Hazed behind the whisps of smoke and oversized sweatshirts from Hollister, Kenji Tanaka is a sassy, sharp-tongued omega, and he meets Meena - the son of a notorious crime boss posing as a legitimate businessman to anyone in law enforcement - who wou...
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A sea of purple and pink silhouettes stood along the sanded, wooden planks. Smoke in a darker shade of purple failed to blend in with the lights, and shrouded faces in the unscented haze. Medicine by Harry Styles blared from the speakers.
Fireball whiskey on his tongue, Kenji circled his hips to the music. The music that barely registered in his eardrums. All he heard was the steady beat of his heart and Meena's soft breaths. With every swivel of Kenji's hips, he brushed his pelvis against Meena.
Meena recited every curse word he knew inside his head that Kenji wasn't completely sober. Because he'd take him back to their hotel room in a mere heartbeat, and allow the audacious blonde grind against him all he wanted. But he held back, and his taut muscles conveyed his restraint.
Kenji noticed the protrude of his veins — a stark contrast against the toffee of his skin — and the white of his knuckles. That proved Meena was tense. But Kenji didn't sense any anger, even with the haziness of his mind.
When Kenji ghosted his small hand between their hips, though, the tent in Meena's black jeans answered his question. At the small touch from his hand, Meena swallowed. ❝Don't do that,❞ he rasped out.
❝Do what?❞ Kenji teased.
Meena's hand wrapped around Kenji's wrist. The way his long fingers wrapped around his smaller wrist made Kenji shiver. ❝Fucking tempt me. It's taking everything I have not to pin you down in the back seat of my car, and use your mouth as a cocksleeve,❞ his lewd words are breathed against Kenji's ear. His breath is warm and hazed with the aftertaste of whiskey
Kay whimpers submissively at the threat. Kenji's heartbeat quickens, and he almost whined — daring Meena, in essence, to drag him out of the club. At this point, he'd let Meena hoist him up on the bar and curl his fingers deep inside of him if he wanted.
Hell, he'd beg for it. Fall to his fucking knees and beg.
❝Did you hear me?❞ Meena's lips fell to Kenji's bare collarbone. ❝Do you want me to shove my dick into your mouth, shortcake?❞
Kenji bit his bottom lip — hard, almost tearing apart the flesh — to prevent a moan from escaping.
❝Yes, I heard you,❞ he whispers, ❝and yes. Dammit, Meena, yes.❞
He gasped when Meena pulled him against his body by the his skirt — short enough to unveil the waste of fabric concealing his cock if he lifted the hem by a few inches — and moulded their lips together.
Kenji syncs his movements with Meena's, caving into the seductive trail of his fingers along his jawline by parting his mouth. Kenji tried to gain friction by rolling his hips upward, but Meena kept him from grinding against him. ❝Not yet, shortcake. Patience,❞ Meena taunts.
But he knew damn well neither of them were planning to be patient. If Kenji wanted to push the topic further, Meena would blow a few hundreds on renting a hotel room. Instead, Kenji succumbs to his words, and refrains from grinding on him — which Meena is both grateful and disappointed at.
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Aafiya's braided curls, tied up with pastel beads and golden cuffs made a soft rattle when her head shook with faint laughter. She cooled her hennaed palms — painted with crimson vines that wrapped around her palms and fingers by Safiyah, an artist at the resort in an effort to practice her hand at the handiwork — with a semi-cold bottle of Heineken, as she watched Mustafa make an absolute fool of himself trying to light the array of candles on the wing-shape of her white cupcakes. Twenty candles resembled a firefly glow, amidst the thin whispers of smoke — courtesy of the distance between the smoke machine and the booth.
❝Fuck,❞ Mustafa cursed, the lime-flavor of tequila heavy on his breath Kenji could smell from his spot at the edge of the booth. Mustafa had spent an hour at the bar downing shots of tequila.
❝Ten to one says he hugs a toilet later,❞ Meena mumbles. His left hand cupped Kenji's knee, and when he trailed his fingers up even an inch, he swallowed, awaiting his next move with a bated breath, only for him to return to his knee.
❝Yeah,❞ he replies absently, focusing on Samir's futile attempt at singing Happy Birthday off-key.
A soft smile playing on her unglossed lips, Aafiya blew out her candles, effectively putting a halt to Samir's god-awful singing.
❝Thank God he stopped singing,❞ Juno joked.
Samir stuck his tongue out at Juno childishly. Mustafa hid his snicker behind his tattooed fingers. Juno raised a challenging eyebrow at Samir. Aafiya's smile widens, as she watches them act like toddlers.
None of them are paying attention when Meena's palm drifts up, ghosting the front of Kenji's miniskirt languidly. Kenji almost chokes on the iced brandy, the shape of his parted lips blurry through the crystal in his hand. Meena peers up at Kenji from behind long lashes, his pupils dilated with lust, and waits for Kenji to bat his hand away. His eyes were glazed over from the vodka-cranberry he threw back with Aafiya, bordering on drunk.
Kenji guides Meena's veined hand to the imprint behind the leather. Meena's lips tip upwards, somewhere between a smirk and a smile.
Kenji's teeth scrape the flesh of his lower lip, the aftertaste of copper in their wake, as Meena moves his hand back and forth agonizingly slow. Kenji attempts to lift his hips, but the weight of his hand prevents the movement, knuckles rubbing against the leather material.
Fuck, Kenji thinks, almost groaning out loud. The fact that Mustafa, who sat beside Meena in a chair at the edge of the table, could drop his gaze to their booth at any time, although hidden by the table, thrilled Kenji.
Mm, y'all are not ready for the spice of next chapter, I assure you.
