Page 13 of Kotori
When I straighten, he's watching me with an expression that makes my mouth go dry. Hunger, satisfaction, possession—all carefully controlled but unmistakably present.
"Ii ko," he murmurs, the Japanese phrase soft yet somehow more intimate than if he'd touched me. The words roll off his tongue with natural grace.
"What does that mean?" I ask.
"Good girl." His eyes darken as he says it in English, the translation somehow more potent. "You're learning faster than I expected."
"Is there anything else?" I ask, hoping he can't hear how affected I sound.
"Several things." He settles back into his perfect seiza position while I struggle with numb legs and racing pulse. "Household protocols require adjustment. You'll take all your meals with the family, participate in evening activities, maintain constant availability for the children's needs."
Constant availability. Like I'm being absorbed into their lives whether I agreed to it or not.
"Communication protocols," he continues before I can respond. "All contact with outside parties must be coordinated through household management. Internet access is monitored for security purposes. Transportation requires advance authorization."
My analytical mind recognizes these for what they are—isolation tactics designed to cut me off from the outside world, make me dependent on their resources for basic needs. I should object, should point out that these restrictions go far beyond reasonable employment terms. But my traitorous body is still humming from his touch, still craving the approval in his voice when I submitted properly. The thought of arguing with him makes my chest tight.
"That seems quite comprehensive," I say carefully.
"This family has enemies, Paige-san. People who would exploit any vulnerability, including those who work in our home." He moves to the traditional desk and withdraws two items—the envelope of money and a sleek black iPhone still in its packaging. "Your safety is my responsibility while you're under our protection."
Protection. Such a nice word for control.
"Your first week's salary," he says, sliding both items across the table. "With performance bonus for exceeding expectations. And a practical necessity—an iPhone that will function properly on Japanese networks."
I stare at the new phone. "I already have a phone."
"An American device that won't work here. This will ensure clear communication with the household, proper connectivity for your work." He watches my reaction carefully. "Of course, the new device comes with enhanced security features to protect family privacy."
Enhanced security features. Meaning monitored, controlled, filtered through his approval.
"And the performance bonus?" I ask, focusing on the envelope.
"My daughters' enthusiasm for their new teacher merits additional compensation." His tone is perfectly reasonable, but there's something underneath that makes me think this isn't just about teaching excellence. "Of course, future bonuses will depend on continued compliance with all household requirements."
Compliance. Not excellence, not competence. Compliance.
I reach for the envelope and phone, and he covers my hand with his before I can pull away. The contact is warm, firm, possessive in a way that makes my breath catch.
"Kimi wa..." he begins in Japanese, his voice dropping to a register that sends shivers down my spine. Then he switchesback to English. "Do you understand what you've walked into, Paige-san?"
His thumb traces across my knuckles while he speaks, the gentle touch at odds with the intensity in his voice. I'm trapped between his hand and the table, kneeling at his feet while he holds me in place with nothing more than his fingers and his will.
"I think so," I whisper.
"I don't think you do. Not yet." He leans closer, close enough that I can feel his breath against my lips. "But you will."
The promise in his voice makes my core clench with need I don't want to acknowledge. This is my employer. This is supposed to be professional. I shouldn't want him to close the last few inches between us, shouldn't be imagining what his mouth would feel like against mine.
But, I do.
He releases my hand and settles back with that satisfied expression that makes my stomach flutter. "Your old device, please."
The request sounds polite, but something defensive rises in my chest. This is my phone. My connection to the world I know, to the life I left behind. My photos of home, my contacts, my independence.
"Actually, I'd prefer to keep it." The words come out stronger than I expected. "For photos, my personal contacts. There are things on there that can't be replaced."
"Paige-san." His voice doesn't change volume, but something shifts in his tone that makes my spine straighten involuntarily. "I wasn't asking."
