Only Survivors

Takumi went entirely serene; his grey eyes fixed on her as if she were a rare enthralling series of graphs he savored analyzing. A slow, deep appreciation dawned in his expression, followed by a spark. “Real desire,” he echoed, the words a soft sigh, “The most tempting and increasingly rare thing. Not only in our current context… but at large.”

He did not confirm whether he agreed surrender was better than submission, nor did he oppose her statement. Takumi simply enjoyed dissecting her reasoning, contemplating the boundaries she was so desperately and deftly trying to set, even as he knew he held the power to shatter them. He was in the position to claim almost anything within their time together, yet he found himself far more captivated by talking with her, learning how her mind worked, watching her learn negotiation tactics in practice.

She was a beautiful, blossoming creature of potential, and he was content, for now, to simply watch her unfold. “Rei Morita,” he said finally, a genuine, intrigued smile gracing his lips, “If I chose the personal and physical favor, I certainly would want to see the real Rei. Not a mask of Komorebi’s design”. Karasu’s name hung between them like a naked flame. Takumi tilted his head, “But I would also want all of you…“

For the first time, her composure faltered. She felt the heat rise in her chest, a dangerous thrill laced with fear. Of all the demands he could have made, this one cut deepest. She swallowed, steadying herself, then let a sly smile curve her lips, “Careful, Takumi-sama, you may not like what you see.” His answer came instantly, his expression one of certainty, “On the contrary, I suspect it will be a most rewarding experience.” The game had shifted again. Not into his favor, not into hers; but into dangerous, uncharted territory. Rei looked down into the glass between her fingers, studying the rising bubbles, her pulse loud in her ears. His request echoed there: no masks, just Rei. The most intimate truth of all.

She remembered Takumi Junior, his eager hands and boyish hunger. She’d been tense, nervous, but she’d leaned into her own desire then, made it real, and that had been the key. Enjoying it had let her own it. Even when Karasu was the one she loved; turning desire into fire, perceived weakness into power, that was her strength. She sat across from a man, who made his son look like a pale imitation. The real Takumi. The one Karasu himself had marked the most dangerous piece on the board.

She did want him. Not like she wanted Karasu, not with that love-sick ache that gnawed at her, but with an intuitive hunger that was just as terrifying. A fantasy she had nursed covertly: of seeing this man lose control, of breaking that perfect composure, of coaxing out the desire beneath his marble surface. She set her glass down carefully, her hands steady now. Her voice was even, purposely honest, “You want Rei? Then you should know… Rei has imagined you.” That got his attention. His grey eyes sharpened, his body going very still.

Rei’s lips curved in a faint, daring smile, “I wondered what it would be like if your hand didn’t stop at my back. If your mouth didn’t kiss beside my lips. I’ve wondered what you look like when you stop controlling every breath – and give in.” She leaned back completely against the sofa, exposing the pale line of her throat, the shape of her legs, letting the words hang between them like a charged current, “If such surrendered or… unbridled activities would be your request, then you should know – it’s mine too.”

The moment that followed was charged. Takumi Senior’s mask of calm did not crack, but there was something in his eyes; a flash of heat, quickly buried beneath steel. Slowly, he rose, crossing the space between them with the measured grace of a man who never needed to rush. He stopped just in front of her, his hand coming to rest against the backrest of the sofa behind her, his body traveling closer but not touching. The faint brush of his cologne, deep and refined, wrapped around her, “You fantasize about a man losing control,” he murmured, his voice a velvet trap, “But you should be careful what you wish for. You might discover yourself losing control and find yourself with more than your bargained for.”

Her breath caught, but she held his gaze. She wanted him to see that spark in her eyes, the same one he had seen when they met in the club, “Maybe that’s exactly what I want.” A pause. Then at last his assurance slipped somewhat. His hand lifted, tracing down her bare arm, slow and deliberate, until his palm cupped her side. His thumb brushed the line of her ribs, just shy of her breast, hovering at the edge of restraint. Rei leaned into his touch. Her heart raced, but her voice was steady, “You might find yourself enjoying my boundaries more than your guarded demands, Takumi.”

The dam cracked. His other hand slid into her hair, tilting her head back as he neared, his mouth hovering a hair’s breadth from hers. Rei’s body arched towards him, her hands touching his tie, as if she would drag him down to her. But she didn’t, she waited, breath ragged. When he finally pulled away, lips never touching hers, his breath was uneven, he was showing clear susceptibility for the first time. His eyes burning a molten grey.

“You’re playing a game you cannot win,” he said surprisingly softly. Rei trembled faintly. “Some games have only winners…”, she murmured as he slowly sat down beside her on the sofa. He didn’t comment but guided her down next to him in the cushions with a precise hand. His eyes travelled over her, assessing her, his desire palpable.

He hovered over her, a deliberate restricting presence that kept her pressed against the soft suede of the sofa. The city lights outside the Kuroda Plaza glittered behind him, a busy backdrop to the intensity in his gaze. He wasn’t rushing, he was savoring the testing of his own control, the want he’d finally allowed to partially surface, and the woman beneath him who had dared to provoke it.

“Winners…” he repeated, his voice a deep, dangerous hum. One hand moving down in her hair, holding her head still, while the other traced the line of her jaw, down the column of her throat, then moving on to rest at the delicate strap of her ivory slip dress. His fingers worked the first strap, then the second with an infuriating, unhurried ease. The fabric loosened, pooling around her belly button, leaving her exposed to the conditioned air and the hard heat of his gaze.

Takumi didn’t touch her. He just looked, his grey eyes drinking in the sight of her; the rapid flutter of her pulse in her throat, the slight tremble she couldn’t suppress, the defiant flame still burning in her eyes despite her vulnerability.

“Is this what you imagined?” he asked, his thumb brushing over her collarbone, a touch so light it was almost cruel. “At night in your little apartment – did you picture yourself like this? Laid bare before the man who owns your lease?” The words were cynical, meant to remind her of the power differential that was the bedrock of their entire arrangement. But Rei, her breath coming in short gasps, met his challenge head-on.

“No,” she breathed out, her voice husky, “I imagined you on the edge.” Her hands, which had been gripping the edges of the sofa cushion, slid up to frame his face, her thumbs stroking the strong line of his jaw, “I imagined what it would take to make you tremble against me.” A sharp, incredulous laugh escaped him, but it was strained, tight with a craving that was threatening to overwhelm his calculated precision. Her audacity was a spicy mouthwatering cocktail, and she was holding the glass to his lips.

“You won’t see me tremble,” he breathed, but the threat tasted empty, lost in the way he looked down at her mouth again, her bosom. His hands were tender as they mapped her breasts with delicate appetite, as if diagraming every curve. He was a calculated storm, and Rei let herself be swept into the eye of it. This was the uncharted territory she had craved, the rare glimpse of an unfiltered reality beneath the corporate veneer.

When he finally pulled away. There was no more negotiation, no more games of power and submission. In Takumi’s mind there was only this; an unmistakable realization that he enjoyed teasing her, only as much as he relished her teasing him; and that denying himself her taste, made him even thirstier for her. He insisted on the slow burn and building the frustration; as much in her as himself.

Rei looked at him quizzically, eagerness seeping through her patient anticipation of his choices. Takumi laughed, voluntarily frustrated. He pulled back, settling slightly further from her on the wide sofa, fighting his own impulse to ravage her. Rei sat up slowly, pulling her slip dress back over her shoulders. Her hands slightly unsteady. She hadn’t won yet, but she saw the cracks, his desire surfacing, even if at his own pace. He had given in, even if just momentarily and the victory tasted like something terrifyingly addictive.

His grey eyes found hers. They were darker now, unreadable. He reached out, not to caress her, but to trace the line of her bottom lip with his thumb, a gesture that felt more personal than anything that had come before. “You were wrong,” he said, his voice faintly hoarse. Rei tilted her head, “About what?”

“There are no games with only winners, Rei,” he murmured, his thumb stilling against her mouth, “Only survivors.” He stood up, turning his back to her as he swiftly, efficiently reassembled himself, smoothing his suit, his hair. When he turned back, the mask was firmly back in place, but the cracks were still visible to her. “Kelly will take you home now,” he stated, his tone once again that of the exec, dismissing a meeting that had concluded. But his eyes held hers for a beat too long, “We will discuss the favor again another time.” He walked out a door on the opposite side of the elevator, leaving her alone in the glittering office, the ghost of his tempering of control hanging in the air alongside the scent of his cologne.

Rei stayed perfectly motionless long after the door shut, her body humming like the taut string of a violin. As she sat there, alone and shivering, she wondered if she had pushed him too far or not far enough. The room felt cavernous without him, the echo of his presence clinging to every surface; the warmth of him above her, pressing her into the cushions, the sensation of his thumb against her mouth. She pulled the silk slip strap higher over her shoulders, fumbling, her fingers refusing to obey. Her breath shuddered out of her, and for a moment she let herself collapse back against the sofa, eyes squeezed shut.

His abrupt dismissal was a warning, but also a confession. He had felt it too; the crack in his armor, the heat that disrupted him as much as it thrilled him. He wasn’t unaffected. She had seen him falter, however briefly. Her reflection in the darkened window caught her eye. The woman staring back was flushed, hair tousled. Not the blushing girl from the bar, not the thin girl Karasu had taken in. This was someone else, someone more dangerous. She gathered herself and walked to the private elevator. Cillian was already waiting for her there, ready to drive her home. Had he been there the whole time? She didn’t even care.