Afterglow & Orders

For a long moment, the only sound in the limousine was Rei’s irregular breathing as she floated back to herself, her body humming with aftershocks. She watched Takumi through heavy-lidded eyes, a confusing cocktail of gratitude and resentment simmering in her veins.

She had never come like that; only focused on herself and the sensations. It wasn’t better than with Karasu, but it was different. They either shared their desires, her attention on them both, on the dance itself and not on where her feat landed on the dance floor. Or he commanded her, steered her focus.

Takumi’s expert touches had been frustrating, in that she longed for contact with him too; touching him, tasting him. Nevertheless, in his insistence on making her only receive, she had also learned about her own pleasure points in new surprising ways.

She was both thankful and irritated. In giving him command of her, she had not made him give in; she hadn’t been able to deny him, because she hadn’t wanted to deny herself. He hadn’t even kissed her yet, not on the mouth. It all felt so strangely impersonal, like an erotic massage, not intercourse.

Takumi watched her lie there, staring both contently and insolently at him, her body still slightly trembling. He was battling himself, practicing his control, stopping himself from closing the distance and taking her entirely. Her scream, the way her body moved under him, it was the most beautiful he had ever seen her, more gorgeous than Eidolon Rei could ever be. Her defiant joke, as she had retracted to the corner, her curious and cautious glare and her choice to trust him and take his hand. He wanted her even more for having almost had her, for having seen and felt her heat. Now she was ultimately his, and he had just made sure she knew that.

Rei watched him in a new light, as if seeing him for the first time. He had orchestrated that shattering, with the precision of a specialist, and though part of her was secretly pleased for the lesson in her own body, his air of detachment was infuriating. The limousine was no longer moving. They had been parked for who knew how long; sealed in their bubble while the world continued outside.

Takumi, meanwhile, was already reassembling his armor. He bend forward, pressed a nearly imperceptible panel in the limousine’s interior, and a small drawer slid open with a soft hiss. Inside were neatly stacked packages of sanitizing wipes. He took one, tore it open, and meticulously cleaned his fingers, one by one, then another to wipe his face and neck. The clinical act was a stark, cold contrast to the intimacy of moments before. Rei’s stomach twisted. The car came prepped. How many times has he done this?

He moved over to the seat and sat beside his clothes. With methodical calm, he began dressing, pulling on his vest, buttoning it with swift, efficient movements. Each sleeve got smoothed into place, and his blazer followed. He retrieved his cufflinks and fastened them, the tiny clicks loud in the silence. Finally, he ran a hand through his disheveled hair, restoring its perfect order with a few practiced strokes.

As he straightened, she saw the prominent bulge in his tailored trousers. It was a visceral victory amidst her confusion. He had been affected. But even that victory was stolen as she watched, mesmerized and annoyed, as the evidence of his desire gradually receded. It wasn’t a frantic retreat; it was a disciplined withdrawal, a show of will that was both impressive and maddening. He was mastering his own body as completely as he had mastered hers.

Her mind was clearing now, the post-coital haze burning away under the glare of reality. He pressed another hidden button, and a section of the seat beside her popped open, revealing the now-familiar golden box with its stark black ribbon. “Clean yourself up and get dressed”, he instructed, his voice once again the corporate command of Executive Takumi. All traces of the husky, controlled desire gone, “We have a meeting in the Aurora Cliffs Auditorium in forty minutes. You have twenty to get ready.”

He moved to the door, his hand on the handle. Rei scrambled, her limbs feeling like jelly, grabbing the discarded kimono and pulling it up to cover herself, a flush of hot embarrassment joining the mix of her emotions. He waited, his back to her, until the rustling stopped. “Don’t be late,” he said, and without looking back he opened the door, the sounds of the city and the sterile hum of an underground parking garage flooding in. After stepping out he closed the door with a solid thump, sealing her inside alone.

She heard his muffled voice through the glass, “Kelly. Twenty minutes. Then take her to the main auditorium entrance.” Rei slumped back against the seat, the fine fabric of the kimono loosely covering her felt like mockery. “Kuso,” she cursed under her breath, the words laced with fury directed as much at herself as at him. She cursed the traitorous pleasure he’d wrung from her, his infuriating aloofness, and the part of her that still ached with a want for him; a want that had fixated on the sight of that bulge, the closest she’d ever come to seeing his control fracture.

He bought her freedom only to cage her in a different way. Making her scream with a pleasure so intense it felt like a violation, without even kissing her, without fully undressing, without giving her anything of himself to hold onto. And then he expected her to transform, in twenty minutes, into a polished corporate asset for a high-stakes meeting.

Was this his deal? A constant demonstration of his absolute power? Proof that he could do anything he wanted, and she had to comply? Or was it a test? A brutal assessment of her flexibility, her resilience, her ability to bounce back from emotional and physical upheaval and still perform? Why though? Was he a gambler like her dad, just of another flavor?

She couldn’t figure him out, but as she opened the golden box and saw the severe black skirt-suit with sharp red pinstripes in the pencil skirt, the red silk shirt, the sheer red stockings with the provocative black seam, she made a vow to herself, her jaw tightening. One thing was certain, she would not let him break her.

He could orchestrate her pleasure, dictate her wardrobe and command her schedule. But he would not own the fire in her eyes. She would wear his uniform, but she would do it with a defiance he could never program into his precious Eidolon. She would go to his meeting, and she would be flawless; not for him, for herself. To prove that no matter what he took, or what he gave, her core remained unclaimed.

For a moment, she just sat, the embroidered fox seeming to stare back at her with judgment. Then, with a sharp, angry breath, she tore open the packet of wipes from the drawer, the scent of alcohol and aloe filling the space. The cool cloth was a shock against her sensitized skin, a brisk, impersonal cleanup that felt like erasing evidence. She dabbed on the expensive perfume and deodorant from the golden box, the floral-metallic scent another layer of Takumi’s branding.

Next, the clothes. She slipped into the red silk underwear, the fabric whisper-soft against her skin. Then she pulled on the red stockings, the delicate process of aligning the black seam up her legs a bizarre moment of focused normalcy. The pencil skirt was a severe, constricting hug around her hips. The blazer impeccably tailored, making her posture straighten almost against her will. She faced the small mirror with the makeup kit. Her hands were steady as she applied the foundation, the eyeliner, the bold red lipstick that perfectly matched the pinstripes in her suit. She was building her armor, piece by piece.

When she was done, a corporate warrior stared back from the reflection. Only the slight flush on her cheeks and the unnaturally bright gleam in her eyes betrayed what had transpired. She folded the kimono neatly, her fingers lingering on the metallic threads of the fox. It felt like folding away a part of herself. She placed it, the obi, and the discarded lingerie into the golden box, closing the lid on the woman she had been just an hour ago.

At exactly nineteen minutes, she opened the limousine door and stepped out into the chilled air of the parking garage. Cillian was there in front of the door, as if he’d been counting the seconds. His eyes flickered over her transformed appearance, then quickly away, fixing on a point somewhere past her shoulder.

Rei in garage.

“Miss Rei,” he said, his voice neutral. Rei reached in the car and turned back to him, clutching the golden box to her chest like a shield. The mortification was a hot wave, but she forced it down, locking it away. She needed to function. “Cillian,” she said, her voice thankfully steady, “A favor, please.”

He looked genuinely surprised, his professional mask slipping momentarily. “Yes?”, he replied, brows slightly furrowed.“This box”, she said, holding it out, “I need it to get to my apartment safely.” Cillian didn’t ask why. He simply nodded, took the box with a careful hand, and moved to the trunk of the limousine, placing it inside with a quiet thud, “I’ll take care of it.”

He led her to a private elevator, none of them spoke, the atmosphere between them was thick and uncomfortable as the doors slid shut. Rei watched the numbers light up, her heart setting a nervous rhythm. This man was her constant shadow, she didn’t want to have the knowledge festering between them. She took a quiet breath, “Cillian…”, her voice softer now, “Did you… hear?” His posture stiffened. A minute flush crept up his neck. He looked straight ahead at the elevator doors, his jaw tight.

The forced professionalism was back, but it was brittle. After a tense moment, he gave a single, tight nod. The silence stretched, more painful than before. Then, almost in a whisper, he spoke, his voice so low she had to lean in to hear. “My primary task is your protection, Miss Rei. For the Eidolon project”, he paused, and his next words were even quieter, a confession meant for her, not the surveilled air of the elevator, “But… it didn’t sound forced.”

The admission hung between them. He wasn’t just saying he’d heard noises; he was telling her he’d heard her pleasure. Rei’s blush returned, a searing heat across her cheeks. But she willed it to recede, taking deep, controlled breaths. She met his reflection in the polished elevator doors, her own expression controlled. With a soft, resigned sigh that matched his hushed tone she responded, “There isn’t much point in resisting a man like Takumi, is there?”

It wasn’t a question expecting an answer. It was a statement of grim fact, a shared understanding between the prisoner and her guard. The elevator dinged, the doors sliding open to reveal the gleaming, silent hallway of the highest corporate auditorium level. The moment was over. Cillian’s face was once again an impassive mask as he gestured for her to exit first.

Rei and Cillian.

As she stepped out, her heels clicking on the polished marble, Rei felt a strange, new dynamic had been established. It wasn’t friendship, and it certainly wasn’t trust. It was an alliance of the coerced, a silent pact forged in shared embarrassment and the shadow of the same powerful man. And in Takumi Kuroda’s world of absolute control, even the smallest alliance was a rare spark of muted hope.