33. Kenzo
CHAPTER 33
KENZO
Once we’re back in our seats and Vi and Jay are long gone, Ronin looks at me.
“She’s a spy,” Ronin says. Almost like he’s practically screaming, I told you so. “Both of them are. They’re not here for?—”
Tomo raises his hand, and Ronin falls silent. Tomo peers around the room, then his eyes stay on me for a few moments longer, reading my internal position in this. Gracie fidgets in her seat. Niko is dark, like an ominous sea, and Cherry is ready to fight, her hands balled into fists, her nails painted bright red. Dice seems bored but attentive, his bulky shoulders tense, his eyes staring off into space.
“You are not the wakagashira, ” Tomo says to Ronin. “It is not your duty to provide judgments. Your sole duty is to prove you aren’t still loyal to Ito-gumi.” Ronin bows his head, and Tomo looks at me. “They must be working for a client,” he says. “What do you know?”
“Not much,” I say. “Jay may or may not be her real uncle. But she’s been with him since she was a kid. I had her cousin working, but then I?—”
“I don’t need their family history,” Tomo interrupts. “What are they after? ”
My stomach sinks with the way he’s talking about them, about her, but I don’t convey that. Shit. Why can’t I answer? Am I avoiding the subject because I know it’s not going to end well for my wife?
Regardless, it’s fucking obvious.
“What else would they be after?” I lift my shoulders. “Someone wants that Golden Honor Firearms contract. We just have to find out who. ”
Tomo bows subtly to Niko, the actual wakagashira. “How would you handle it?” Tomo asks.
Niko cracks his neck. His bluish-black eyes narrow as he settles his gaze on each of us, like a true kumicho. A mother-fucking boss.
Niko directs Dice. “You’re on Jay,” he says. “I don’t care how many people you put on him, but he doesn’t leave our sight. We need to know what he’s up to. When he sleeps. Who he calls. Whenever he takes a piss.” Dice nods, and Niko turns to me. “Can you handle your wife, Kenzo- chan? ”
The derogatory nature of his nickname—calling me “little Kenzo,” like I’m a cutesy child—isn’t lost on me. Niko is a self-important dick at times, but maybe I deserve it. I’ve always had a hunch about Vi, but I never said anything. Not since the first time I met Jay while he was handcuffed in the holding cell.
It seemed so unimportant then. It was just a game. Nothing more.
“I’ll take care of her,” I say.
Tomo nods, satisfied with my answer. “Let’s get out of here, then.”
The owner of the restaurant bows incessantly to Tomo and Gracie as we make our exit, and an anxious tension buzzes through me. I have to make a change with Vi, and soon. I can’t keep letting her control me like this, especially when it comes to family.
My family.
Vi is not my family. Not like that. She probably only married me so she can go after us. And I should kill her now.
But I arrive at Chandelier Bar and see her in that creamy dress, and my nerves instantly drop. It’s the same dress as before, but Vi’s cheeks are red, like she just returned from that pleasurable edge. She’s got to be sensitive as hell after those denied orgasms, and damn it all, my dick is hard knowing she keeps obeying me, pleasuring herself and saving her come for me. She may be a trap, but she’s exactly what I want right now. I grab her by the waist and usher her forward.
“You don’t want to get another drink?” Vi asks.
I ignore her question, guiding her to the valet. My dick throbs, and it’s impossible to keep it hidden, but at this point, I don’t have any fucks to give.
I briefly consider my options. We can rent a suite here for the night, but that requires talking to a receptionist, waiting to see what they have available, and making sure they have the best for my wife. And I can’t wait any longer.
The valet brings my Challenger up to the front. We get inside, but as soon as I find an empty corner of the parking garage, I park. Then get out and fold down the front seat so we can get into the back.
Vi raises a brow at me. “What are we?—”
“Get back here,” I command.
She gawks, so I get up, pull her from the front seat, move her around to my side of the car, and push her into the back. She crawls across the leather on her hands and knees until she’s completely inside, cramped on all fours, and I scoot in after her. I unzip my pants, my head hitting the top of the car and my mouth salivating as I behold her. Her body tightens like a sculptor’s masterpiece, and I lift her dress and bend her down until her face is against the leather. I pull the thong to the side of her pussy lips, exposing her beautiful, hairy cunt. I run my fingers over her and groan when she drenches my fingertips.
“Have you been a good little slut for me?” I ask. It’s a rhetorical question; I don’t give a fuck if she has or hasn’t. My dick is going to be inside of her as soon as she answers.
“Kenzo,” she whimpers. “Someone will see us.”
“Let them see who owns your cunt.”
I slam my cock into her pussy, and she cries out. My palm smacks her ass with each thrust. Her pale skin blooms into a bright pink, and her pussy walls clench against me with each spike of pain. She’s such a little whiner—complaining about getting caught—but she loves it. Getting caught like a little whore.
My little whore.
I thrust my dick inside of her until tears roll down her cheeks, my curved dick hitting her cervix. It must hurt like a bitch, but I want her to feel me. I want her to know who owns her. Because, right now, this is what I need: to fuck these emotions out of my body so I can think straight. So I can see her for who she really is: a spy, and not my wife.
Those thoughts fade, and all that’s left is her. Vi. My slutty little wife who makes me so crazy I’m fucking her in the back of my car like a goddamn teenager.
“Did you touch yourself whenever you got worried tonight?” I ask, my voice husky in sexual frustration. “Tell me.”
“I did,” she moans. “I touched myself for you, Kenzo.”
“Good girl.”
I reach around her hips and flick her beaded clit in circles, and she immediately comes around my dick, choking my shaft like she’s determined to squeeze the blood out of me. I fuck her harder, hammering into her until the pleasure takes hold of me too. I pull out, coming on the back of her dress.
She goes to straighten herself, but I guide her until she’s sitting and facing me. All spread out like a dirty slut. Her wet pussy shines against the leather, drenched in her come. I contort myself in the back seat until I’m as close as I can get to her pussy, then I lick her sopping lips, shifting her until I can taste her ass, cleaning her off with my tongue. She tastes sweet and tangy, like an orange candy, and I can’t get enough. She shivers with delight. I lick around my mouth, savoring her taste on my skin. My dick twitches again.
My head is not back in the business yet, but for tonight, I don’t care. I just want to be with her.
“You’re fucking divine,” I say. I pull her thong back into place and let the fabric snap against her dark hole. She yelps, and I smack her inner thighs. “Had to clean you up,” I wink. “Can’t let a filthy thing like you in the front of my car. You dirty whore.”
“Pervert,” she teases.
“Only for you, baby.”
The drive home is quiet, and instead of playing my usual loud-ass rock, I keep Queen’s “Crazy Little Thing Called Love” at a normal volume. I hum softly to the lyrics, and Vi bobs her head. A weight settles on my chest; she actually knows this song. I put a hand on her thigh, letting it rest there, and she puts her hand on top of mine. I take the long way home, so we can stay like this. So I can pretend like I don’t have to put anything back into place tomorrow.
When we make it back to the penthouse, the lights flicker on, and I see a new candle in the middle of the dining table. It’s in a glass container, and the label is decorated with hand-drawn flames. I sniff it; it smells like ash and ginger.
“That’s for you,” Vi says.
She leans her head against my arm, and my body surges with heat. I want her to feel that comfortable around me forever. To touch me whenever she wants or needs me.
But Niko’s words echo in the back of my mind: Can you handle your wife, Kenzo-chan?
I need to handle this. I need to handle her.
But that comes tomorrow. For now, I toss the candle between my fingers, marveling at the fact that she made something for me. It’s so fucking sweet, it’s almost irritating. Why does she have to be so perfect?
“You made a candle for me?” I ask.
“Inspired by you and everything,” she says. “I had the idea the other night. When we were in the desert with the bonfire.”
So much of our sex is out in the open, just out of reach of the public eye. Fucking her in a parking garage. On the balcony. Out in the desert next to a bonfire. Maybe it has to do with the fact I want everyone to know she’s mine. Or maybe it adds a level of danger and exposure that forces us to be our truest selves. When we’re fucking, I see straight into Vi’s soul, and she can’t lie to me. I let her see me too.
“Thank you,” I say. I kiss her on the forehead and nuzzle my nose in her hair. Tomorrow, I’ll take care of things. Tomorrow, she won’t be my wife.
But tonight, I want her in my arms.