Unbound By Love's Grace [Gojo Satoru x Female Readers]

8 ~ Eight 🔞

[G]ojo's gaze was intense, all crystalline ice and fire, hunger glinting in his eyes as he watched you, barely holding back from pulling you closer. Every inch of him was taut, controlled, and yet... there was a delicious crack in his composure that only deepened the longer you lingered. Every calculated move of yours felt like a spark thrown into the gasoline of his restraint.

You ran your tongue along his length, pressing with just enough pressure to make him clench his fists, the sound that left him low and raw, like he was barely able to keep himself tethered. Each slow, deliberate stroke of yours pushed him closer to the edge, and the thrill of watching him, normally so composed, on the verge of coming undone was intoxicating.

"Damn..." he rasped, the word catching in his throat as he exhaled, his gaze locked on yours with that familiar intensity, only now filled with a barely bridled need. "Do that again."

A faint smile ghosted over your lips, dark and knowing. Without breaking eye contact, you hummed in acknowledgment with his length still heavy against your tongue, savoring the way he shuddered from the vibrations. The sensation alone had him clenching his hands tighter, the barest traces of his composure barely intact. You licked up the length of him again, swirling your tongue around the tip, knowing exactly what it was doing to him, then took him fully, letting his head hit the back of your throat.

A deep, rough breath escaped him, his voice unsteady. "Just like that."

But you pushed yourself even further, swallowing around him until your own throat constricted, yet you held him there for a moment, indulging the intoxicating mix of lust and authority in his tone. Beneath your fingertips, his thigh muscles flexed, tense and trembling, as he struggled to keep himself grounded.

When you looked up, his face was a mess of want and resistance—heat coloring his neck and ears, his brows drawn together, the faintest sheen of sweat glistening on his skin.

He was such a sight, raw and undone, and another soft smile tugged at your lips as you pulled back, letting him catch his breath. You licked the corners of your mouth, a flicker of pride in your gaze. "You look sinful, Satoru," you murmured, voice laced with a hint of satisfaction.

His gaze on you sharpened, voice low and thick. "And you? You're...too good at this," he managed, each word heavy, as though speaking was an effort.

"What can I say? You bring it out in me, Satoru." There was no hesitation, only dark confidence—a confidence he seemed to revel in and hate all at once, every response you pulled from him a testament to the power you had.

His hands unclasped to slip to the back of your neck, his grip both gentle and possessive. His breath ghosted across your lips as he murmured, "Dangerous... you're dangerous." The words were quiet, almost reverent, his pride taking a hit as he realized just how easily you'd unraveled him.

And yet, there was that familiar spark of defiance in his eyes, a hint of the classic cocky smirk twitching at his lips—a final attempt to reclaim his upper hand.

"Funny," you whispered, not backing down an inch, "I could say the same about you." You took him back in, slow and relentless, feeling him tremble beneath your touch, his sharp exhales the only betrayal of just how tightly he was holding onto control. You kept him on that edge, relentless in your rhythm, feeling him tense beneath you, his jaw clenched as he tried to hold back.

Finally, with a throaty groan, he pulled back, hands firm on your shoulders. "Enough," he rasped, pupils dark and glinting with the fierceness of his resolve. His pride would rather break than allow him to lose it like this.

A dark laugh rolled off your tongue, filled with dangerous amusement as you leaned in, voice a low, seductive purr. "What's the matter? You're already close. Just let go... make a mess, love. I'll take every bit of it."

For a second, his gaze flickered, the surprise melting into something hungry, something relentless. With a low growl, he yanked you up, flush against him. His lips traced your jaw in a slow, heated line, his breath warm against your skin. "Forget that," he murmured, his voice as dark and heady as his eyes. "If anyone's making a mess, it's me. I want you right here." He moved to your ear, his voice a possessive rasp. "On my face, where I can taste every inch of you."

You barely registered the words before his hands slid to your hips, pulling you onto his lap, chest pressed tight against yours. His mouth was on you, a searing, hungry kiss that was all teeth and tongue, devouring you like he couldn't get close enough. You felt him hard against you, heat radiating between your legs, and you slipped a hand down between your bodies, stroking him slow, deliberate, the head of his cock teasing just under the fabric of your g-string as you rocked against him in a torturously slow grind.

Another low growl rumbled in Gojo's throat, sending a rush of heat through you as he broke the kiss, his eyes glimmering with a fierce hunger. "Sit on my face, sweetheart. Let me taste you," he urged, the words dripping with dark promise.

Your heart raced at his request; he'd unraveled you before, but this felt entirely different—a new layer of exposure, of vulnerability. You blinked, momentarily stunned by the sheer audacity of his desire.