Page 43 of Kotori

Paige

Two days. I've had two days to process what happened, and all I've done is replay every moment in excruciating detail.

The way he'd pressed me against that tree.

How my body had opened for him without hesitation.

The sound I'd made when he'd filled me: desperate, grateful, like I'd been starving for his cock.

God, I'm disgusting. Is the first thought I have when I wake up.

I stumble to the mirror on unsteady legs, and my reflection makes me sick. I look the same. There's no visible marks from our encounter, no obvious signs of my moral collapse. I can see it in my own eyes: the knowledge of what I am. What I've become.

A woman who gets wet for the man who kidnapped her. Who begs for the touch of someone who owns her like property.

"Fucking pathetic," I whisper to my reflection, gripping the edge of the vanity until my knuckles turn white.

"Williams-san?" Hayashi's voice carries through the door. "The morning lessons await."

Morning lessons. I have to teach his daughters.

I have to stand in front of three intelligent girls and pretend I'm a competent adult while the memory of their father's cum running down my thighs burns in my mind.

While I fight the shameful knowledge that the sick, twisted part of me wants it to happen again.

"Coming," I call back, proud that my voice only shakes a little.

I choose my outfit, trying to hide what I've become from myself as much as anyone else.

Conservative blouse, long sleeves, modest skirt.

Foundation to hide the dark circles under my eyes from two nights of restless, shame-filled dreams. Everything carefully arranged to project normalcy when nothing about me is normal anymore.

In the mirror, I look like a woman who slept badly. No one would guess I spent the night before last crying with relief and self-hatred after coming on my captor's cock. After telling him I belonged to him and feeling my soul settle into place when he claimed me.

The walk to the lesson room feels endless. Every step reminds me of that night: how my legs had trembled afterward, how he'd straightened my yukata with such careful attention, how his seed had leaked out of me during the entire car ride home while I sat next to him like nothing had happened.

Like I hadn't just surrendered everything I thought I was.

"Good morning, Paige-sensei," Aya chirps as the girls file in for their English practice. "You look sleepy today!"

Sleepy. If only she knew what's been keeping me awake.

"I haven't been sleeping well," I admit, settling carefully onto my cushion. The normalcy of teaching feels surreal after the psychological war I've been fighting with myself.

"Are you sick?" Kohana asks with gentle concern, studying my face with uncomfortable perception. "You seem different."

Different. Because I am different. Because two nights ago I learned exactly what I am—a woman who craves her own degradation, who gets off on being owned by the man who stole her life.

"Just tired," I lie, opening today's lesson plan with fingers that still aren't quite steady. "Shall we practice pronunciation?"

But I can't concentrate. Every time I try to focus on irregular verbs or grammar structures, my mind drifts back to the festival. To the sound he'd made when I'd admitted I was his. To the way my body had clenched around him like it was trying to keep him inside forever.

To how perfectly it had felt to surrender completely.

"Paige-sensei?" Mizuki's sharp voice cuts through my distraction. "I asked you a question."

Heat flames across my cheeks. "I'm sorry, what was the question?"

She studies me with those dark eyes that see too much, inherited intelligence that misses nothing. "I asked if you were feeling well enough to teach today. You seem distracted."

Distracted. By the memory of begging my captor to fuck me harder. By the shameful knowledge that I'd do it again in a heartbeat if he gave me the chance.

"I'm fine," I say firmly. "Let's continue."

The sliding door opens, and my breath stops completely.

Kaito enters with that fluid grace that makes every movement look deliberate, wearing an impeccable charcoal suit that emphasizes his shoulders and the controlled power in his posture.

When his dark eyes find mine, I see quiet, devastating satisfaction at the sight of me struggling to function after what he did to me.

What we did together. What I begged for.

He knows exactly what state I've been. He's enjoying watching me fall apart. Which, I can only assume, is why he hasn't called me to his room since.

"Otou-san!" Aya bounces slightly in her seat. "Paige-sensei is teaching us new vocabulary words!"

"Is she?" His voice carries that controlled warmth he uses with his daughters, but underneath I hear something else. Something that makes my core clench with need and self-loathing. "How wonderful. I thought I might observe today's lesson."

Observe. Like I'm a specimen in a cage, performing for his amusement while I fight not to throw myself at his feet and beg him to touch me again.

He settles at the back of the room, close enough that I can feel his presence like heat against my spine. Every word I speak, every movement I make, is being catalogued with the same attention he used to study my face when I'd admitted I belonged to him.

"Continue, Paige-san," he says quietly. "Don't let my presence distract you."

The way he says "distract" makes clear he knows exactly how his presence affects me. How the memory of his hands on my skin makes it nearly impossible to focus on anything else. How I've spent two days hating myself for wanting more.

I struggle through twenty minutes of lessons while he watches with that predatory patience that strips away every pretense of dignity.

The girls participate enthusiastically, but I catch Mizuki glancing between us with growing understanding in her dark eyes.

She's too smart not to sense something has changed.

Too perceptive not to notice how carefully I'm holding myself, how his presence makes my voice shake despite my efforts to stay professional.

"Excellent progress," Kaito says when the lesson concludes. "Girls, please continue with your independent reading. I need to discuss curriculum adjustments with Paige-san."

Curriculum adjustments. My stomach clenches with anticipation and terror in equal measure.

His daughters file out with polite bows, but Mizuki pauses at the door. For a moment, she looks like she wants to say something. Maybe ask if I'm okay, maybe voice whatever suspicions she's harboring. Then she catches sight of her father's expression and thinks better of it.

The door slides closed with devastating finality.

We're alone.

The silence stretches between us while he studies me with the same thoroughness he used that night when I was pressed against the tree, vulnerable and desperate beneath him.

I can feel his gaze notice the careful way I'm sitting, the way I can't quite meet his eyes, the tremor in my hands that won't disappear.

"How are you feeling this morning, kotori?" he asks with mock concern.

The pet name makes liquid heat pool between my legs despite everything. Despite my shame, despite my self-hatred, despite the two days I've spent hating myself for being so fucking weak.

"Tired," I whisper.

"I imagine so. You've been fighting quite a battle with yourself, haven't you?" He rises from his cushion and moves closer, suddenly towering over me while I remain seated in vulnerable position. "Hating yourself for how eagerly you spread your legs for me."

I have been fighting that exact battle, losing ground every hour as my body craves what my mind knows is wrong. "Stop," I breathe, but the word has no force behind it.

"Stop what? Speaking the truth? Acknowledging what we both know happened in those gardens?

" His fingers trace the air just inches from my face, not quite touching but close enough that I can feel the heat.

"You came on my cock while my daughters waited in the pavilion, kotori.

You told me you were mine and meant every word. "

The casual recounting of my surrender sends electricity racing through my overwrought nervous system. I have to grip my hands together to keep from reaching for him.

"I see it in your eyes," he continues, voice dropping to something intimate and knowing. "The shame. The self-hatred. But underneath all that guilt, there's still the need, isn't there? The desperate craving for more of what I gave you that night."

I can't answer because it's true. Every nerve ending feels exposed, every breath a reminder of how thoroughly he's destroyed my sense of self. The unfulfilled arousal has settled into my bones like fever, worsened by the knowledge of what it makes me.

"Please," I breathe, hating myself for the word but unable to stop it.

"Please what?" His thumb finally makes contact, tracing along my jaw, and I have to bite back a moan. "Please touch you? Please give you more reasons to hate yourself? Please prove that you're exactly what you fear you are?"

"Yes," I gasp, beyond caring about pride or dignity or the moral implications. "Please, I can't... I need..."

"You need to stop fighting what you are." His grip tightens slightly on my face, forcing me to meet his eyes. "You need to understand that every moment of shame, every second of self-hatred, comes from denying your true nature."

I nod frantically, tears starting to blur my vision. "I understand. I'm sorry. I was wrong about everything, please just—"

"Shh." His thumb brushes across my lower lip, and the gentle contact makes my whole body tremble. "Come to the training grounds at eight tonight. I'll be sparring with Takeshi. Wait for me there."

"Will you," I swallow hard, shame burning in my cheeks even as arousal floods through me. "Will you touch me?"

His smile is devastating and completely without mercy. "That depends entirely on whether you're ready to stop hating yourself for being exactly what I made you to be."

He rises and moves toward the door, leaving me kneeling on the floor with need clawing at my insides and the terrible understanding that relief will come only when I accept what I've become.

"Eight o'clock, kotori," he says without turning back. "Don't be late."

The door slides closed behind him, and I collapse forward with a broken sob.

I hate him. I hate myself. But most of all, I hate how desperately I want him to finish destroying whatever's left of the woman I used to be.