Page 33 of Love on the Run

He nips my lower lip. I feel the sting before his sucks it into his mouth.

“Show me,” he urges. “Show me, how sorry you are. Make me forget.”

Hard hands grip my hips as I ride him, sliding my pussy up and down his shaft. I glide all the way back then up until I meet the coarse crush of hair. It brushes my clit like a rough kiss. I seek it with each pass until my rhythm is a perfect mix of a smooth slide and hard finish just like he likes. I fuck him. Ifuck the best I’m sorry I can, snapping my hips hard at the end making him swear and grunt.

He says filthy thing in Japanese, “Fuck me, Hannah. Yes, swerve that hot little pussy on me.” I do as he says. I give him everything he demands.

Finally, he fucks me back, surging inside to meet me with hard punishing thrusts, hitting my spot with vicious precision. He doesn’t have to say anything, I know he feels more that he can express. One look at the depth of emotion and I’m keening my release, screaming “Akchiro, yes.” Over and over as hot gushing come streams from me. He keeps going after I fall limp onto him thrusting, his seed bursting inside me in hot, heady jets.

Exhausted,I have no strength to move. He doesn’t disengage. He holds me even after his dick softens, after our breathing has returned to normal. He holds me and I hold him back scared to move, scared to break the magical bond we somehow manage to forge tonight.

I must have nodded off.No fallen asleep. Because when I awake, I can see dawn breaking over the horizon. I’m warm because the cover has been pulled and tucked around me. Despite the warmth, I sit up to see I am utterly alone. He’s gone. I know he didn’t stay the night. He would have still been in bed, probably just waking. He probably waited until I fell asleep.

I press my hand to my mouth to cover my sob. I bite down hard on the side of my palm at the pain cutting through me. With wild eyes I look around the room it looks as if he was never here. If I didn’t know better, I would have thought I made love to a phantom.

I said I was sorry. I showed him in every way. He never apologized for his part or even acknowledge my words. The cold reality settles on me.

I gather the tatters of my pride and hope heading to the bathroom. I can’t fall apart. I can’t.

SIXTEEN

Akchiro ~ Outta My Head

In my office I watch the CCTV as Flower sobs, covering her mouth looking around the room for evidence of me. I will myself to feel nothing as she scrambles from the bed rushing to the bathroom.

Forcing myself to return to work, I still find myself watching the live stream of our suite trying to ignore the ache lodged in my chest like motherfucking ax.

She’s in the bathroom an abnormally long time. So long, I almost call attendants to go check after I’ve finished two tasks and given my assistant a follow-up call and she’s still not returned.

Tapping my Namiki fountain pen idly on my desk beside some contracts I need to sign, my mind goes back to all the time she spent in the bathroom the prior evening when she insisted she’d forgotten the time. Her whole manner seemed off as if she were hiding something, yet there was nowhere for her to hide anything when she stood bare before me.

Eventually, she emerges freshly showered. There is something in the way she’s walking that has my eyes narrowing.I can’t put my finger on it, but something is off with her gait. She moves over to the closet going into the walk-in.

As soon as she does the motion activated cameras comes on. She walks over to the vast array of clothing provided. I wonder if she’ll choose another oversized hoodie and sweatpants to wear again.

I’ll take pleasure in ripping it off her and having it tossed overboard should she dare defy me. She doesn’t. She picks a pair of navy linen pants and a crisscrossed top fitted across the chest and flows out in an a-line design. She picks up her sandals taking them and placing them by the entrance of the suite for going above deck later.

Going over to the seating area, she orders breakfast then turns the tv on, but doesn’t watch it. She walks over to the bookshelf and picks up a book. Tucking it under her arm, she takes her seat again. She shifts, crossing her legs, winces and puts it back down. It’s so slight, I’d have missed it if I hadn’t been watching her so intently. I know the cause can’t be from our love-making last night. I pause thinking of the act that took place in her suite. That is exactly what happened between us. We made love. I was too enthralled by her to stop it; realizing as she gave me the most beautiful apology that I didn’t want her to stop. I loved it. Everything she did harkened on the love we made every day until the day she left with Asa.

She made me weak last night. My teeth clench at the fucking thought. I held her long after she’d fallen asleep. Just held her, our bodies sticky, cooling from our exertions.

Finally, knowing if I stayed and woke up with her, I would be lost in her again. Lost to the emotion I tried to strangle that keeps trying to burst free every time I’m in the same room with her. I fled like a coward from a slip of a woman I could crush with my words and my bare hands if I wanted. That’s the damn problem though, isn’t it? I’m not sure I want too anymore. Ialmost forgave her for everything. I almost said the words I know she longed to hear. Words she doesn’t deserve.

Instead of joining the call already in progress between my brothers and cousins who lead the vast Takeda holdings, I mute them to watch my wife.

Within minutes attendants come to bring her morning meal. Flower is unfailingly kind but there is a reserve she has with them I don’t normally see. I know she thinks they report to me. An unnecessary concern though she can’t know I have cameras watching her every move beyond the obvious one trained on the bed I had installed to watch over her as she recovered.

She struggles through the breakfast — an array of her favorites; eggs, Conecuh sausage I had imported because she loves it, and grits her mother gave our chef the recipe for. It bothers me to watch the way she stares of into the distance for long moments between bites. She barely touches the mocha she loves so much aside from a few sips.

Frustration abrades me like low quality silk as I watch her push the food away and ring for attendants. Agitatedly she paces back until they come to take the food way. She rolls her eyes when they inform her of another fitting. She’s shaking her head vehemently as she and Miranda, the Australian girl go back and forth.

After several minutes they all leave. Flower flounces over to the seating area out of what I guess she assumes is out of the line of sight of the camera, sitting down wrapping her arms tightly around herself. She crosses and uncrosses her legs again. It seems we are both frustrated.

“Come in,” I say when I hear the knock at the door. Miranda enters, her face calm and serene despite the heated argument she’s just engaged in with my wife.

“I sorry to brother you, Mr. Takeda.” She bows as she’s obviously seen her Japanese counterparts do but unlike them,she has come to me with a problem rather than solve it herself, which is what my staff normally does, knowing I am a person who rewards innovative thinking no matter the level of employ.

“Yes?” I place the pen beside the contracts, leaning back in my chair to observe the woman.

---