Page 36 of Kotori
I brush my thumb across her lower lip, feeling its softness, watching her eyes widen at the intimate touch.
"Understanding isn't required." I release her throat and stand, looking down at her kneeling form with satisfaction. The sight of her looking up at me, lips parted, cheeks flushed, sends desire coursing through me. "Only obedience."
The morning mist has thickened around us, creating perfect isolation. No staff will venture this deep into the gardens without permission. No sounds from the main compound penetrate the careful landscaping. We exist in a bubble of my creation, where only my rules apply.
"Stand," I command quietly.
She rises on unsteady legs. The restrictive clothing makes her movements careful, deliberate, forcing the grace I require from all women in my household.
"Follow me."
I lead her deeper into the garden, following paths that wind between ancient trees toward the heart of our family's power. The ancestral shrine waits in its grove of cherry trees, weathered wood and stone.
Here, surrounded by the physical manifestation of our legacy, she'll understand what kind of world she's entered. What kind of man has claimed her. What her choices truly are.
The shrine emerges from the mist like a nightmare or dream, depending on perspective. Traditional architecture that predates her entire country, stones placed by men whose bloodline flows through my veins, whose spirits demand honor from their descendants.
"Kneel," I say again, gesturing toward the shrine steps.
This time, she doesn't hesitate. She doesn't question or resist. She sinks gracefully onto the ancient stone, like an offering laid before my ancestors.
But as the weight of her situation settles over her—alone in these isolated gardens, completely at my mercy, her entire world shifting beneath her feet—tears begin to slip down her cheeks. Silent at first, then accompanied by shaking breaths as the overwhelming reality crashes over her.
Fear. Confusion. The terrible understanding that she's trapped in something far beyond her comprehension.
The sight of her tears sends dark satisfaction coursing through my veins. Not cruelty for its own sake, but the recognition that her defenses are finally crumbling. That the walls she's built around her heart are dissolving under the pressure of truth she can no longer deny.
She's breaking beautifully.
"Better. Ii ko." The praise rolls off my tongue in Japanese, natural as breathing.Good girl. "Do you know what this place is?"
"A shrine," she whispers, voice thick with tears.
"Not just any shrine. The heart of four hundred years of Matsumoto power. Where my ancestors received the mandate to rule, to protect, to preserve what matters most." I run my fingers along the weathered wood, feeling the connection to generations of men who stood where I stand, made decisions that shaped destinies.
Her breathing has steadied, though I can see the tension in her shoulders, the way she holds herself like someone expecting judgment.
"Tell me, Paige-san, what do you know about my wife?"
The question catches her off guard, as intended. She wipes at her cheeks with the back of her hand, trying to compose herself. "She... she died. Four years ago. The girls still miss her."
"Akira." I speak my late wife's name with the reverence it deserves. "Beautiful. Intelligent. Strong enough to challenge me, wise enough to know when not to. She understood her place in our world, embraced her role as mother and partner without sacrificing her spirit."
I move around the shrine's edge, approaching her kneeling form with deliberate slowness, letting her count every step. "She knelt where you kneel the morning I claimed her completely. Swore herself to our family, our traditions, our future. Matsumoto is more than a name."
"I'm not your wife," she says quickly, fear flickering across her features.
"No," I agree, settling beside her close enough that our shoulders touch. "You're not. Akira was born to this world, raised with proper understanding of duty and sacrifice. You're a foreign creature who must be taught, shaped, molded into something worthy of the name."
My hand finds her chin again, turning her face toward mine. I let my gaze drop to where the collar of her yukata reveals the graceful curve of her neck, the hint of collarbone. "But you could be. With proper education. Sufficient motivation. Complete surrender to the natural order of things."
"What are you saying?"
I slide my hand from her chin to the nape of her neck, feeling the fine hairs there stand on end at my touch. "I'm saying that your purpose here extends far beyond teaching my daughters English. You're here because I require a woman strong enough to understand our family's needs, beautiful enough to honor our traditions, devoted enough to serve our household without question."
The words are an ultimatum. I watch to see the moment she grasps that this is about more than language lessons. But not the full scope. Not yet.
"You're talking about being more than just a teacher," she says carefully, fresh tears threatening to spill.
