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“What?” She almost drops the katana but then holds steady. “I don’t understand.”
My mother hadn’t either. My stepfather had her wrapped around his finger. I begin to wonder how many years of hurt consumed Ryann’s light. Traded goodness for darkness.
How did she become the woman atA Touch of Essencewho would not look up?
Whocouldnot?
My mother was the same. At first, she threatened to leave. We packed our meager belongings repeatedly. Once when I was small, I remember an American missionary who brought God into my mother’s life. We were to escape with him. When we got to the edge of town, where we were supposed to meet him, authorities were dragging the man away. Christianity was frowned upon in our small village where Shinto was practiced. When we returned home, I remember my stepfather laughing coldly. It took me years to understand that he had alerted the authorities to the missionary. After that, we ceased the futile endeavor of leaving. My mother became a shell of herself, and he took her life.
I should’ve claimed his life before he stole hers.
I spin Ryann around. The katana clatters on the ground as I pin Ryann between myself and the wooden railing. I glance around. My staff could be meandering over one of the bridges across the way, leaving or arriving from another structure. But I’m overthrown by emotion.
Emotion and desire.
“After he hits you, you resume with the fun, yes?” I laugh softly against Ryann’s clamped mouth. “That’s why he waited so long to meet with you on vacation? He couldn’t look at your face until it returned to its beautiful form?”
“Ryoichi, I never met that man in my life. You are not listening!”
“Then he crawls back, and you forgive him, yes?”
“No!”
I push her dress up, hands burning over the soft skin of her stomach.
I’m acutely aware of Ryann cussing my very existence as I put as much of her breast into my mouth as I can and suckle on it. My other hand journeys down her soft abdomen, stroking the toned flesh of her thighs. I’m memorizing the roundness of her ass, squeezing tightly. “This is how he pays penance?”
“What do you mean, ‘How he?’ Ryoichi, you murdered the man. He was a stranger!” Ryann has more to say, but her voice falls flat when my fingertips stroke her sensitive core.
My fingers twirl over her pussy, thrusting hard. Screwing her core with two fingers, I pant, “That’s not how it should be,bijin. This isn’t how one atones for their wrongs.”
I can’t stop fucking her as I argue. I’ve gone mad. And between her thighs is a faucet.
Eyes closed, Ryann caves from her continuous need to defend the man. She arches in pleasure, climaxing as my fingers pump inside of her. I’d scented her arousal when she agreed to walk with me. She’d marinated in delicious desire, waiting for me to take her.
That should not be.
She must give herself freely to me and be honest about her past and how she’s allowed men to hurt her. Her lovely curves draw tight, and I kiss her furrowed brow. We relish the pleasure I created as she climaxes. Her walls tighten, cum dripping over my fingers.
Not allowing her a moment to exhale, I stuffed my saturated fingers into her shocked mouth. “You lie to me, Ryann. And most importantly, to yourself when you allow a man to harm you physically.”
I bring her up onto the railing, suspending her with ease. She bites down on my fingers as I push myyukatato the side and glide the head of my cock against her contracting, spasming mound.
“Leave me alone, Ryoichi. If anyone has hurt me, it’s you.”
“How?” I inquire, taunting her with my voice and cock, the head slithering over her drizzling slit, parting her lips without penetrating her. My chest trembles from a harsh groan. “I’ve simply bypassed the pain and just offered you the pleasure he would after he’s harmed you.” Chuckling softly, I let my hardened erection drift over her opening. I alternate from ferociously mauling her nipples to worshipping them.
“Get away from me, Ryoichi!”
“Alright. We have time for you to be honest.” I step back, letting the cotton folds fall closed.
“Me, be honest? I don’t owe you a damn thing.” Ryann tugs her dress down and wraps her arms around her like armor.
“You owe yourself.” I pull her off the railing, spinning her around. My hand clenches the back of her neck as I bend her over. The side of her face is planted against the railing, sultry eyes cutting through me. My thoughts drift. I’m tortured by the sound of my mother in bed with my stepfather after he smacked her around. I’d lay on the floor in our living room, crying as the bedpost repeatedly slammed against the wall.
Why do they always cave to the bad guys?
ChapterEight
