Chapter 14
Fourteen
F uck, this hurts more than I thought it would. The burn is instant, and even though I want this, my body is having second thoughts. Kenzo’s lips find the tears that have managed to escape.
“Breathe, utsukushī bakuchiku .”
I love when he calls me his beautiful firecracker in Japanese. It makes butterflies erupt in my stomach. Kenzo plants one hand beside my head and pushes his chest off mine. Looking down, he watches as he slides his cock from inside me.
“Fuck. Seeing my cock coated with your blood is enough to make me lose my mind.” He pushes deeper, and my eyes squeeze shut, a whimper falling from my lips from the sharp pain.
“I’m going to take all the pain away, utsukushī bakuchiku ,” he promises.
Opening my eyes, I find him staring down at me with a look I can’t place. It’s tender and soft, filling every inch of me with emotion.
He takes my hands in his, intertwining our fingers as he leans on his forearms, caging me in.
When he pulls out of me again, I flinch from the burning sensation, but it is quickly followed by a fullness that makes the pain fade. Kenzo lazily strokes in and out of me, easing me through the pain.
“Kenzo,” I tell him after a few moments. “Please.”
He raises an eyebrow.
“Fuck me,” I say. “Give me all your strength.”
Tightening his grip on my hands, he pulls almost completely free of me. Then, in the next instant, he slams inside me. I moan, drawing my knees up and out.
“Fuck,” he groans. “So tight, wife. A perfect fit. Just for me.”
He sinks into me again and again, plowing faster and harder, until the sounds of our bodies colliding fills the space between us. I arch my back, grinding my hips up to meet each of his thrusts.
“Kenzo.” I chant his name as he peppers my throat with kisses. When he hits a particular spot, I scream, sinking my teeth into his bicep to keep the sound from traveling too far.
The pain mixes with intense pleasure, and our bodies find a rhythm together. He’s both filthy and caring. Brutal yet soft. And as I shatter around him, I wonder if anything is going to be the same.
I watch as he comes down from his own orgasm, a satisfied grin spreading across his lips. His cock slips from my pussy, and he moves back to his knees. Feeling his cum dripping from inside me, I pull my knees together, a soft blush coating my cheeks.
“So innocent.” He chuckles as he climbs off the bed, averting his gaze from me while he gets up from the bed. “Stay still.” He points at me when I start to get up. Kenzo walks into the closet, and a few seconds later, he comes out with something short, pink, and stubby in his hands.
“What’s that?” I ask skeptically.
He smirks, playing with it in his hand. “This? It’s a plug.”
Say what now? “You’re not putting that in my butt.” I’m not na?ve. I may have been a virgin, but I’ve watched porn, and there is no way he is sticking that up my ass.
Kenzo chuckles. “Oh, baby.” He comes around to the side of the bed and kneels next to me. “This doesn’t go in your ass.”
Maybe I am na?ve…
“My cum is going to stay right where I put it,” he says. Leaning forward, he goes to put the plug in my pussy. It’s a vain attempt, but I try to turn away from him, preventing him from putting that plug in me. A sharp spank to my ass stills me.
Kenzo takes the opportunity to shove the plug into my vagina.
“That stays where I put it,” he orders firmly. I resist the urge to flip him off or stick my tongue out at him. I’m not risking another round with his belt. “The sooner you are with child, the better for both of us.”
Ice-cold water pours over me, and I blink, letting his words sink in.
Of course this wasn’t about him wanting me. It is about fulfilling our marital contract obligations. I fight the tremble of my lower lip as he pulls away and straightens his clothes.
“I’ll have Jean research some patisserie schools in the area, and we can go over them together and figure out which one is right for you.”
Silently, I nod my head, refusing to look at him.
“That plug stays in,” he warns again.
“But what if I have to pee?” Mortification has my face lighting up like a Christmas tree in Times Square.
“Then you better put it right back where it belongs.”
My face twists. That can’t be sanitary.
“Now.” He grabs his discarded jacket and shakes it out. “The wedding planner will be here in a few hours to take you to the bridal shop for a dress. Chiyo and my mother will meet you there.”
I have yet to meet Kenzo’s mother, the infamous Megumi Nakamura, but I’ve heard whispers about her fierceness. Ever since her husband’s death, she has remained mostly hidden from the public eye, choosing to stay in the shadows. Women have never held much power in the Yakuza, but I do know that Megumi played an important role in building up Nakamura Tech alongside her late husband.
My heart pounds as I nod my head nervously. Kenzo stops fussing with his attire and looks down at me with a gentle expression. I fiddle with the comforter beneath my tense hands, trying to calm myself. He strides toward me and leans over to place a soft kiss on the top of my head.
“Don’t worry,” he tells me, trying to reassure me.“She will love you.”
I let out a snort of disbelief.
“Sure,” I reply sarcastically. “I’m sure your mother is ecstatic to know that you married the woman who left you at the altar.”
Kenzo chuckles, a warm sound that soothes my nerves slightly. “You’d be surprised,” he says with a small smile. “When she was given to my father in marriage, she tried to stab him with one of our family’s antique swords.”
My eyebrows shoot up in surprise. That takes guts. Most wives in the Mafia are raised to be just that—wives. They are taught that it is an honor for their father to arrange a marriage for them, and most of them adhere closely to traditional gender roles. The wife cares for the home and bears children while turning a blind eye to her husband’s infidelities. It’s something my own mother has done for years, until she started having affairs of her own.
Needless to say, my father did not take kindly to that behavior.
“All right.” My voice is a low, unsure whisper. What if she doesn’t like me? I already have two insufferable parents who find me to be more of an imposition than anything. I don’t need a mother-in-law with the same feelings.
“Good girl.” He smiles down at me, presses another kiss to my head, and leaves without a second glance.
Great. Just great.
Now I need to find something to wear and hope the Nakamura matriarch doesn’t stab me with a sword.
The boutique dress shop doesn’t look like much from the outside. It’s small and hidden between two larger buildings on the French Quarter not far from the penthouse. I’m surprised that Kenzo didn’t just have them bring the dresses to me instead. He’d been adamant about keeping me on a tight leash.
Maybe the sex helped, because that is something I would happily do again. The plug in my vagina is telling a different story, though. I’m just grateful the fucker doesn’t vibrate, but the overwhelming sensation of being full is constantly present, and I’m more than a little embarrassed to be rolling up to my bridal appointment wearing it, especially with his mother coming.
The interior of the shop is bright and colorful, with a bohemian undertone. The place sparkles with its white walls, gray flooring, and crystal chandeliers. Chiyo and Kenzo’s mother are already inside, along with another woman I don’t recognize. Saito steps inside and nods his head toward the group with an encouraging smile.
Leaving my guard, I join the group sitting on the blush pink sofa.
They all stand when I arrive, and I bow my head in respect to Kenzo’s mother, who solemnly bows her head back. Chiyo smiles at me as she signals the bridal attendant.
“Take all the time you need,” she tells me. “Kenzo booked the shop out for the day so you didn’t have to rush.”
That was thoughtful of him. I give Chiyo a small smile and turn to the one woman in the room I don’t know. She doesn’t look happy to be here. In fact, she looks like she wants to claw my eyes out with her overly long nails.
“Oh.” Chiyo remembers her manners. “This is Saori. She and Kenzo were childhood friends.”
And someone thought it was appropriate to bring her to my dress fitting?
“It’s nice to meet you.” I give her a tight smile. She looks like she is about to say something when the bridal attendant comes up with a large tray of drinks.
“Here you all go.” She smiles as she hands Kenzo’s mother a warm tea and Saori a glass of champagne. When she’s done, she sets the tray down and turns to me. “You must be the bride.”
“Yes,” I tell her with a smile. “I’m Evaline Nakamura. Thank you for shutting down your shop today for us.” I don’t know why I feel the need to put my new last name in there. She is probably already well aware, but something about the way it makes Saori’s jaw tick gives me a solid point in the win category.
“Of course.” She waves it off as if it is nothing, her thick southern accent making her words warm and inviting. “I’m Taylor, and I’ll be your attendant today. Now, tell me a little about your vision. What are you imagining yourself in when you walk down the aisle?”
We sit down on the sofa as I go over what I am envisioning for the wedding dress. “Something simple and chic, but also playful and fits with the theme I am going for.” Mrs. Nakamura sits by attentively, nodding her head every now and again, but Saori has more than a few snide remarks to make.
“I’m sorry about her,” Chiyo whispers as she helps me pick through a rack of bridal dresses. “I had no idea she was going to be here. She was waiting with Mrs. Nakamura when I went to pick her up.”
“Wonderful,” I mutter. This isn’t what I need today, or any other day. “I don’t suppose you tried to tell her it was inappropriate?” The look of incredulity Chiyo gives me tells she didn’t and would never think of trying.
After several hours and numerous snide remarks that I choose to ignore, I finally find my dream wedding dress. It embodies the perfect fusion of bohemian and contemporary styles, and I am immediately enamored with it. The delicate lace and tulle fabric flow gracefully into an A-line silhouette, while the strapless sweetheart neckline adds a touch of romance. But what truly sets this dress apart are the intricate organic shapes of leaves and petite blooms adorning its surface, a refreshing departure from the traditional floral designs found on most modern gowns. Its fit hugs my figure in all the right places without clinging too tightly. As I slip into the dress, I feel like a true bride, ready to walk down the aisle with confidence and grace.
“Too revealing.” Mrs. Nakamura chastises me from the couch as I stare at myself in the three-way mirror. “Try another.” Each dress I’ve tried has been met with some sort of disapproval, and I didn’t much mind before, because none of those dresses resonated with me. This one does. Kenzo told me that I have complete control over the wedding details. Including my own dress. I sure as hell am not going to let someone else tell me what to wear at my own wedding like I did the first time.
“No, this one is perfect,” I tell her, my gaze fixed on hers in the reflection. She bristles, her gaze narrowing on mine, but this is something I am unwilling to concede.
“You should find something more traditional,” she says, her voice hardening. “Not something that looks like it is meant for a harlot.”
A tumultuous anger bubbles up inside me, a scorching white-hot flame that refuses to be extinguished. It is fueled by the constant stream of insinuations and degrading comments from those who know nothing about me. The back of my throat burns with a fiery sensation, stoking the flames even higher. My eyes sting with unshed tears, adding to the intensity of my rage. I hate how easily I cry when consumed by anger, as it only fuels my frustration further.
I tear my gaze away from the ornate mirror to fully face her, my jaw clenching in frustration. She sits before me, her graying black hair tied back in a tight bun at the nape of her neck, giving her a severe yet regal appearance. High carved cheekbones and a prominent jawline add to her commanding presence. She holds herself as if she’s the Queen of England, with hands primly folded in her lap and ankles crossed one over the other. Her posture is impeccable, shoulders back and spine straight as if she were molded from steel.
“The bloody sheets your son left behind this morning might contradict that.” I shrug a shoulder nonchalantly. “Virgins aren’t often whores. I’m sure Saori here could educate you on a real whore’s life. My panties have more material on them than that dress she is wearing.”
Lizzie politely covers her laugh with a cough, and Chiyo looks as if she might faint. Saori bares her teeth at me but remains quiet, her eyes on Mrs. Nakamura, waiting to see what she will say. When our gazes meet, I swear I see something akin to pride shining back at me, but I’m probably hallucinating. One glass of champagne, and suddenly, I’m seeing things.
“Now,” I say, turning back to the mirror and signaling the bridal attendant, “this is the dress I want.”
“Of course, Mrs. Nakamura.” She smiles at me. “We can have it ordered and it should be here?—”
“Don’t worry about it,” I tell her. “I’ll take this exact one.”
Taylor’s eyes widen. “Oh, but it needs to be fitted properly and?—”
“No need.” I brush her off. “The wedding is less than a week away. No time for ordering another one. This one fits perfectly, and so I will take it.”
Stepping back, the bridal attendant gives me a slight nod as she goes to make the arrangements. Lizzie follows me into the dressing room to help me get out from under the tulle and lace.
“Were you able to add those things to the ceremony I asked about?” Might as well go over details while she helps me out of my dress. I didn’t want to discuss them in front of Kenzo’s mother because I want it to be a surprise. Maybe the small touches I’ve added to the wedding will endear her more to me.
Or not.
Lizzie nods her head. “All set. I spoke with one of my colleagues who is familiar with Japanese traditions.”
“Thank you,” I tell her. “I’m so glad it is you helping me with this.” My friend smiles at me as she places the dress on the hanger.
“Me too,” she whispers. “I missed you when you left,” she admits sadly. “You were my only real friend among the society vultures.” I know how she feels. It is the same way I feel about her. We were thick as thieves before I ran, because among the group of girls our age, we were the only ones who didn’t care about how much of Daddy’s money we could spend or what eligible bachelor we would marry.
We bonded in a way most will never understand. Our parents run in the same circles and have the same expectations. They don’t care about us as people. Only as pawns for their sick, twisted desires. I’m honestly surprised Lizzie’s parents simply disowned her. My parents would have locked me up and thrown away the key. Hell, if I wasn’t married to Kenzo, they still would. Daughters are their most valuable trade item. Sons run the business. Daughters bring alliances.
“Let’s get the hell out of here.” I grab the dress and, taking a deep breath, get ready to go back out and face my mother-in-law and whatever the hell Saori is. I don’t know why I care that she came. Besides the snide remarks, I feel like she isn’t much of a threat. But if that is the case, then why bring her at all? Is it a test? Did Kenzo’s mother want to see how I would react to her bringing someone my husband has no doubt slept with?
Or is she trying to tell me that he’ll have mistresses and Saori is one of them?
Something twists deep in my chest. The thought of Kenzo having sex with another woman causes anxiety to seize my lungs and pull the breath out of them. Sure, we aren’t in love. We may never be, but that doesn’t mean we can’t have some semblance of a good marriage.
Right?