Page 37 of Kotori

"No," I gasp, the last shred of defiance I can muster.

He pushes just the tip inside me, making me moan at the stretch. "Say it, kotori. Tell me who owns this perfect body."

"Fuck you," I manage, even as my body betrays me by trying to push back, to take more of him.

He allows this small defiance—part of the game between us, the resistance that makes my eventual surrender sweeter.

His chuckle is dark with promise. "I'm trying to, but you're being stubborn.

" He withdraws completely, making me whimper at the loss.

"Maybe I should just leave you like this.

Wet and wanting and unfulfilled. Again. Like I left you bound in my rope all night. "

"Don't you dare," I hiss, reaching back to grab his hip, trying to pull him closer.

"Then say it." His voice brooks no argument, his hand tightening in my hair. "Say you're mine."

Overhead, the fireworks reach their crescendo, explosions of color and light.

"I'm yours," I whisper, the words coming easier now after being forced from my lips last night during that moment of desperate need in my bedroom. This surrender feels like a continuation, the inevitable conclusion to the lesson that began with red rope against my skin. "Goddamn you, I'm yours."

His groan of satisfaction is animal as he thrusts into me in one powerful stroke. His pace is punishing from the start, each thrust driving me against the tree as he claims me with the force of last night's torment.

"Mine," he growls against my ear, one hand reaching around to find my clit, circling it in time with his thrusts. "Say it again."

"Yours," I gasp, shamefully close to another orgasm already, my body primed by a night of denied need. "I'm yours, Kaito-sama."

He knows what I need without my having to say it, his fingers working my clit with the same devastating skill as his mouth earlier. His thrusts speed up, the sound of flesh meeting flesh obscenely loud in the small clearing.

"This is what you needed, isn't it?" he growls, his voice rough with possession. "This is what you were begging for last night when I left you tied up. This is what you've been craving since the moment I bound you in my rope."

"Yes," I admit, beyond shame, beyond pride, beyond anything but the desperate need for him to keep fucking me like this. "Yes, God, yes."

"Come with me," he orders, his voice strained with the effort of control. "Now, kotori. Come around my cock. Let me feel what only I can give you."

As I come, pleasure explodes through me with an intensity that makes me cry out his name, my inner walls clenching around him as he drives into me one last time, his release hot inside me as he groans against my ear.

"Ore no mono," he growls, his voice harsh with possession. "Kirei." Beautiful. His words dissolve into guttural Japanese that I don't understand but feel in my bones—vulgar, possessive claims of ownership that make me shudder with aftershocks even as they mark me as thoroughly as his body just did.

For long moments, we stay joined, his weight pressing me against the tree as we both struggle to catch our breath. The fireworks have ended, leaving only distant festival sounds and the chirp of cicadas to fill the night.

"Mine," he murmurs again, pressing a kiss to the nape of my neck with unexpected tenderness. "Always mine."

When he finally withdraws and helps me straighten my yukata, I can't meet his eyes. The shame and satisfaction war within me, leaving me confused and silent as he carefully adjusts my clothing, erasing the evidence of our encounter with the same meticulous attention he gives everything.

"Your hair," he says, reaching up to smooth strands that have escaped their careful styling. "Beautiful, but telling."

I slap his hand away, finding my voice at last. "Fuck you," I say without heat, too exhausted for real anger.

For a moment, he allows it—a brief indulgence for the vulnerability of what we've just shared, a momentary acceptance of my post-orgasmic confusion. Then, as if remembering himself, his expression hardens instantly, hand shooting out to grip my chin firmly.

"You will address me properly, Paige. Always. Especially after I've just been inside you."

I swallow hard, the reminder of my place immediate and effective. "I apologize, Matsumoto-sama."

His grip softens to a caress. "Better. Remember your place, kotori. It pleases me when you do."

"Yes, Matsumoto-sama," I whisper, the formal address falling from my lips naturally now, part of whatever twisted dynamic we've created.

"Good girl," he murmurs, satisfaction evident in his tone.

Before I can formulate a response, voices sound on the path—festival-goers heading back from the fireworks display. Kaito's hand finds mine, tugging me in the opposite direction.

"Come," he says, suddenly all business. "My daughters will be waiting."

The reminder of his children, of the family waiting for us while their father's semen still runs down my thigh, makes me flush with renewed shame. But I follow him without protest, letting him guide me through the gardens along paths that seem to appear magically before him.

We emerge near the pavilion, and I use the moment to collect myself, to school my features into something resembling normalcy before facing his daughters.

"Paige." His voice stops me before we rejoin the group. "Look at me."

I reluctantly meet his gaze, expecting to see smug satisfaction or possessive triumph. Instead, there's something almost tender in his dark eyes.

"I don't just own your body," he says, his thumb tracing my lower lip with possessive intent. "I own all of you. Your thoughts. Your desires. Your future. The sooner you accept that, the happier you'll be, kotori."

The blunt declaration makes my chest tight with emotions I don't want to examine. "You can't just claim a person, Kaito-sama."

His smile is indulgent but absolute. "I already have. And we both know it."

Before I can respond, Aya spots us and waves enthusiastically. "Papa! Paige-sensei! Did you see the golden dragon firework? It was the best one!"

And just like that, we're back to normal—or whatever passes for normal in this strange, beautiful, twisted reality. Kaito the devoted father, me the foreign teacher, the complicated truth hidden beneath polite smiles and careful distance.

But as we rejoin his daughters, as Aya chatters about her favorite fireworks and Kohana offers shy opinions and Mizuki watches me with those too-perceptive eyes, I find myself unable to look at her, as if she already knows everything.

I surrendered. I admitted I was his.

The drive back to the compound takes place in sleepy silence, Aya dozing against her sister's shoulder while Mizuki stares out the window, lost in thoughts I can't begin to fathom.

Kaito sits beside me, not touching but close enough that I can feel the heat radiating from his body, smell the lingering scent of sex beneath his expensive cologne.

"Did you enjoy the festival, Paige-sensei?" Mizuki asks suddenly, her voice carefully neutral.

I meet her gaze in the darkness of the car, wondering how much she knows, how much she suspects. "It was educational."

"I'm glad. Japanese traditions are important to understand if you're going to be part of our lives."

The loaded statement hangs between us, heavy with implications. Part of their lives. Not just their teacher, not just a temporary presence, but something more permanent.

"Some traditions are worth preserving," I say carefully. "Others deserve to be questioned."

She smiles slightly, the expression making her look startlingly like her father. "And some questions don't have simple answers."

Before I can respond, Kaito's phone buzzes with an incoming message. The change in him is immediate and complete, the relaxed father disappearing in an instant, replaced by something cold and dangerous as he reads the text.

"Hayashi," he says into the phone, his voice clipped with authority. "Prepare the house. Full security protocol. We have visitors."

My blood runs cold at his tone, at the way his entire demeanor has shifted. Beside him, Mizuki sits up straighter, suddenly alert, while Kohana instinctively pulls Aya closer, protecting her sister even in sleep.

"What's happening?" I ask, trying to keep my voice steady.

Kaito's eyes meet mine, and for a moment, I see something like regret in them. Then it's gone, replaced by the mask of the oyabun—the crime lord who commands men with a glance and orders deaths with a nod.

"Business," he says simply, but his hand finds mine in the darkness, squeezing once with surprising gentleness. "Stay close to my daughters tonight. No matter what you hear, no matter what happens—stay with them."

The simple instruction sends fear shooting through me like ice water. "Kaito-sama."

"Promise me." His voice leaves no room for argument. "Promise me you'll protect them if necessary."

"Of course I will," I say without hesitation.

"That's all I needed to hear." He releases my hand as the car turns through the compound gates, his expression settling into something hard and unreadable. "Remember, kotori, you're mine. And I protect what's mine, no matter the cost."

As we pull up to the main house, I see black SUVs parked in the courtyard, men in suits standing with the careful stillness that speaks of concealed weapons and deadly intent. Not Kaito's men.

Visitors. Enemies.

The perfect Tanabata night, the magic of the festival—all of it evaporates in an instant, replaced by the cold reality of who and what Kaito Matsumoto really is.

And I have no idea how to escape, or if I even want to anymore.