I thought the night would never end.
I imagined myself stuck in a loop, stumbling and tumbling out of my depth until my mind cracked.
Whenever I looked at Sebastian, my body shook. Whenever my eyes met his, I could feel my soul being sucked from my body.
Or what remains of it, anyway.
I had to tell Akira I was tired so we could cut the night short. He didn’t mind since we were having guests come over for a late dinner.
If I’d stayed in Sebastian’s vicinity any longer, I have no doubt that my nerves would’ve gotten the better of me.
If I’d watched him any closer, I would’ve lost the control I’ve perfected over the years.
But as we leave, I steal one last look at him.
He’s at the bar, drinking with two other men. I recognize them from the magazines as Daniel and Knox. Both of them are British and probably the closest people to Sebastian nowadays.
From what I read, he’s still friends with Asher and Owen, too.
Daniel and Knox are laughing, but Sebastian isn’t. I doubt he’s even hearing what they’re saying.
The three of them attract the entire hall’s attention and women keep approaching them or trying to make as much eye contact as possible. Something hot and fiery erupts inside me and I squash it before it’s able to burn me alive. .
Sebastian lifts his head and I lower mine before he makes eye contact. I really don’t think I can handle it again. Not that I did the first time—or the second. If I keep getting caught in the maze his eyes create, I’ll most definitely never find a way out.
I let Akira lead me outside and breathe the icy air into my lungs before we get into the back of the car.
Our driver takes us to the outskirts of Brooklyn. Akira owns a house here, although we don’t visit it much.
I don’t, at least.
Akira often has business in the States and comes alone. I prefer to stay in Japan.
Ever since I moved there seven years ago, I’ve made it my mission to stay away. I’ve focused on keeping Mom’s legacy alive and have just played my role so the system can go on.
The car stops in front of the mansion, which has modern architecture mixed with a traditional Japanese style. The entrance to the house has a large black gate, but the inside is laid out in a square way. Wooden panels are situated on every side, and one has to remove their shoes before going in. The large space in the middle has a few rare plants that Akira personally takes care of. There’s even an enormous pond full of goldfish, koi, and other types of fish.
He feeds them himself and takes pride in everything that connects him with his roots.
Akira comes from a noble family with samurai blood that goes back several centuries.
His upbringing was strict and disciplined, and as a result, he’s a conservative Confucianist with a great appreciation for anything traditional, whether it’s plants or green tea done the authentic Japanese way.
However, he rose beyond that and opened himself to the world, which is the reason behind his success as a businessman. He’s achieved things no one else in his family was able to.
They let their traditional ways shackle them, but he didn’t. While he loves his origins and takes pride in them, he doesn’t let them pull him down and can become a chameleon if need be.
He’s in an internal war with his brother, who’s waiting for any mistake so he can turn the tables and become the leader of the Mori empire.
Of course, my jerk husband didn’t tell me anything about his origins or fortune when we used to be pen pals back when I was eighteen and he was twenty-one. Because the sucker totally lied. He was in college when he first wrote to me, not in high school. He’s thirty-one now.
Akira gets out of the car first, without waiting for the driver to open his door, then strides to mine as I’m about to step out. My husband offers me his hand and I take it before we walk inside together.
His steps are moderate, never too rushed, and never too slow. Everything he does is previously calculated to the smallest details. He’s like a mountain sometimes, I swear. No one can tell what’s inside its sturdy silence.
We take in the view of the garden that’s lit by dim yellow light coming from lamp poles between the trees.
“It’s a beautiful night, don’t you think?” he asks.
“It is.”
“Even the charity event was nice.”
“Uh-huh.”
“I had a few memorable impressions of a couple of people.”
I wet my suddenly-dry lips. I’ve known Akira for long enough to recognize that he doesn’t take note of everyone he meets. He might act polite and welcoming to each person he talks to, but he’s always filtering them in his mind.
He only recalls those he’ll work with.
Or those he’ll destroy.
“Like who?” I ask in a tone that I hope to hell doesn’t betray my emotions.
“Knox Van Doren and Daniel Sterling, for one.”
Sebastian’s colleagues. They came over and said their hellos to us after we talked to Sebastian since, apparently, they were previously acquainted with Akira.
“I thought you’d met them before.”
“Yes. But tonight, I met them under different circumstances. Let’s say, new ones.”
“I see.”
“Then there’s your college friend. What was his name again?”
He’s playing a game, wanting me to say his name myself, because no matter how much I tried to control my body language, Akira is a master at reading people’s reactions and he must’ve sensed all the stiffening going on whenever Sebastian was in sight.
But if I choose confrontation, he’ll just deflate and make it appear as if I’m being defensive.
So I smile. “Sebastian. His name is Sebastian Weaver.”
“Right. Weaver. I heard his grandfather is a senator again.”
“Could be.”
“His uncle owns the firm in which he, Daniel, and Knox work. I heard he passed the bar after taking an accelerated course.”
“Nice.” When the hell did he manage to get his hands on this information? I knew Akira’s line of intel worked fast, but I didn’t know it was this fast.
“Do you have any secrets to tell me about him?”
“Why do you ask?”
“Because I’m considering working with him.”
Fuck. Shit.
When he expressed his intentions earlier, I thought they were mere empty promises. I didn’t think he’d really want to work with Sebastian.
“Wouldn’t it make more sense if you worked with Knox or Daniel since you’re already acquainted with them?” I’m thankful my tone is casual.
“Logically, it does, but where’s the challenge in that?” He smiles in that mysterious way that still gets under my skin.
Akira always appears like a blank canvas who only shows people what they want to see. He does have his hidden tendencies, though, and presents them through that infuriating smile.
I don’t even trust anything he told me over the years when we used to write letters back and forth to each other. At the time, I thought they were genuine, but that could’ve been another way for him to manipulate me so I’d end up in this position.
Because no matter what Kai and Ren say, I don’t believe this whole thing hasn’t been plotted for years. Maybe since I was born.
“So?” Akira insists.
“So what?”
“Any weaknesses I can hold over him?”
“Why would I know his weaknesses? We only studied at the same college. Our classes weren’t even in the same department, so it’s not like we were close.”
“Interesting. I don’t know why I got the impression that you were, in fact, close. Maybe it was my imagination.”
“Could be.”
Akira pats my hand. “No worries. Although you didn’t help me, I’ll find his weakness in no time. It’ll be a fun challenge.”
My spine jerks upright and I force myself to relax so he doesn’t read my reaction.
If there’s anything I’ve learned about Akira after all these years, it’s that he makes it his mission to find other people’s weaknesses. It’s how he manages to step over them and get what he wants.
No one gets under Akira’s radar and escapes unscathed. He’s so similar to my father that way.
But I can’t try to persuade him out of it, because if he senses my interest in the matter, he’ll latch on to it.
“Good luck.”
He lowers his head and kisses my cheek as we reach the entrance. “Go ahead and change before our guests arrive.”
“You, too.” I smile as we go in separate directions. His room is on the eastern end and mine is on the west.
My room is simple with a king-sized bed in the middle and tall lamps on either side of it. The only personal item here is the sketchpad on the bedside table that I use whenever I need a breathing outlet.
I lean against the door and close my eyes the slightest bit, catching my breath.
It feels as if I haven’t been breathing properly since the moment my eyes fell on those tropical green ones. For a second, the past flashes before my eyes, but all I can think about is the last time I saw him.
Bleeding, feverish, and dying.
Slowly opening my eyes, I lift my hand, the same hand that Sebastian kissed, and stare at it in the light.
It still tingles, still feels as hot as his lips. I can imagine them on my skin, kissing, lingering as he holds me prisoner with his savage gaze.
I walk to the bed on unsteady legs and unzip my dress on the way, my breasts spilling free from the built-in bra as the material pools on the floor.
My skin feels so warm and sensitive that even the sensation of the air hitting it manages to cause discomfort.
I lie on the soft mattress and slip my tingling, hot hand that Sebastian kissed inside my panties.
My back arches off the bed as I rub my clit in slow circles.
I’m so wet that I soak my fingers in a second. It’s been such a long time since I got so aroused this fast. It feels foreign. New, even.
Or maybe I’m just projecting the past onto the present.
My pussy throbs as I slide my fingers through my folds while still stimulating my clit. Sparks of pleasure flood my starved core and I dig my teeth into the cushion of my bottom lip.
My nipples peak and I cup one with my free hand as I stare at the ceiling.
But it’s still not enough.
I close my eyes and let my imagination loose. Rough, calloused fingers pull on the tight peaks of my nipples, painfully twisting them.
A moan spills from my lips as he grabs both nipples and squeezes one between his lean fingers. Then he bites on the other one, trapping it between his teeth before he sucks it into his hot, wet mouth.
My moans and whimpers echo in the air, rising to a crescendo. It’s like I haven’t been this turned on in my entire life.
No.
I haven’t been this turned on in seven years.
And it’s all because of him.
The shadow I feel perching over me, his large, hard body squashing mine beneath him. He’s so huge, so much bigger than me.
He can hurt me.
Can ruin me.
My sticky inner thighs clench together at the thought and I thrust two fingers inside me, but in my fantasy, it doesn’t feel like them.
Not even close.
His huge cock pounds into me, stretching me until I’m whimpering and tears sting my lids. His harsh, unforgiving eyes peer into mine as he fucks me without mercy. As if he’s punishing me.
As if he wants to teach me a lesson.
I want him to kiss me, but I don’t think he’ll do it. So I just lie there, taking his punishment and the rough thrusts.
In my mind, my hand rests on his chest, feeling the stiff muscles rippling under my touch and the strong heartbeat beneath it.
He ups his rhythm until I’m gasping, holding on by a thread to the carnal pleasure that he’s ripping out of me.
“Sebastian…” I moan, and my heart jolts as the name hangs in the air, but I don’t get to think on it long as a wave of pleasure drags me under.
He doesn’t speak, though. The Sebastian from my hallucinations never does.
Usually, I don’t speak either, but today, lust takes complete hold of me until I can’t think past it.
I imagine his hand around my throat as he drives into me harder and faster. I slide off the mattress due to the power of his cock forcing its way into my pussy over and over until I’m screaming.
My orgasm goes on and on and I think I’m going to pass out from the strength of it.
I ride the pleasure, murmuring his name like a chant. I don’t want to open my eyes, don’t want to leave the fantasy and return to the world of the living.
But I do.
No matter how high I float, I always eventually crash down.
I slowly open my eyes, and just like that, the spell is broken. The scent of sex lingers in the air, but the only thing touching me is my own fingers.
I’m all alone.
A tear slides down my cheek and slips into my mouth.
It doesn’t matter how many times the scene repeats, it still hurts like a fresh wound.
I think it always will.
But today, the hurt is stronger, deeper, as if someone dug a knife into that wound.
Because when I saw him again, I couldn’t help thinking about where we might be right now if those black days in the cell had never happened.
If he hadn’t been shot and we weren’t taken.
If I hadn’t dug my nose in where it didn’t belong.
But it’s useless to think of that, isn’t it?
Not when our story has already been written.
I wipe my cheek with the back of my hand and stand up. I need to put on my steel armor to meet our guests.
As in, my fucking family.
