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You can feel your husband’s gaze.
Naoya’s attention has always been a heavy thing; it wraps around you, drags at you, an anchor with its weighted chain.
You glance at him from beneath your eyelashes. It’s a quick, demure little flutter, but Naoya sees it. He beckons to you, one elegant brow raised. You bid a quiet goodbye to the clan member who had approached you as you waited for Naoya to conclude his business. The man brushes his fingers against the sliver of skin peeking out from your kimono sleeve, his rough fingertips dipping under the silk and skimming over the delicate flesh of your inner wrist.
Naoya’s gaze grows heavier still, an undertow current.
You let that unrelenting tide carry you to him, winding gracefully through the room. He watches you the entire way.
His hand flickers out as soon as you’re near. His fingers close around that same wrist, his thumb pressed against the gossamer webbing of veins, against the soft echo of your pulse. He pulls you close.
“Wife,” Naoya drawls, his voice edged with the quiet song of a just-sharpened blade. “Thought you knew better than to leave my side.”
“I apologize, Naoya-sama,” you say, keeping your gaze lowered. “It won’t happen again.”
He catches you by the chin. Tugs you to look at him, his long fingers hot on your jaw. Sometimes you wonder if his touch is etched into your bones, scorched into the marrow of you.
He’d like that.
He squeezes at your cheeks until your lips part. He smudges his thumb against the corner of them, just shy of dipping inside. One of the other men in the room murmurs something. Your cheeks burn hot, but you hold still for him.
(What will you do for power, the elder asks. Her dark eyes glimmer in the low light; you think of koi, their scales flashing firework bright just beneath the murky water.
Anything, you say steadily. Everything.
She smiles.)
Naoya’s lips curl up at the corner; you think of the hazy, smug pleasure of a cat lazing in a patch of sunlight, the world made just for them.
“Course it won’t,” he says. “Why’s that?”
“Because a good wife obeys.”
He keeps you still for a moment more. Then he lets go, the heat of him lingering on your skin, a ghostly imprint. He dismisses you with a nonchalant wave; you settle in his shadow, staring down at the tatami.
The men’s chatter flows around you, rattles in your ears like pebbles caught in a wave. You watch your husband from beneath your lashes, taking in the shift of his lithe muscles, the glint of his eyes, their keen edge only sharpened by the elegant flick of his eyeliner, and know it won’t be long.
“Enough,” he says, glancing at his nails idly.
One of the men starts to protest, but Naoya raises a brow, his lip twisting with a sneer, and he falls quiet again.
“Yer all wastin’ my time.”
“Naoya-sama—”
“Nah,” he says, his voice lilting playfully, the edge of his words honed sharp. “Lemme know when you’ve got something useful to say.”
He strides out of the room. You wait a breath before following him into the hall—you know the proper distance from your husband’s back by heart, the feel of it ingrained in you, a seed deeply rooted.
You don’t even see him move.
Naoya pushes you into the little alcove in the hall so quickly your head spins, the world blurring at the edges. He pins you against the wall with ease. He tilts your face towards him. Like this, enveloping you, he’s earth and sky alike, his presence your entire world.
“They’re gettin’ bold,” he says. “Touchin’ you right in front of me. And you’re letting ‘em.”
“I was—”
He pushes forward, catches you in a kiss laced with the boundless fury of a storm-struck sea. You think of how the sea rarely lets go of what it takes, and close your eyes.
He’s relentless even as you yield to him, molding soft against him as pulls you closer. His teeth prick the plump flesh of your lower lip. Your gasp spills into his mouth; he swallows it down like wine.
(Naoya kisses you like he owns you.
You suppose he does.)
Your lips are spit-slick when he pulls back. His deft fingers hook into the stiff fabric of your obi, tugging at it until it starts to loosen.
You can still hear the other men through the shoji.
“Naoya-sama,” you gasp. “The others—”
“You belong under me, ya know?” Naoya hisses, laying a sharp bite at the edge of your jaw. “And they’re gonna know it too. I’ll make sure of that.”
Your kimono gapes open at the neck as your obi sags. He tugs the thick, luxurious silk aside until your tits spill out. The cool air drifts over you, the chill of it making your nipples furl tight, perking into sensitive little nubs. He kneads your tit roughly, pinching at your nipple until you’re arching under him, sparks starting to spit across your nerves.
He maps out your mouth with his tongue, steals your breath away. You whine into his mouth as he rolls his thumb over the peak of your nipple, the rough drag of it dripping slow heat down your spine. Naoya tugs you closer, his big hands rough. He’s half-hard, his cock thickening against your hip.
“Was fucking an heir into you the first time not enough to mark ya, inside and out?” he snarls. “Yer mine.”
He digs his teeth into the jut of your shoulder as he rucks your kimono up around your hips. The sting of it splinters beneath your skin, arcs through you like heat lightning, a building storm. You cry out, a sharp bite of noise in the empty hallway.
The voices on the other side of the shoji pause.
“There ya go,” Naoya purrs.
He slips a hand between your legs to cup your cunt. You suck in a sharp breath as he grinds it up against you, one long finger tapping at the wet spot on your panties.
He presses in close, nips at the shell of your ear, the prick of it making you squirm. “D'ya like them hearing you?” he asks. “Or is it that you like 'em knowing you’re where you belong?”
You keen as he presses his palm up against your cunt again, the heel of his hand grinding against your clit.
“Please—ah—Naoya-sama, it’s not appropri—hah—ate!”
“Careful now, wife,” he says, pushing your panties to the side. The wet of your slick is caught on them, strings delicate between you and the lace. His cock throbs against your hip. “Them knowin’ you’re mine? Nothin’ more appropriate.”
He drags his fingers through your folds, circling your hole lightly. You jerk, and then he’s spearing in deep with two fingers. You shriek at the brutal, delicious stretch of it. It sears through you, the incandescent burn of a falling star caught beneath your skin. Your cunt spasms.
“You’re drippin’,” Naoya says. You can feel the pleased curl of his lips against the side of your jaw; he nips at you. “Tight, too.”
“Fuck,” you gasp, arching as he gives a sharp little thrust, pushing knuckle deep in you.
He twists his fingers, opens you on them. “Watch your pretty mouth,” he says. “Ya know better.”
You nod, not trusting your voice.
He gives a few more hard thrusts and curls his fingers against your front walls. You jolt, lightning flashing down your nerves, a bright bite of pleasure.
He pulls his fingers out with a wet sound that makes your cheeks burn. Naoya kisses you roughly as he shifts just enough to pull his cock out. Precum smears high on your inner thigh, and then he’s dragging hot against you.
He pushes through your slick folds a few times, until the head of his cock catches on your little hole, the thick crown of it just barely pushing in. Your pussy spasms around it. Sucks him just a bit deeper. He holds you there for a moment, keeps you stretched around the fattest part of his cockhead.
You’re breathless with it. Pulled tight like a spun sugar thread, a delicate, fragile thing, destined to break. Your hips flex in his hold.
“You’ve always had a good cunt,” Naoya says, nipping at your neck with intent. “Now remind 'em whose wife you are.”
He bottoms out in you with one hard roll of his hips.
Your voice breaks on his name. The way he splits you open around him spills molten through you, scorches you like forest fire. You fist at his kimono with shaky fingers. Dizzy with the stretch, with the thick weight of him against your fluttering walls, you can’t quite tell if you’re pushing him away or pulling him close.
“Naoya—”
“You can take it,” he groans, giving you a sharp swat on the fat of your quivering thigh. “S'what you’re made for.”
He pushes your thigh up and lets more of his weight pin you. You squeak as he sinks deeper. He carves a space for himself in you, his cock pulsing against your walls.
He fucks you hard, hitting deep with every roll of his hips. The wet slap of your cunt sucking him in echoes in the little alcove. You’re so full of him. You arch into him as best you can, your fingers knotted into his kimono.
He pulls you into a kiss that’s more teeth and tongue than anything else. It shifts him in you, and you whine into his mouth. Your cunt clamps down on his cock, and he draws back, biting out a curse.
Naoya hikes your thigh higher to open you more. With the changed angle, he grinds against your clit with every thrust. It ricochets through you like lightning.
“Gonna fill you up,” Naoya hisses. “Make ya drip with me. This tight cunt of yours is gonna be overflowing. I’ll fuck another heir into you, so they all remember that yer mine.”
There’s static beneath your skin, you’re sure of it, little pinpricks crackling into something bigger.
“Naoya-sama, please—”
“Think I’ll fuck ya so full of cum you won’t remember what it was like to be empty.”
You spasm around him. He scrapes his teeth up the column of your throat, leaves a stinging path in his wake.
“Tell 'em,” he snarls. “Tell 'em who’s fucking you, who you’re gonna give another son.”
“You, Naoya!”
He cups your nape to pull you into a kiss, his mouth vicious against your own, iron against the lush warmth of you. You can feel the pulse of the thick vein that runs up the length his cock against your tender walls. He grinds deep, and it catches your clit against his skin, sends sparks down your spine.
You arch into it, and cry out as the static goes white-hot, as lightning splinters at the core of you.
Naoya spits out a curse as your cunt tightens, clamping down so hard that he can barely move. He pushes deep as he cums, his thighs tensing, and his fingers dig hard into the meat of your thigh. Dizzily, you think some part of you will always feel his touch.
“Take it all,” he hisses. “Gonna get you heavy with my child.”
His cock twitches in you. He rolls his hips lazily, fucking his cum deeper still. Pleasure goes steel-edged, starts to cut into you instead. You hiss in a breath.
You vaguely register Naoya pulling out; he sorts himself out with relative ease. His hair is damp with sweat, darkened into the color of the autumn wheat harvest. There’s color high on his cheeks, too.
In comparison, you know that you look absolutely wrecked.
His cum drips from you, beads of it slipping pearly over your inner thighs. He hums, drawing close and reaching down to splay his hand possessively over your pussy. You suck in a sharp breath as he drags two long fingers up the trail of cum and pushes it back inside your swollen cunt.
“What a waste,” Naoya grumbles, twisting his fingers idly in you. You jolt with it, the sharp bite of pleasure scraping raw against your overwrought nerves. He watches your hips quiver with a lazy grin. “I’ll fuck you full again in our rooms. 'Bout time you gave me another son.”
Someone coughs behind the shoji.
Anything, you think.
The little piece of paper the man tucked into your kimono sleeve crinkles against your skin.
Everything.