After a long day, Sukuna finds you on the bed reading, in nothing but your panties on. Whether you intend to be or not, you’re a fucking temptation, the walking drug to his never ending addiction.
Your laughter sounds when he lays kisses upon your face, your lips — soft and sweet — your neck, lower, lower, till he finds solace between your thighs. His breath is steady, hot against your clothed cunt.
“My perfect girl.” He exhales, tongue laving a pressured strip over the cotton, spit soaking though it just as your arousal does the longer he teases you. With your hips unable to keep still, and those thighs of yours threatening to close, he takes it as his cue to tear the troublesome barrier right through the middle. You gasp at the sound of ripping fabric, book now long forgotten in the ruffled bedsheets at your side. “Mine.” His growl is low, but given the silence blanketing the room it’s audible enough for you to let out a whine-filled sigh, one that carries your pleas, your desire, your longing. All of it in one simple breath.
When his lips finally envelop your aching clit the scene that unfolds is much like the picture you'd sent him earlier in the day. Your back arched prettily as his tongue dips between your folds and past your entrance. Your taste flooding his senses almost entirely, and he'd have it no other way. Your head lolls back, mouth agape in a broken moan and he draws you closer — impossibly so — holding your thighs apart, pinning them to your chest while he devours you as if he'd been starving himself for weeks.
“That's right, princess. Fuck my tongue, let me hear how good you feel.” The glow of his eyes illuminates the softness of your skin — already moulded perfectly in his hands — a tell tale sign of exactly what it is you do to him. You drive him mad. Always leading him here, on his knees, ready to witness the syllables of his name falling from your lips.
“Kuna!” You moan, hands cupping your tits as you fail to squirm in his grasp. “Kuna!” There it is again, breathier, more high pitched. It precedes the gradual tightening of your walls, his fingers replacing his tongue, pads of the index and middle finding that perfect spot that has your own digits carding through his hair. “Sukuna!” There it is. That scream of ecstasy. The pulsing of your cunt around his fingers. A drug that overtakes him entirely.
He's rooted to that place between your thighs, tongue lapping at your clit as you come down in an array of staggered breaths. “Good girl. Good. Fucking. Girl.” He groans, contently driving you into overstimulation, ensuring that you continue to look like that picture. Or perhaps, he'll make you cum over and over and over again till you've got no choice but to stay like that for the remainder of his time with your perfect cunt.
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