Page 10 of Kotori
"She's protective of her sisters. I respect that."
"As you should. Family loyalty is paramount in our culture." I lean back slightly, still maintaining proximity. "My daughters haven't had consistent educational guidance since their last tutor left rather abruptly."
Her brow furrows with concern. "What happened?"
"She couldn't adapt to our family's specific needs." I watch as she recognizes that this position requires more than standard teaching skills. "I trust you'll prove more flexible."
The word hangs between us, loaded with implications beyond educational methods.
I leave her kneeling in the formal dining room, processing the reality that she's no longer just a teacher hired for temporary service.
She's a woman being claimed by a man who always gets what he wants.
And what I want is her:completely, permanently, willingly.
She'll fight at first.
That's what makes it beautiful.
3
Paige
WhenIwake,justfor a moment, I forget where I am—the silk bedding, cedar and incense scent, the silence broken only by birds outside.
Then reality crashes back. Japan. The Matsumoto compound. My new job teaching English to three daughters of a man who looks at me like I'm something he's considering acquiring.
The guest quarters outshine any hotel I've ever stayed in. Japanese architecture blended with modern amenities—massive bathroom with Western fixtures and traditional soaking tub, sitting area with low table and silk cushions, built-in wardrobes filled with clothes I didn't pack.
I slide open the wardrobe doors, staring at the selection of conservative blouses and skirts in my exact size. When did they arrange this? The clothing is beautiful, expensive, perfect for my position. It's nothing like my usual style—more formal, more traditional, like someone else's idea of how I should dress. Isuppose it’s my new uniform. Just like the girls. Thankfully, I have some of my own clothes for the weekends.
The thought makes my skin crawl, but I select a navy blouse and matching skirt anyway. The fabric feels expensive against my skin, fits perfectly in ways that suggest professional tailoring rather than guessing.
Someone studied my body carefully enough to select clothing that flatters without revealing, projects professionalism while maintaining femininity.
I'm brushing my hair when the soft knock comes at the door.
"Matsumoto-sama wishes to see you in his study."
Hayashi delivers the message with the tone she might use to announce tea service, but something in her expression twists my stomach. Not sympathy, but understanding. She knows what's coming and doesn't envy me.
"Now?" I glance at the lesson materials spread on the table where I've been preparing. "The girls and I start at nine."
"The girls have been informed their lessons will begin later today." Her tone allows no argument. "This way, please."
I follow her through corridors I'm still learning. My heart pounds harder with each step, though I can't explain why a simple meeting with my employer feels like walking toward an execution.
We stop before the same sliding doors where I first met Kaito yesterday. The memory makes my pulse jump when I remember his overwhelming presence, the way he looked at me like he was undressing me while discussing his daughters' education.
"Enter when called," Hayashi instructs, then disappears down the corridor with efficient silence.
I stand alone outside his study, pressing my palms against my skirt to stop them from shaking. This is professional feedback. Discussion of expectations. Normal employer-employee interaction.
So why do I feel like prey about to walk into a predator's den?
"Come in."
His voice carries through the door with quiet authority that makes my nipples tighten against my bra. The man says two words and my body responds like he's touched me.
