Touch Me Not || Chūya × Fem!Reader

--8

As the morning resumed, Chūya reveled on the enticing sight of her despondency; her heart a glass and her mind a storm. There were small drops conceiving from the rim of her bottom lids, and it was painfully obvious that she had been doing her best to keep them at bay. With his hands still holding both the sides of her face, he lifted her head, lips coming in a dire contact with hers.

"Love me," he demanded, quite frankly, "I'll love you just as much."

The way their lips crashed tenderly against each other mattered very little to her, so he initiated dominance, opening his mouth widely and locking more of her lips into his. With his experienced tongue, he pushed into her oral anatomy, the intensity of physical contact positively hindering the thought of doing it with morning breaths.

As she caught up to the lack of oxygen, she broke out of her stupor, growing conscious of the actuality that Chūya was, in fact, kissing her - which resulted her eyes to expand in arrant shock, her hands lifting up to his chest in order distance him away for respite, but the sultry sensation of his adept tonguing brought her into a state where her body came paralyzed at each movement in her mouth.

Slowly, his hands led her arms to raise them above her head. He parted from her, getting a thrill out of the way their melded saliva formed a string in between - to which he lapped up rather fervently.

"Chūya," she gasped, "wait..."

"I can't." He nearly growled in response.

And so he kissed her more, sinking himself into the lust he had desired with risky control, and gradually dragging her along. When she felt the sensuous roll of his hips against hers, she grew immediately disconcerted, preferring not the way things had been proceeding ever since waking up on his bed. With dubious courtesy, she turned her head to the side, successfully avoiding his untamed stare - but truthfully, she didn't need to; his eyes were set quite shamelessly on the dampness of her décolletage.

Nothing made sense on her part; it had her highly frustrated and utterly confused. "Why are you doing this!?"

Her reluctant disposition ceased not the pleasure-seeking movement of his pelvis, grinding onto her with concupiscent urge abandoned long enough. He looked at her closely with irate intent. "Don't you like it?"

"I don't! Get off of me! I need to--"

The harsh squeeze on her wrist came as a warning, she knew.

"You're not going anywhere." He said sotto voce, almost as if suppressing a hideous snarl on the base of his throat. "Because you belong to me. And now that everyone's hating you out there, accusing you of shit you didn't do, why do you still insist? It's safer right here, (y/n). I could give you everything they never would. I love you so much."

In a raucous whisper, he added, "So let me feel you."

His words took her by utter surprise, singularly the admission of his love. One of his hand ventured downward, feeling the surface of her abdomen, leaving goosebumps on its wake. "Let me touch you, right here..." she was rendered immobilized, "I'll make you feel so good, you'd prefer staying here instead of ever going out again. I'll treat you very well that you'll think of no one else but me, I'll pleasure you till my heart's contented, fill you up so nicely... ah...” he moaned, "are you a virgin, (y/n)?"

In the heat of the moment, the sound of his ringtone broke out in the bedroom.

"Fuck!"

Quite immediately as he had gotten into the moment of intimacy with her, he pulled away hastily, grabbing his phone located on top of the nightstand - it audibly cracked at the pressure he instated. Begrudgingly, he stomped out of the bedroom, leaving her in the wake of his touches.

"What the hell do you want!?"

Although she ascertained his yelling to reach even the outside of his precinct, she remained still, forgetting not the way his hands felt on her, his tongue confidently entering her mouth as if they had kissed a lot in the past, the filthy definition of his words - everything had been inculcated deeply into her mind.

Bitter curses were incessantly spat out of his mouth that had prior been used to pleasure her system, and the longer the call ensued, the more she was given time to contemplate: was she waiting for him to come back? Staying with him benefited nothing at all to her, and even with all his effort to make her stay, she wasn't the slightest convinced. There had to be a valid reason for his unforeseen actions.

Had she really been a Port Mafia target? If so, then what had it to do with his proclamation of loving her?

The phone call lasted for a little longer, and while her ears drowned on his constant infuriated shouts, she averted her attention to the large floor-to-ceiling window on her left. With the view of distant skyscrapers and lack of roads, she could clearly tell that he resided on a penthouse. The exposure of her nearly naked figure to the window-filtered sunrays caused her to bring the duvet up to her stomach in diffidence, nonetheless it was a breathtaking sight.

When she felt the other side of the bed dipping on Chūya's weight, she turned to face his distressed person.

"I have to go," he said, much to his dismay, "I'm needed at the headquarters."

She took a hold of his wrist before he got the chance to lift himself off the mattress, to which had him abruptly facing her in anticipation.

"Are you doing this because I’m a target of Port Mafia?" She asked defiantly.

"What? No!" He answered, producing a chuckle, as if he wasn't just forwarding his wrath to his phone; as if he wasn't threatening her only a few minutes ago. "Weren't my actions enough to convey? I love you, (y/n), that's why you're here."

"Then how'd you know of my situation?" queried the detective through gritted teeth. "Be true to me, Chūya... were you a part of it? Were you a mastermind to everyone's false accusations of me? If it's because I am certainly a Port Mafia target," tears once again glossed her eyes, "why did you have to go through all the effort of befriending me?"

Quite suddenly, she felt a painful grip on her chin; his fingers held her jaw tightly, placing her to look at him with agonizing tenacity. She yelped in response.

"Why do you have to be stubborn with ideas?" He questioned, deriding her suspicions. "I'm not a part of whatever you got yourself into; you just told me about it when you were drunk. And you're not a Port Mafia target - even if you were, I'd never let them have you."

He released her, then left her alone in the room, cold and perturbingly bothered by his unexplained decisions. Perhaps acknowledging his blunt display of his undying obsession with her would make it clearer, but at that time of realization, it would be all too late for things to go back the way they had been.