Page 29 of Kotori
The way he says "discretion" makes me suddenly hot. This isn't about cultural education anymore. This is about him and me. Alone.
"Please," he gestures toward the cushions. "Sit."
I settle down, immediately aware of how the formal position puts me at a disadvantage. Kneeling while he towers above, looking down at me with dark satisfaction. The memory of last week's encounter floods back—his hands on my shoulders, his voice commanding proper submission, the way my body responded despite my mind's protests. And then every night since, my deliberate performances for his cameras, the blue silk nightgown becoming a ritual.
He moves to the sake service. "Traditional service honors both guest and host," he says, settling onto the cushion across from me. "You'll pour."
Not a request. A command delivered in that quiet voice that makes my nipples pebble against my bra. I reach for the ceramic flask with hands that tremble slightly, hyperaware of his attention on my every movement.
"From both hands," he corrects when I try to pour casually. "Show proper respect."
I adjust my grip, and he moves closer to guide my position. His fingers cover mine on the flask, warm and firm and completely inappropriate. The contact makes breathing suddenly difficult.
"Like this," he murmurs, so close I can feel his breath against my ear. "Service is an art form, Paige-san. Beautiful when performed correctly."
The way he says "service" makes clear we're not just talking about pouring drinks. His thumb traces across my knuckleswhile he speaks, the gentle touch at odds with the possession in his voice.
"Now pour. Slowly."
I follow his instruction, trying to ignore the way his proximity affects my concentration. The sake flows in a stream while he watches my face instead of the cup.
"Beautiful," he says softly.
When I try to pull my hands away, he doesn't let go immediately. "Again. You need practice." He downs the first cup like a shot, something that doesn't seem appropriate but what do I know?
We repeat the exercise three times, his fingers guiding mine while he murmurs corrections about angle and flow and respect. Each repetition puts him closer, his chest nearly touching my back, his voice dropping to something intimate and commanding.
By the time he's satisfied with my technique, I'm focusing on every point of contact between us. The warmth of his hands. The way his breath ghosts across my neck when he leans close to observe my form.
"Much better." He finally releases my hands but doesn't move back. "Now serve me."
Serve.
Serve him.
I pour his sake with the precision he's taught me, presenting the cup with a bow that feels more natural than it should. When our fingers brush during the exchange, heat shoots straight between my legs.
"Perfect." The approval in his voice shouldn't affect me this much. "Your posture has improved as well."
I glance down, realizing I've automatically straightened into the formal seiza position he corrected last week. When did thathappen? When did my body start adjusting to his expectations without conscious thought?
"Learning comes naturally when the student is motivated," he continues, lifting the sake cup. "Tell me, what motivates you, Paige-san?"
The question catches me off guard. "I want to do well. To help your daughters succeed."
"Admirable. But I asked what motivates you. Not what you think I want to hear." His dark eyes hold mine with uncomfortable intensity. "What do you want from life?"
I stare at him, thrown by the personal turn. "Security, I suppose. Purpose. The feeling that I matter to someone."
"Someone hurt you." It's not a question. "The reason you fled to Japan."
My chest tightens. "That's not—"
"My apologies. Too personal." But his tone suggests he's not sorry at all. "Let's discuss more appropriate topics."
Hayashi appears silently to arrange the first course of delicate appetizers presented on tiny ceramic plates. The moment she withdraws, leaving us alone again, the atmosphere shifts back to something charged and intimate.
"Kaiseki," Kaito says, settling across from me with fluid grace. "The height of Japanese culinary art. Each course tells a story."
