Page 123 of Kotori
"A formal challenge means?"
"One of us dies tonight." His honesty is brutal. "Hiroshi's been planning this for years. He's chosen the time, the place, the terms. He wouldn't call for single combat unless he was certain he could win."
My chest constricts with rage and terror. "Then don't go. Let him be the coward who hides behind ancient law."
"I can't. Refusing formal challenge means forfeiting clan leadership. Every family under our protection becomes vulnerable. Our daughters lose everything." His voice drops. "And Hiroshi knows I won't let that happen."
Our girls. Even facing possible death, he claims them. Claims me.
"So this is goodbye?"
Something breaks in his expression. The first crack in that perfect control. "Paige." My name comes out broken. "What we built, what you became, I never expected—"
"Stop." I close the distance between us, my hand finding his chest over his heart, feeling the hard edge of kevlar beneath expensive silk. "Don't you dare make this a speech."
He stares down at me, and I see it. Fear. Not of dying, but of losing this. Of losing us. "You changed everything," he says quietly, voice rough with something I've never heard before. "Made me want things I thought were weakness."
"It matters," I say fiercely. "You matter. This family matters."
"And I love who I became with you," I continue, the words pouring out desperate and true. "The mother who discovered she'd kill to protect her children. The woman who found her strength in choosing to fight. I love you, Kaito. All of you. The darkness, the violence, the way you'd burn the world down to keep us safe."
We stand there in moonlit honesty, no more games or manipulation. Just two people who've found something worth dying for.
He steps toward me, hands framing my face with trembling fingers. "My fierce queen."
Then his mouth is on mine.
The kiss ignites something feral. I bite his lower lip, tasting copper and desperation. My fingers tear at his jacket, needing to feel him, to memorize every detail before he walks into hell.
"No." I step back and tear at my clothes, letting it pool at my feet. The September air is warm against my naked skin but I'm burning. "If this is goodbye, then I'm taking everything."
He sucks in a breath, wonder taking over his face. I stand completely bare while he remains fully clothed. Powerful, armored, the yakuza king in his battle dress. "Paige."
"No words." I reach for his tie but he catches my wrists. "Not tonight."
"I don't undress for war," he says quietly, voice rough with want and something darker. "But you, kuso, look what you do to me."
He pulls me against him, and the contrast sends electricity through every nerve. Naked skin against expensive fabric, soft curves pressed to hard armor. I can feel his weapons through the wool—the gun holstered at his ribs, the knife at his back, the bulletproof vest warm from his body heat. Reminders of the violence waiting beyond these walls, the man who kills to protect what's his.
"This is what I need," I whisper, desperate to memorize everything. The sharp line of his jaw, the way his eyes go dark with want, the controlled strength in hands that will soon spill blood. "To remember you like this. Coming back to me."
"I will." His mouth crashes against mine, swallowing doubt. When we break apart, his forehead presses against mine. "I have too much to live for now." His hands shake as they map my body, reverent and desperate, like he's trying to burn the memory into his palms.
"Tsuyoi onna," he growls against my throat. Strong woman. "My beautiful."
He enters me with one brutal thrust that tears a scream from my throat. Stone scrapes my back but I don't care, can't think past the way he fills me completely, stretches me, claims me with savage desperation. "Ore no mono," he rasps, buried deep and pulsing inside me. Mine. "Always mine."
"Prove it," I gasp, nails raking down his back through expensive fabric, feeling the hard outline of the knife sheath beneath wool and kevlar. The holstered gun digs into my ribs as he moves, a reminder that this beautiful, deadly man is going to war. "Fuck me like you're never coming back."
The rhythm turns feral. He pounds into me against ancient stone, each thrust driving me higher up the sculpture, deeper onto his cock. I'm nothing but sensation. His hands bruising my hips, his teeth marking my throat, the delicious pain of being split open and claimed completely.
"Harder," I demand, biting his ear until he groans. "Break me. Ruin me. Make me yours."
He slams into me so hard the sculpture shakes, his control finally snapping. One hand tangles in my hair, yanking my head back to expose my throat. The other finds my clit, circling with brutal precision while he fucks me like he's trying to brand his ownership into my very soul.
"Is this what you want?" he snarls against my neck, his voice dropping to guttural Japanese. "Konna ni nureteiru no ka? Boryoku ni nurete iru daraku na onna?" Are you this wet? A depraved woman getting wet from violence? "To be fucked like the desperate little slut who chose darkness?"
"Yes," I sob, the word torn from somewhere primal as pleasure builds like wildfire. "Yes, use me, mark me, make me remember."
