Chapter 127: Sarada [3] 18+

Kael’s hands settled under Sarada’s arms. He lifted her easily from the floor and set her on the edge of the bed where he had been sitting a moment before. The mattress dipped under her weight. Before she could close her knees he was already between them, fingers hooking into the waistband of her pants and underwear together. One firm pull and both garments slid down her thighs, over her knees, and off her ankles. Cool air touched skin that had never been exposed to this man.

Sarada’s hands flew to his hair the instant he leaned in. She pushed, hard, trying to force his head away. The strength that had once let her trade blows with trained jōnin met a wall. Kael did not even seem to notice the pressure. He caught both her wrists in one hand, pinned them lightly against her own stomach, and lowered his mouth to the soft skin of her inner thigh.

The first kiss was almost gentle.

Sarada’s breath hitched. "Don’t—"

He ignored the word. He kissed higher, slower, the heat of his mouth trailing a deliberate path along the sensitive tendon. Each press of his lips was unhurried, tasting the faint salt of her skin, working his way inward with the patience of someone who had no intention of rushing the part that would hurt her pride the most. Sarada turned her face toward the wall, eyes squeezed shut. In her mind the image of Boruto—blond hair, blue eyes, the stubborn set of his mouth—rose up with painful clarity. The boy she had loved in silence for years. The son of the man whose mouth was now moving along her thigh. The wrongness of it sat in her chest like a stone.

Kael’s tongue joined his lips, tracing a wet line closer to the heat between her legs. He still did not touch her directly. He licked the soft crease where thigh met hip, breathed against the damp folds without making contact, and watched the way her stomach tensed with every near-miss. Sarada’s breathing had gone uneven. A small, unwilling sound escaped her when he dragged his tongue along the opposite thigh in the same torturously slow path.

"Naruto... stop... this is... nngh—"

The protest broke when he finally gave her the first light, teasing lick directly over her clit. The contact was barely there—soft, almost curious—and it still dragged a startled gasp from her throat. He pulled back at once, returning to her thighs, kissing and licking the trembling skin while she tried to twist away and failed. The teasing stretched out. He would approach, brush the tip of his tongue through her folds just enough to spread the growing wetness, then retreat to her thighs again, leaving her suspended between relief and a heat she refused to name.

Minutes blurred. Sarada’s wrists flexed uselessly in his grip. Her hips had begun to shift in tiny, traitorous movements she could not fully stop. Every time his tongue returned for another light pass the sensation felt sharper, more concentrated. The knowledge of who he was—who he was supposed to be in the world she had lost—only made the physical response worse. She had imagined Boruto’s mouth on her in the private dark of her own bed more than once. Feeling the father’s tongue instead twisted the fantasy into something that left her stomach tight with shame.

Kael seemed to sense the moment the teasing had done its work. He released her wrists, spread her thighs wider with both hands, and dragged his tongue through her in one long, deliberate stroke from bottom to top.

Sarada’s back arched. "Ahh—!"

He did not pull away this time. He licked her open with slow, thorough passes, flattening his tongue so he could taste every bit of the wetness she could no longer hide. The soft, wet sounds of it filled the quiet bedroom—schlick, lick, soft filthy laps that grew wetter as her body responded. Sarada’s hands returned to his hair, no longer pushing with any real force, only holding on as if she needed the anchor.

"Nngh... don’t... please... uh..."

Kael closed his lips around her clit and sucked.

The moan that left her was louder, higher, completely unplanned. He hummed against the sensitive bud and sucked again, longer, tongue flicking while he held it between his lips. Sarada’s thighs trembled on either side of his head. The dual sensation of the gentle suction and the soft wet noise every time he released her made her hips twitch forward against his mouth despite every mental protest still screaming that this was wrong.

He settled in as if he had all night.

Long, slow sucks on her clit. Broad, flat strokes through her folds. The pointed tip of his tongue pushing inside her in short, wet thrusts that made her walls clench around nothing. Every few minutes he would return to the swollen bud and suck until her breath fractured into short, broken sounds. The wet noises never stopped—soft slurps, the quiet schlick of his tongue moving through soaked flesh, the faint wet pop when he released her clit only to take it again.

"Ahh... haa... Naruto... I can’t... nngh... it’s too..."

Sarada’s head tipped back against the mattress. Her eyes were open but unfocused, fixed on the ceiling while her body betrayed her with every stroke of his tongue. The image of Boruto kept rising and collapsing under the steady, relentless pleasure. This was his father. The man who had held her as a toddler in the memories of a dead future. The man whose face she had seen on the Hokage monument. And he was between her legs, sucking her open like he had every right, and her body was climbing toward a peak she did not want to give him.

Kael added two fingers, sliding them into her while his mouth stayed locked on her clit. The combined wet sounds grew filthier. He curled the fingers upward, found the place that made her entire body jolt, and stroked it in time with the suction of his lips. Sarada’s moan cracked into a continuous, helpless chain.

"Uh... uh... ahh—nngh—don’t stop—wait, I didn’t mean—ahh—"

He did not stop. He sucked harder, fingers working faster, tongue flicking in tight circles between each long pull. The wet, rhythmic filth of it filled the room without pause. Sarada’s thighs clamped around his head. Her back arched clear of the mattress. The orgasm hit her like a blow—sharp, unwilling, intense enough that a broken cry tore from her throat as her walls clenched around his fingers in strong, pulsing waves. Clear wetness spilled against his mouth and chin. He licked her through every tremor, softer now, drawing the climax out until her legs shook and she was pushing weakly at his head from the oversensitivity.

Only then did he lift his head.

Sarada lay on her back, chest rising and falling in shallow pulls of air, dark eyes glassy and wet at the corners. The shame on her face was raw and complete. She had come on the tongue of the man who was supposed to be untouchable, the father of the boy she still loved, and her body was still twitching with the aftershocks of a pleasure she had not wanted to feel.

Kael wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and looked at her the way he had looked at her mother once—patient, certain, and nowhere near finished.

Sarada Uchiha stared at the ceiling and tried to remember how to breathe while the taste of her own unwilling release still hung in the air between them.

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