unreal. God, their mutual attraction was so palpable at this point, and the tension was so thick, it was painful. They were toeing the ledge of a dangerous cliff, swaying back and forth over that invisible line, just a step away from falling over.
They had to be careful, lest they teeter off the edge.
The noise that escaped her mouth when he tugged on her hair came out louder than she anticipated, it's pained huskiness more familiar to her than it should've been. He pulled on her hair almost empirically, rough enough to make her look up but not so much that it compared to her usual lovers' eagerness—testing the waters. He massaged her wrist with his thumb immediately after, as if to make up for any pain his handling may have caused. That little bit of affection, as small as it was, let her know that he was experienced; that he knew what he was doing and how to do it, and that he was inviting her rather than demanding, even if it didn't seem like it.
"Look at yourself," Okami crooned, with just a drop of command in his tone. Sakura regarded their reflection once again, eyes transiently flickering towards the door in a fit of trepidation, but the undeniable gleam of want remained rooted in her irises. He purposefully snapped his hips against her a little more aggressively than before, making her jerk against the table. "You like this, don't you, Haruno?"
Yes, oh God yes she did.
He hardly touched her, but their contact was full of the ferocity of weeks worth of pent up sexual frustration and hunger and unfiltered want, making that smoldering puddle in her belly spread through her whole body. They went from complete strangers who only briefly glanced at one another under strictly professional circumstances, to this—whatever this was—in just under a month. They were moving a little faster than she thought they would, so she wasn't too sure if she was pleased, or worried. It had taken a little longer and a lot of alcohol for her to even get the nerve to tempt Genma and Kotetsu like this, and years of back and forth with Kiba, yet here she was, reduced into a sweltering mess of a girl by a stranger in a mask, in an interrogation room of all places.
Flashbacks of their spar came to the front of her mind, reminding her of the path his fingers had taken that night. She remembered the sweltering heat that bubbled where his fingers danced, how she had clamped down on a shiver when he dusted his fingers along the incurve of her waist. She couldn't see his face even then, but she felt just how ardently he had inspected her when he intently traced the scar Sasori had gifted her.
Back then, Sakura realized what the crackling tension between them stemmed from. She would've been blind and stupid not to. That night, she couldn't wash away the effect of his light caress, and it didn't fade even when she retraced his touch and covered it with her own. And then when she saw him after her experience with the Kiri swordsman, showing off just how much more powerful he was and bruising her ego, her flesh ignited as if activated by a seal. It made her fingers twitch, carnal hunger and affronted defiance demanding she touch him—make him feel good too. And since she was being honest with herself, she did feel a little upset that he had broken away from her when she did. But she shrugged it off and fucked it out of her system.
Or so she thought.
Seeing him now, feeling the frenzied passion he had wrapped up under that mask, plucked a series of strings in her that she didn't think would play well.
Sakura's answer finally came in the form of her rolling her hips back against his and letting out a breathless moan. The hand that had previously been threading through her rosy tresses detangled itself, traveling down her back with splayed out fingers that reached for everything it could. His movements paused for the briefest of seconds, as if he were considering something, and then he relinquished his hold her hands. He traced the crest of her rear, one hand steadying her hip and the other hiking under her medic skirt.
"Use your words," Okami demanded, kneading her cheek in warning. His fingers on her hip squeezed tightly, uncomfortably but also not.
Grinding back against him again, Sakura breathed out a strained, "Yes, Taichou."
The heady, drawn out moan that responded—"Ah fuck..."—was unexpected but well received, setting fire to her chest in an intensity Sakura hadn't ever felt before. She felt Okami's hand reach between them, the mountains of his knuckles skimming over her aching womanhood impishly before it was replaced by the much more prominent bulge of his erection. She assumed he had adjusted himself because she felt more of him than before. The hand that had been on her waist moved to grasp onto her shoulder, then he rutted his hips against her over and over again, alternating between movements so unrestrained, she had to brace her arms against the table, and ones so gentle, she had to push back against him with as much fervor.
After a few more moments of this, Okami grunted, then straightened her up against him so her back was pressed to his chest plate. She kept her gaze focused on their reflection, watching with baited breath as his hand disappeared under her shirt. His ravenous fingers hastily folded the lip of her bra down to free her breast, immediately working to roll the hardening nipple between his proximal knuckles, then he tentatively dusted his fingertips against the underside of her breast with a touch so faint, it tickled. The leather on his gloves added a whole other level of sensation to his touch that evoked a quake in her knees.
"Shh," He breathed into her ear when her keening raised in pitch, his voice clearly heard even with his mask. "You don't want anyone to hear, do you?"
Sakura spared another timid glance at the door, praying to the Gods that no one would burst through any time soon because she'll be damned if the growing friction between her thighs wasn't dealt with, even if this certainly wasn't the place to do it.
"Taichou," She managed between labored breaths. "Someone might walk by." Despite her words, Sakura arched her back and reached back to thread her fingers into the Anbu officer's hair. She shifted, lifting her right leg to rub her thighs in a desperate attempt at chasing the pleasure that made her ache. Noticing her movement, Okami lifted her leg up and propped it up on the edge of the table, smirking beneath his mask when she repositioned herself more comfortably. The new position allowed him to press even closer to her—allowed him to feel even more of her.
"You're such a tease, Haruno," He murmured, kneading her breast almost a little too roughly for her, but the discomfort only seemed right with the fervid mood so she kept her complaints to herself. "You act all shy and nervous now, talking about someone walking in," He paused, reaching around to drag his fingertips against the length of her womanhood through her clothes, earning a mewl in reward. "But you can't stop watching what I'm doing to you."
The blush that had painted her cheeks burnished even brighter, spreading down the back of her neck. But she didn't bother denying it.
Okami's fingers quickly found her clit through her shorts; he applied more pressure to his touch, encircling the little bundle of nerves, grunting appreciatively when she tugged on his hair—he liked that, she noted. Sakura imagined his tongue wet his lips, his breaths becoming more labored as his adrenaline rushed through his veins.
"You like playing all sweet and innocent—but then go mouthing off like a fucking brat." She pictured his smirk stretch into a feral grin when he heard her breath catch at the name. He punctuated his statement by abandoning her breasts in favor of wrapping his arm around her waist so he could snap his hips against her with more intent.
Sakura bit at the inside of her cheek, hoping the pain would help alleviate the annoying buzzing of arousal that was both too much, and not enough. The way Okami was speaking to her—the dirty, filthy things he was saying, paired with the absurdly controlled timbre that only someone of his rank could use, tainted with just a slash of salacity—set off all the nerves in her body all at once. She should've been offended at what he said—what he called her—but any temper she would have had melted into pools of impossibly intense ardor as she heard him fumbling with his armor, and then one of his bracers clattered loudly against the table.
Her heart constricted in anticipation.
She prepared to retort, but found herself choking over her words when he spoke first. "You act like such a good little girl, following the rules, fretting over patients."
Her breaths grew more labored, more heavy as the knot in her stomach finally tightened enough for the sensation to take root. Okami's hand worked its way under the waistband of her shorts, and when the pads of his bare fingers slipped past her underwear Sakura bucked into him with a loud, but bitten cry. "Oh!"
He encircled her clit almost unforgivingly, drawing away to tease her opening with the very tips of his fingers, refusing to go any deeper than his first knuckle despite her jerking hips. "You do all that, but then you take on whole platoons of rogue nin, level whole sections of forest."
"T-Taichou—!"
"And when you fight, snapping necks with your thighs and ripping whole trees from their roots, it's the sexiest thing I've ever seen in my life."
She liked the praise. It wasn't words, she could tell. There was a veil of admiration draped over his admission, and wasn't anything like the appraising grunts of her other partners. They always went on about how good she was: her beautiful her body looked, how amazing her moans sounded, her obedience. Not her outside of the bedroom. She loved the praises her other lovers sang, don't get her wrong, and she had no qualms with being a little submissive if that was how they were playing that night. But this?
She liked this even more.
She liked the underlying suggestion that she was the dominant one despite her submission, that she had more power than he did even though he was taking control of the situation. With her other partners, her dominance was one given but controlled by them, while with Okami, she realized it was the opposite.
Sakura shut her lust-laden eyes, desperately trying to steady her breathing; she was growing close already, teetering on the edge of pleasure and pain—just a little more... His other hand returned to her breast to pluck at her pert nipple, soon joined by one of her own hands as she attempted to coax him to touch her just the way she liked.
"Then you take on one of the most ruthless shinobi in all the nations, and disrespected me in front of him and my own team."
"I-I—" Her nails embedded into his glove. Her stomach twisted, upturned, fluttered. There were too many things to focus on, too many sensations.
"And then you pulled that little stunt in your office."
She absently realized her right hand had slipped out of his hair and was wretched desolately in the fabric of his vest, so she reached back up for his hair. She yanked on it harder than he had with hers, wordlessly demanding that he stop teasing her, shuddering when he snarled into her ear. "You smiled all coyly, acting as if you hadn't done anything wrong, using your chakra to make me so hard, that I almost fucked you right into your desk."
"Taichou, I'm going to—"
Her words died on her tongue as she finally felt his fingers enter her. His pace was average but powerful, making her jolt with the impact of his strokes. She sealed her lips with her own hands to keep from keening too loud, but then he pulled one of them away and brought it to the waistband of his pants. Sakura felt the head of his cock probing against her palm, still blanketed by his trousers but moist with a trickle of his own arousal. She palmed him as best as she could in her position, and was thusly rewarded when he curled his fingers and rubbed his thumb against her nearly overly-sensitive clit.
"You're playing a dangerous game, you little brat."
Okami bit back his groan as Sakura's muscles clamped abruptly, pulsing rhythmically around his fingers, trying to draw him deeper but having nothing else to grip. Her thighs trembled against his, struggling to maintain her weight; she slumped back against him, still rolling her hips into his hand and he allowed it.
She slipped her hand beneath the waistband of his pants, just managing to graze against the soft flesh of his member before he pulled his hips away, forcing her hand away much to her displeasure. Okami ignored her dissatisfied whine, thrusting and curling his fingers into her with more urgency. "I'm not like those dirty books you like reading when no one's around, Haruno. I'm the real thing."
The smoothness of Okami's voice dissipated, sharpening into something a little more rugged, and that combined with the vulgarity of his words and the raging storm below her navel made every fiber of her being burn. Sakura twisted and writhed around on top of the table, spewing curses as Okami's fingers pricked against the bundle of nerves hidden inside of her again and again and again until the swirling rage of fire within her finally broke. The tendrils of her orgasm tore down her thighs, her knees, her toes, and quickly spread up her tailbone, reaching as high up her body as the back of her neck.
Okami didn't immediately cease his movements even as she leapt from the cliff of her climax, but he did ease into a sedated, forbearing pace that was only distantly unwelcome. Once she had rode out the waves of her pleasure, Sakura dropped her knee from the table, groaning as a series of bones cracked all along her hip and spine. He withdrew his fingers then, slowly, teasing her with a few lazy strokes along the length of her soaked lips while his other hand readjusted her bra. "Remember that Jonin Haruno, because next time, I'm going to fuck you so hard, you're going to feel me inside of you for days. And when I'm done with you, all you're going to crave is my hands on your skin and my cock in your mouth."
She wanted to say something, because she felt like she had to but everything she managed to scrape together disappeared when she felt his breath and lips against the back of her neck. Her eyes shot up to the mirror, but he was already gone.
Author's Note
Well, that happened.
And I oop!
You're welcome!
Also, I'm so happy I finally got to write this God forsaken scene. This is the scene that birthed the idea for this story. Fun fact: When I first wrote the idea for this story back in 2009, Itachi was the mysterious Anbu. I had no idea who Shisui was. Also, I love the idea of Itachi being sassy. We'll be seeing more sassy Itachi in the future, I promise.