Chapter 128: Sarada [4] 18+

Sarada’s mind floated in the thick haze that always followed a climax she had not wanted to give. Her body still twitched with small aftershocks. When she looked up through half-lidded eyes the blond hair and blue gaze above her blurred for a dangerous second into a different face—younger, sharper, the face she had carried in her chest for years. Boruto. The name rose like a reflex.

Kael leaned down and kissed her.

The contact was slow and deliberate, mouth moving over hers while she was still soft and open from the orgasm. For a moment the haze let it happen. Then the memory cut through like cold water: Boruto standing against Kaguya, buying them the seconds they needed to escape with Eida, blood on his cheek and no hesitation in his eyes. That boy would never have handled her body the way this man was handling it. The two images refused to occupy the same space.

Sarada turned her face hard to the side, breaking the kiss.

"I told you. No kissing."

Kael accepted the refusal with a small hum of acknowledgment, already settling his hips between her thighs. The head of his cock rested against her entrance, slick from her own unwilling release. Before she could close her knees he pushed forward and sank into her in one continuous thrust.

Sarada’s back arched. A raw, startled sound tore from her throat.

"No—stop—wear a condom—"

He did not stop. He bottomed out and held himself there, letting her feel every inch of the stretch. Her walls fluttered around the sudden intrusion, tight enough that the first few seconds were almost painful. First time. The knowledge sat in the slow roll of his hips as he began to move.

"Bitches don’t order their masters," he said quietly, and drew back only to thrust in again, deeper.

The wet sound of her body taking him filled the small bedroom. Sarada’s hands pushed at his shoulders with no real force left. He turned her face to the side with one hand and pressed open-mouthed kisses along her cheek, the corner of her jaw, the place just beneath her ear, careful to stay clear of her lips. The contrast between the almost tender contact on her face and the steady, claiming thrusts between her legs made the wrongness sharper.

"So much thinking over a kiss," he murmured against her skin. "You think your boyfriend would be happier knowing you let someone fuck you but never kissed him?"

The low, amused sound that followed was almost a laugh. Sarada’s reply broke apart into a moan as he angled his hips and drove against a place that sent white sparks up her spine. Her mind tried to hold the image of Boruto; her body only registered the thick slide of cock and the wet, rhythmic slap of skin on skin. Every thrust dragged her further from the argument she still wanted to make.

Kael kept her in missionary for a long time, pacing himself, watching the way her expression fractured between resistance and the heat she could not fully suppress. At one point he reached back, pulled a pillow from the head of the bed, and shoved it under her hips. The new angle tilted her pelvis upward. The next stroke sank even deeper. Sarada’s mouth fell open on a longer, higher cry.

"Ahh—! Too deep—nngh—"

He fucked her through the protest, using the pillow to keep the angle fixed, hands braced on either side of her shoulders. The wet sounds grew louder, filthier. Her tight heat clenched around him with every inward push. Sweat began to slick the place where their stomachs met. Sarada’s dark eyes had gone glassy; the name she refused to speak still sat behind them, but the force of each thrust kept scattering it before it could form.

Inside his own head Kael turned over a darker amusement. In the original flow of things this woman would have been his son’s wife—or at least the girl his son might have chosen. Fucking her now, while the body he wore was still young and strong, scratched an ugly, satisfying itch he had no interest in examining too closely. The fantasy of the older man claiming the daughter-in-law was supposed to belong to men with gray in their hair. He got to live it early. The thought only made him thrust harder.

When her moans started to lose their edge of surprise and settle into a helpless, rhythmic pattern he shifted. He sat back on his heels, pulled her up with him, and arranged her in his lap so her legs wrapped around his waist—lotus. The position locked them chest to chest. He was still buried to the hilt. Sarada’s hands landed on his shoulders for balance. Before she could speak he began to move again, short, powerful upward strokes that kept constant pressure against the front wall of her pussy.

"Uh... uh... ahh—Naruto—"

He kissed her neck, her cheeks, the hinge of her jaw, treating her face and throat like something he could claim even while she still denied him her mouth. One arm stayed locked around her waist to control the angle; the other hand rose to squeeze the full weight of her breast, thumb dragging across the nipple still sensitive from earlier. Sarada’s head tipped back. The wet, heavy sound of him driving up into her filled the room without pause. Her walls fluttered and clenched. The tight heat of a body that had never taken a cock before was starting to loosen around him, growing slicker, more open, even as her voice kept breaking on soft, confused sounds.

He fucked her in the lotus position until her thighs trembled and her forehead dropped against his shoulder. Every upward thrust punched a short moan out of her. The hand on her breast squeezed in time with his hips. The kisses along her neck and cheeks never stopped—open, wet, possessive—while he used her body with steady, relentless focus.

"Please..." Sarada’s voice was raw. "Not inside... please... cum outside..."

She had been begging for several minutes before the words finally arranged themselves into something clear. Kael felt the warning tightness at the base of his spine and decided to grant the single concession. He lifted her off him, still hard and glistening, and stroked himself the final few times with her straddling his thighs. When he came it was in thick, heavy pulses across the soft skin of her upper thighs and the lower curve of her stomach, marking her without filling her.

Sarada stayed in his lap, breathing hard, the wet heat of his release cooling on her skin. Her eyes were open but unfocused, the last of the Boruto-shaped haze finally burned away by the simple, physical reality of what her body had just been used for. Kael rested one hand on the back of her neck, thumb stroking the damp hairline, and let the quiet of the apartment settle around the evidence of everything he had taken.

Sarada Uchiha sat marked and trembling in the lap of the man who wore her father’s friend’s face, her mentor and inspiration to become hokage, the first-time ache between her legs a permanent reminder that some agreements, once spoken, collected their price whether the future approved or not.

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