Page 35 of Kotori
Paige
July heat hangs heavy even as evening falls, the sticky warmth making my yukata cling to damp skin as we exit the Mercedes. Lanterns illuminate the festival grounds, casting everything in a warm glow that should be romantic but just makes me more aware of how much I'm sweating.
The blue yukata is beautiful silk patterned with silver stars that shimmer when I move, elegant without being ostentatious.
Of course he would choose something perfect.
Of course he would know exactly how to make me look like I belong at his side.
More importantly, the long sleeves hide the rope marks still visible on my wrists and arms, the silk high enough at the neck to conceal the diamond patterns that had been pressed into my skin all night.
My body aches from hours spent in that intricate shibari harness, muscles stiff from being bound in one position until dawn when Hayashi had finally appeared to release me.
I still can't meet her eyes after that humiliating moment—her perfectly neutral expression as she worked the knots free, her careful avoidance of my gaze as she helped me to the bathroom, the way she pretended not to notice the wetness between my thighs or my tears of frustration.
The ultimate professional, never acknowledging what we both knew her master had done.
I'd barely managed two hours of fitful sleep after that before being awakened for festival preparations. The exhaustion only heightens every sensation, making me hypersensitive to even the lightest touch.
Kaito steps out behind me, resplendent in a charcoal yukata that makes him look like some ancient warlord reborn in modern form.
When our eyes meet, there's unmistakable satisfaction in his gaze—the look of a man who knows exactly what state he left me in last night, who can still picture me bound in his rope, who spent the morning imagining me struggling against the intricate shibari harness while he attended to business.
When his hand settles at the small of my back, I have to fight not to lean into his touch despite my anger and exhaustion.
"Beautiful," he murmurs, close enough that his breath tickles my ear. "The festival suits you. Almost as much as the rope did last night."
The casual reference to how he'd left me—bound in that intricate harness until dawn, unable to move, unable to sleep, unable to do anything but think of him—makes heat flood my cheeks.
"It's hot," I mutter, trying to focus on physical discomfort instead of the residual ache between my thighs that hasn't faded since he left me desperate and unfulfilled in my room.
His chuckle is low, intimate. "You have no idea. Though I imagine you're quite... sensitive today, after such a long night of meditation."
The girls tumble from the car in a flurry of excited chatter and colorful yukatas.
Aya is in bright bubblegum pink, Kohana in lavender, Mizuki in elegant emerald green that makes her look older than her eighteen years.
In the lantern light, with their dark hair elegantly styled and their movements graceful in traditional clothes, they look like princesses from another era.
"Papa!" Aya grabs his free hand, bouncing with excitement. "Can we write our wishes first? Please?"
"Of course, hime." Princess. His other hand remains at my back, warm through the thin silk. "Lead the way."
The festival grounds bustle with families and couples, everyone dressed in yukata, the air filled with the scent of grilled food and the sound of traditional music.
Bamboo branches festooned with colorful paper strips sway in the slight breeze, each tanzaku carrying someone's deepest desires to the star-crossed lovers in the heavens.
We make our way to a stall where an elderly woman sells colored paper and offers brushes and ink.
Kaito pays with a casual gesture that speaks of wealth without flaunting it, and soon we're all holding blank tanzaku and brushes, ready to commit our wishes to paper.
"What will you wish for, Papa?" Aya asks, already dipping her brush.
"That's private, Aya-chan," he replies, but his eyes find mine over her head. "Some wishes aren't meant to be shared."
The intensity of his gaze makes heat pool between my legs despite the crowds surrounding us. Three weeks apart has done nothing to diminish whatever this is between us—if anything, the separation followed by last night's torment has made it more potent, more dangerous.
I turn away from him, focusing on my own tanzaku.
What do I wish for? Freedom from this obsession?
Strength to resist him? Or something darker, more shameful.
The courage to surrender completely? Last night had proven how easily my body betrayed me, how readily I'd begged for his touch after just one night bound in his rope.
What would be left of my independence after another night like that?
My hands tremble slightly as I write, the muscles still fatigued from being bound behind my back for so many hours.
In the end, I write something simple but meaningful, taking care that no one else can see my tanzaku as I carefully write in English.
Some wishes are too personal to share, especially when they involve the very man who had left me tied up and desperate mere hours ago.
We hang our wishes on a bamboo branch, the colorful papers fluttering in the evening breeze like butterflies.
Each tanzaku carries our private desires upward, hopes and dreams we keep to ourselves as tradition dictates.
I notice Kaito watching me as I place my wish, his dark eyes curious but respecting the privacy of the moment.
As we move deeper into the festival, Kaito's hand never leaves my back, a constant reminder of possession.
His security team follows at a discreet distance—three men in dark suits who blend seamlessly with the crowd while never losing sight of their master and his family.
When Kaito's fingers occasionally slip lower, brushing the curve of my ass with a touch that could be accidental but never is.
My nerves are already raw and oversensitive from a night spent in his rope.
"Shall we get something to eat?" he suggests as we pass food stalls with tantalizing aromas. "Aya-chan, what would you like?"
"Taiyaki!" she exclaims immediately. "And then kakigōri for dessert!"
"So demanding," he teases, but his indulgent smile shows he'll give her anything she asks for. "Kohana? Mizuki?"
"Yakisoba, please," Kohana says quietly.
Mizuki shrugs, trying to look bored despite the festival excitement. "Whatever."
"And you, kotori?" Kaito asks, his voice dropping lower when he addresses me. "What would satisfy your hunger?"
The double entendre makes my cheeks burn. "I'm not very hungry."
"Liar," he says again, so softly only I can hear. "You're starving. I can feel it. You've been starving since I left you bound and wanting last night."
Before I can formulate a response, Aya grabs my hand. "Paige-sensei! Look at the goldfish scooping! Can we try? Please?"
Grateful for the distraction, I allow her to pull me toward the stall where dozens of goldfish swim in shallow pools, paper scoops waiting to be destroyed by eager children.
"Show me how it's done," I say, crouching beside her as she pays the vendor.
For a while, I lose myself in the simple joy of festival games and delicious food with the girls.
The physical activities help distract me from the bone-deep exhaustion of a sleepless night spent in rope bondage, though my movements are slower than usual, my reflexes dulled by fatigue.
More than once I catch myself absently rubbing at my wrists where the rope marks are still visible if you know where to look.
Aya fails spectacularly at goldfish scooping but laughs the entire time.
Kohana proves surprisingly skilled at ring toss, winning a small stuffed tanuki she immediately offers to her younger sister.
Even Mizuki unbends enough to try her hand at target shooting, her competitive nature revealing itself as she determinedly hits target after target.
Through it all, I feel Kaito's eyes on me.
Not hovering, not interrupting, just watching with that intensity that makes me feel simultaneously exposed and protected.
When our gazes occasionally meet over his daughters' heads, the heat in his dark eyes makes my breath catch—a silent reminder of the state he left me in, and a promise of what's to come.
We're deep into the festival, surrounded by crowds and lantern light, when the fireworks are announced. Families begin moving toward the viewing area, a grassy slope at the edge of the festival grounds.
"We have a private viewing area," Kaito says, his hand returning to my back as he guides us away from the main crowd. "More comfortable."
Of course he does. Of course the powerful oyabun wouldn't watch fireworks with the common people.
His security team materializes as we walk, discreetly clearing a path through the festival-goers. No one challenges them—one look at the men in dark suits, at Kaito's unmistakable aura of authority, and people simply step aside.
The private viewing area turns out to be a pavilion set on a small hill, offering an unobstructed view of the night sky while remaining separate from the main crowd. Cushions and low tables have been arranged, with a selection of drinks and desserts already waiting.
"Sugoi!" Amazing! Aya exclaims, immediately claiming a cushion at the front. "We can see everything from here!"
Kohana settles beside her sister, while Mizuki chooses a spot slightly apart, her expression thoughtful as she surveys the festival below.
Kaito guides me to a cushion, then settles beside me—close enough that our shoulders brush.
"Do you like festivals, Paige-san?" he asks, his voice perfectly proper now that we're within earshot of his daughters.
"I've never experienced anything like this before," I admit. "It's beautiful."