Page 556 of Rage

As soon as he settles, he pulls me into his arms almost as if he’s cuddling me.

I know better. He’s going to punish me. Tenderness always precedes his punishments, and aftercare always follows.

“You will tell me why you are sick,” he quietly demands after we have gotten back to the road leading to Takeda Manse.

My mind spirals. “Eating hastily yesterday as I was getting ready for the trip,” I shrug mumbling into the tendons of his neck. I can feel his gaze peeling the skin of my skull back in an attempt to figure me out. To see if I’m lying to him. I’m not. Everything has been so hectic. My nerves frayed from the tension that plagues our marriage these last couple of months.

Taking a chance, I snuggle closer. By the way his stiffens, I expect him to pitch me over to the other side of the car. Eventually, he relaxes. Probably in a far shorter time than my harried brain realizes. Still why is he stiffening? Holding himself rigid as if he can’t stand to touch me?

Strong arms circle me. I sigh. The cramps from the retching have subsided enough for me to relax.

I let exhaustion pull me under and dream about sweeter times…

Months earlier…

“Wake up, sleepyhead,” I murmur, smiling when my husband’s eyes peek at me through the thick fringe of his lashes.

“You beat me awake. Impossible,” he scoffs, rising to ease back against the headboard, letting the sheet fall to his waist. His wiry form is a mass of lean muscle, not an ounce of fat to spare. It takes everything in me not to fall into the invitation I see in his singularly focused gaze.

“I set my timer. I have something special for you,” I tell him.

His brow quirks, and a skeptical smile plays across his face. “For me?”

“Yes, silly.” I lean in, taking his mouth. Long, taper fingers spear into the curls at my nape.

Our tongues tangle. He never has morning breath, so I’m more than eager to let him linger on my lips, drawing out sighs that make my coochie clench with promise his mouth is making.

It takes everything in me not to lean in more when he tries to draw me down. “Uh-uh, babe. Come on.” I pull back with a cajoling smile, gently tugging on his arm.

“Are you serious?” he grumbles, looking meaningfully down at the tenting cover.

“Later, I promise.” Backing up because I know if he presses the issue, I will put my hands on him and he won’t stop until I’m ruined with no energy. Today is too special to let him distract me.

“I’m going to hold you to that, wife.” He growls, throwing off the covers, standing nude before me with a ragingly hard dick. The glistening tipped, heavy-veined appendage has my mouth watering.

“Go ahead and take care of your business. I’ll be right here.” Shooing him away, I pull my robe a little tighter to reduce some of the tension that kiss caused in my now-sensitive body.

“Ready?” I ask when he emerges moments later in the black silk loungewear he prefers. Per his tradition, not an inch of his body is revealed. I’m the only person who has ever seen him fullynaked. Seems fair since he is the same for me. My first, my last, my everything.

“Sure.” He deadpans the obvious with a dry smirk on his face.

Rolling my eyes, I grab his hands, pulling him behind me.

My heart trips over itself as I take him through the grand expanse of the samurai mansion my husband had built in my small hometown of Shelby-Love, Alabama, when he was installed as the CEO of the Creative Chaos factory by his cousin, Akchiro, as punishment for trying to usurp his position.

The fact that he survived that and managed to marry me is a miracle, which is why I feel no small amount of trepidation about what I’ve done. Kiyoshi is not a man who likes secrets, and he also doesn’t like surprises, but if I can’t surprise him today of all days, then what are we doing?

“What’s this?” he asks when we step onto the garden terrace.

“Just a little something I threw together for your birthday. Happy birthday, babe.” I can feel how tremulous my smile is. I see him track it.

I see the confusion on his face then as the realization dawns. My heart aches as I come to a realization as well. He forgot his own birthday.

I watch as his onyx gaze falls on all his favorite dishes from home. Some he’s probably never had in the years he’s been the CEO of Creative Chaos, some he’s not indulged in since childhood.

Almost as if he’s afraid the food is going to attack him, he makes his way over to the spread and picks up a hanami dango. His eyes raise and meet mine in wonder. I give him a slight shake of my head.

“I made them all myself,” I say softly. “Sit, sit, eat while they are still warm.”I tell him in Japanese, knowing I rushed back to our bedroom as soon as I had everything ready. Waving for him to take the seat centered among the various treats.

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