Page 48 of Kotori

Paige

I wake to the sound of Kaito's voice, low and commanding in the predawn darkness.

"Wake up, ningyo. I need your mouth."

My eyes flutter open to find him sitting on the edge of the bed, completely naked, dark hair still damp from his shower.

Morning light filters through, illuminating the magnificent tattoos that flow across his powerful frame: the black dragon breathing clouds across his shoulder blade, koi swimming upstream over his chest in gold and red.

There's no hesitation anymore. No internal war about what this makes me or whether I should want it. The contract I signed last night settled something fundamental inside me, and I slip from the warm sheets onto the hardwood floor between his legs with fluid grace.

"Good girl," he murmurs, his hand finding my hair with possessive gentleness. "My perfect little doll, always ready to serve."

The praise sends warmth through my chest. This is who I am now—his ningyo, his willing captive, his devoted companion. The simplicity of it brings peace instead of conflict.

I reach for him. I take in every detail of the intricate ink work decorating his skin. Wind bars flow down his arms between chrysanthemums, muscles shifting beneath traditional artistry that speaks of violence and beauty combined.

His cock stands thick and ready. He's magnificent naked like this: all controlled power and deadly grace, silver threading through black hair that makes him look like some ancient war god.

"Slowly," he commands, voice gentle but absolute. "I want to watch my doll work."

I place a soft kiss on the thick head. The taste of him floods my senses: clean from his shower but purely masculine in a way that makes my mouth water. His dark eyes track my every movement with something deeper than lust. Satisfaction. Pride. The look of a man who has everything he's ever wanted.

"Ii ko," he murmurs as I begin working him with my tongue. "Such a good little doll, learning exactly how to serve her master."

I take him deeper, watching the way his jaw clenches with control, how his free hand grips the silk sheets.

"Motto," he commands in rough Japanese. " More. I want to feel your throat."

I comply eagerly, relaxing my muscles to take him fully while he tangles his fingers in my hair. The grip is possessive but careful, controlling my rhythm while I worship his length with complete devotion.

"Kore da yo," he growls, watching me with hungry eyes. "This is what you were made for, ningyo. Perfect submission."

The mix of Japanese and praise makes me moan around his length, the vibration drawing a sharp curse from his lips. His control starts to fracture, abs contracting as pleasure builds, the koi across his chest seeming to swim upstream as his breathing becomes labored.

"Swallow it all," he demands, grip tightening in my hair. "Every drop belongs inside my perfect little doll."

When his release floods my mouth, I drink him down greedily, watching those magnificent abs clench and release as he empties himself down my throat. The sight of his powerful body shuddering with satisfaction fills me with quiet pride.

"Kanpeki," he breathes afterward, Japanese rolling off his tongue like honey. Perfect.

But instead of dismissing me to dress alone, he rises and moves to our shared wardrobe. Our wardrobe. Everything about this room, this life, is ours now.

"Arms up," he says softly, and I obey automatically.

He dresses me himself—sliding a soft sweater over my head, smoothing the fabric down my torso with careful attention. When he kneels to help me into my skirt, his movements are gentle, like I'm something delicate that requires tender handling.

"There," he murmurs, brushing my hair back from my face with both hands. "Beautiful. My perfect companion."

The care in his touch, the way he takes responsibility for even this simple task, settles something warm in my chest. This gentleness mixed with absolute control.

Why did I ever think fighting this would bring me anything but misery?

This is what I was made for. What I've always craved without knowing it.

"Ready for breakfast?" he asks, thumb tracing my lower lip with possessive tenderness.

"Always," I whisper.

In the dining room, Aya launches herself at me like a small tornado.

"Paige-mama!"

Everyone freezes.

Kohana drops her book with a soft thud, eyes going wide. Mizuki's chopsticks clatter against her bowl. Even Hayashi, arranging tea service, goes completely still.

"Aya-chan," Kohana whispers, voice strained. "You can't... you shouldn't..."

But Aya's already wrapping her arms around my waist, pressing her face against my stomach with six-year-old certainty. "I drew you a picture, Paige-mama!"

My throat closes completely. Mama. She called me mama.

She shows me a family drawing: five figures holding hands in front of the compound. Kaito tall in the center, three daughters around him, and me. Blonde hair, blue eyes, wearing what looks like a kimono. Written at the bottom in careful hiragana: "My family."

"This is beautiful, sweetheart," I manage, emotion making my voice thick.

"Because we ARE family! Forever and ever, right?" She bounces, completely oblivious to the tension. "Papa said you belong here now, and I want a mama so bad, and you're perfect!"

The casual certainty in her voice, brings tears to my eyes before I can stop them.

"Aya-chan," Mizuki says sharply, recovering first. "You can't just decide that Paige-sensei is—"

"But she IS!" Aya interrupts, turning to face her sisters with fierce protectiveness. "She takes care of us and reads stories and helps with homework and sleeps in Papa's room like mamas do!"

Kohana's face crumples slightly. "Aya-chan, our okaa-san... our real okaa-san..."

"Is watching us from heaven," Aya says matter-of-factly. "Papa told me. But hearts can have room for two mamas, and Paige-mama loves us now!"

The innocent logic breaks something inside me. I sink to her level, cupping her small face in trembling hands.

"Aya-chan, do you really want me to be your mama?"

"More than anything!" Her gap-toothed grin could power the sun. "You already are my mama."

I pull her into my arms, breathing in her little-girl scent of soap and crayons. This is it. This is what I never knew I was missing—the fierce, protective love that makes everything else worthwhile. "Then yes," I whisper against her hair. "Yes, I'll be your mama."

Kohana makes a sound like a broken sob.

When I look up, tears stream down her thirteen-year-old cheeks.

"Do you... would you want me too?" she asks in the smallest voice. "Even though I'm older and not as cute as Aya-chan?"

"Oh, sweetheart." I extend one arm, and she crashes into our hug with desperate force. "Of course I want you. You're brilliant and thoughtful and so much stronger than you know."

Both girls cling to me like lifelines, and I realize this moment is changing everything for all of us. They're not just Kaito's daughters anymore. They're mine too, chosen and claimed and loved with every fiber of my being.

Only Mizuki remains at the table, watching with an expression that makes my heart ache.

"Girls," Kaito's voice carries from the doorway, and everyone goes still. He enters with that commanding presence, eyes finding mine immediately, but there's something different in his gaze. Deep satisfaction as he takes in the scene before him.

"Papa!" Aya bounces while still clinging to me. "Look at my family picture! And Paige-mama said yes! She's really our mama now!"

He moves to study the drawing with careful attention, and I watch his face for his reaction.

Something shifts in his expression as he takes in the details of the way she's positioned me next to him, the obvious care she put into making me look happy, the proud declaration of "family" written at the bottom.

"Beautiful work, hime," he says, using the pet name that makes her glow. "I can see how much love you put into this." His eyes find mine across the emotional tableau. "And how do you feel about this development, Kohana-chan?"

"Happy," she whispers, still pressed against my side. "Really, really happy."

He nods approvingly, then his gaze shifts to Mizuki, who's been silent through the entire exchange. "And you, Mizuki-chan?"

Mizuki's hands clench in her lap, and when she looks up, her eyes are bright with unshed tears.

"I had a mother," she says quietly, voice carefully controlled.

"She was perfect. She died protecting us from men who wanted to hurt Otou-san.

She used to sing to us every night," Mizuki continues, voice getting smaller.

"She would braid my hair and tell me stories about brave princesses.

She made my lunch every day with little notes that said she loved me. "

Tears start flowing down her cheeks despite her efforts to maintain control.

"When the men came for us, she threw herself between them and me and Kohana. She died protecting us because she loved us more than her own life. And everyone just moved on. Like she never existed. Like her love didn't matter."

"Mizuki-chan," I say softly, my heart breaking for this girl who's carried so much pain alone. "A mother's love will always matter. Nothing I do could ever diminish what she gave you."

"Then why does everyone act like you can just replace her?" The question comes out broken, desperate. "Why does Otou-san look at you the way he used to look at her? Why do Aya and Kohana need someone new when Okaa-san loved us so much?"

"Because love doesn't replace love," I tell her gently. "It adds to it. Your mother loved you first and best and forever. I'm not trying to take her place. I'm trying to honor what she started."

"But if I love you too, doesn't that mean I loved her less?" The vulnerable question reveals the guilt she's been carrying.

"Oh, sweetheart, no." I reach toward her carefully, not wanting to spook her. "Loving me doesn't mean you loved her less. It means she raised a daughter with such a big heart that there's room for everyone who deserves it."

"I miss her so much," Mizuki whispers, finally breaking completely. "And I'm scared that if I let you be my mama too, I'll forget how much she meant to me."

"You won't forget," I promise. "We'll make sure you never forget. We'll talk about her, remember her together, keep her love alive in this family."

For a moment, something wavers in her expression—hope, maybe, or the desperate need for maternal love she's been denying herself.

But then her walls slam back up, harder than before.

"I can't," she says, standing abruptly. "I won't betray her memory."

"Mizuki-chan," Kaito's voice carries quiet authority, the tone that makes grown men kneel. "Sit down."

She freezes, caught between emotional pain and ingrained obedience. For a moment, terror flickers across her face—defying her father is unthinkable.

But then her grief overwhelms her training.

"No," she whispers, the word hanging in the air like a blade. "I can't pretend this is okay."

The temperature in the room drops ten degrees. Kaito's face hardens, the mask of control slipping to reveal something dangerous underneath. "Your mother would want you to be loved," he says quietly, but there's steel beneath the words.

"You don't know what she'd want!" The words explode out of her before she can stop them. "She's dead because of this family, and now you want me to just accept a replacement like she never mattered!"

The silence that follows is deafening. Even Aya stops moving, sensing the shift in her father's energy.

"Get out," Kaito says quietly, his voice carrying the promise of consequences. "Before I forget you're grieving."

Mizuki realizes she's crossed a line that can't be uncrossed, but she's too deep in her breakdown to back down. "I'm sorry," she sobs, but still doesn't bow or kneel or show the submission he demands. "I just can't pretend everything is fine."

And then she runs, actually runs from the room like the eighteen-year-old she still is, leaving behind shocked silence and the echo of sliding doors.

After breakfast, I find myself in the family room with Aya and Kohana, Mizuki nowhere to be seen after her emotional exit. Aya works on her kanji practice while Kohana curls up nearby with a book, but the absence of their older sister creates a hollow feeling in the domestic scene.

"Paige-mama," Aya says, concentrating on her brush strokes but glancing toward the door, "is Mizuki-nee going to be okay?"

"She's hurting, sweetheart. Sometimes when people love someone very much and lose them, it takes time to learn how to love again without feeling guilty."

"But she'll come back, right?" Kohana asks quietly, worry clear in her voice. "She won't stay mad forever?"

"She'll come back," I promise, hoping I'm right. "She loves you both too much to stay away."

When Kaito appears in the doorway sometime later, drawn by the sound of quiet conversation, I catch the expression on his face as he watches us. Complete satisfaction. The vision he's had for his family finally coming to fruition, despite the complications.

"Making plans?" he asks, settling onto the floor beside us.

"Just talking about weekend adventures," I tell him. "Temples and bookstores and gardens."

"Sounds perfect." His hand finds mine, thumb tracing possessive patterns across my knuckles. "Watching you claim my daughters, seeing them choose you back, it's exactly what this family needed."

The contentment in his voice, the way he speaks of this as destiny rather than chance, reminds me that nothing in Kaito's world happens accidentally. Even this—the girls calling me mama, my fierce protective love for them—was part of his design.

He saw what I could become, what we could be together, and he made it possible.

His perfect captive, eager to give him everything he desires.

Including the love that makes our bond unbreakable.