Page 43 of The Oyabun's Boy

Joy's nails dug into my back, no doubt leaving marks that I would wear proudly. "Yours," he gasped, eyes locked with mine, pupils blown wide with pleasure. "I'm yours, Kenji."

My name on his lips, raw and desperate, was my undoing. I reached between us, wrapping my hand around his cock, stroking in time with my thrusts. "Come for me," I commanded, my voice barely recognizable to my own ears. "Show me who you belong to."

Joy shattered beneath me, his back arching as he cried out my name. His release spilled hot and wet between us as his body clenched around my cock in rhythmic pulses.

The sight of Joy completely undone by my touch, the sound of my name torn from his throat in ecstasy, sent me hurtling over the edge after him. I buried myself deep inside him as I came, marking him from the inside in the most primal way possible.

Wave after wave of pleasure crashed through me as I emptied myself into his willing body, branding him as mine in a way that could never be undone.

"Mine," I growled once more against his sweat-dampened neck. "Always mine."

Joy curled against my chest, his breathing gradually slowing as the aftershocks of pleasure subsided.

I held him close, one arm wrapped possessively around his waist, my other hand idly tracing patterns across the freckled expanse of his shoulder. His copper hair tickled my chin, and I breathed in the scent of him—sweat and sex and something uniquely Joy, like sunshine trapped in human form.

My body felt heavy with satisfaction, but it was the stillness in my mind that truly shocked me. For the first time in years, perhaps decades, the constant calculations, threat assessments, and strategic planning had gone quiet, replaced by something dangerously close to peace.

I should have been on guard. Should have been planning our next move against my uncle's remaining forces. Should have been assessing vulnerabilities, anticipating threats.

Instead, I found myself counting the freckles scattered across Joy's shoulders like stars, matching my breathing to his, allowing myself to simply exist in this moment.

Weakness,a voice in the back of my mind warned: Attachment is vulnerability.

I ignored it, focusing instead on the warm weight of Joy against me, the way his fingers traced absent patterns on mychest, the occasional aftershock that made his body tremble slightly against mine.

"Are you alright?" I asked, my voice rougher than intended.

Joy tilted his head up, those green eyes meeting mine with a clarity that saw straight through my defenses. "Better than alright," he said, a lazy smile curving his swollen lips. "Though I might not be able to walk tomorrow."

I felt a primal satisfaction at his words, at the evidence of my claim on him. "Good," I murmured, pressing my lips to his forehead. "I want you to feel me with every step."

He laughed softly, the sound vibrating against my chest. "Possessive much?"

"You have no idea." My hand slid down to grip his hip, fingers pressing into the bruises I'd left there. Not hard enough to hurt, just enough to remind.

Joy's breath hitched, but he didn't pull away. Instead, he nestled closer, tangling his legs with mine beneath the sheets. The casual intimacy of it struck me as more profound than the sex we'd just shared.

We lay in comfortable silence for several minutes, his heartbeat gradually synchronizing with mine.

Outside the windows of my fortress, the city continued its restless pulse—sirens in the distance, the occasional helicopter, the constant hum of eight million lives intersecting in chaos.

But here, in this bed, with Joy's warm body wrapped around mine, everything else receded to insignificance.

"The voices," I said suddenly, the words slipping out before I could contain them. "They're quiet when you're here."

Joy shifted against me, propping himself up on one elbow to look at my face. Moonlight filtered through the blinds, casting silver stripes across his naked form.

"What voices?" he asked, no judgment in his tone, just genuine curiosity.

I hesitated, unused to exposing vulnerability of any kind. In my world, weaknesses were exploited, not shared. But there was something about Joy that dismantled my defenses one by one.

"Not actual voices," I clarified, my fingers continuing their absent exploration of his skin. "The constant calculations. Threat assessment. Planning. Contingencies. My brain never stops—always ten steps ahead, anticipating attacks, evaluating weaknesses, seeing connections others miss." I paused, struggling to articulate something I'd never put into words before. "It's how I've survived. How I've built what I have. But it's... exhausting."

Understanding dawned in Joy's eyes, those impossible green depths softening with compassion rather than pity. His hand came up to cup my face, thumb brushing across my cheekbone with a tenderness I'd rarely experienced.

"And they stop when I'm here?" he asked softly.

"Yes." The admission felt dangerous, like revealing the location of a hidden weapon. "When I'm with you, it's just... quiet. For the first time since I was a child, my mind isn't constantly at war."