Eidolon

Warning! (PG18)

This episode contains adult themes of a sexual nature. Reader discretion recommended.

Rei picked up the first piece of silk from the sofa, something gauzy and pale, almost innocent. Rei let her fingers linger on the fabric as she turned her head toward him. Takumi stood serenely, sipping his water like a man watching an old movie, his stance casual but his eyes fixed.

She disappeared briefly behind the screens into the bedroom; reemerging draped in sheer folds clinging to her curves as though they’d been poured over her. Without speaking she crossed the floor in long, unhurried strides, letting the sound of her heels fill the silence.

Then, as she stopped, adjusting a shoulder-strap, she smiled deviously. “You know,” she started, her tone deceptively light, “the first guard’s kiss was… interesting. Rough, almost too still. Like he wanted to own the moment but wasn’t sure how. I imagine…”, she tilted her head, watching Takumi’s reaction, “if you finally kissed me, it might be something like that. Violent, contained. As though you were punishing me for making you want me.” Flickers passed over Takumi’s expression, irritation, amusement, both tightly confined.

She turned back to the sofa, lifting another piece: black lace, intricate, bolder. When she returned in it, she twirled once, then sank onto the arm of a chair, legs crossed with nimble ease. “The sales man…”, she continued, sipping the mineral water from the glass he had left her earlier, “His kiss was eager. Almost clumsy in its wanting. He waited too long and when he finally had it, he couldn’t control himself. That made me wonder…”, her lips curved in a knowing smile, “Would that be you too? Waiting so long, until the moment finally cracked, and then—”, she snapped her fingers lightly, “—all that polish falling away in an instant?”

Takumi’s grip on his glass tightened. He didn’t interrupt, though his eyes had sharpened, his cool mask thinning by a hair’s breadth. Rei reached for the third set: a blood-red slip of satin, dangerous and bold. When she came back in it, she stood deliberately close to him, close enough to smell the clean sharpness of his cologne, close enough to feel the electricity between them.

“Shoma,” she murmured, voice soft, almost conspiratorial, “His kiss was smooth. Just enough pressure, just enough control. That kind of kiss tells you you’re in safe hands… but also that you’re not special. Just another indulgence in a long list.” She tilted her head, her gaze locked on his steely one, “And that made me wonder if… perhaps that would be you. Perfectly restrained, perfectly in control. Never giving me the satisfaction of knowing whether it’s real, or just another performance.”

She stepped back and poured herself more water, “Three men. Three styles. Three possibilities of what you might be.” She deliberately left it at that; three, not four. No mention of Cillian, as though the kiss hadn’t even happened, or worse, that it wasn’t relevant to compare it to Takumi at all. The omission was more provocative than any words could have been.

Takumi’s knuckles around his glass were growing gradually whiter. He set his glass down with deliberate calm, the sound of it against the bar sharp in the quiet room. With slow steps he moved to sit in an armchair in front of the couch. He looked at her like a puzzle that had just grown new edges, something infuriatingly uncompleted and therefore irresistible.

The last set lay folded at the edge of the sofa: black leather, strappy, unapologetically daring. Rei lifted it unhurriedly; her fingers brushed the heavy glossy material as she disappeared behind the screen. When she stepped back out, the transformation was startling. The straps hugged her waist and chest in sharp lines, the leather gleaming in the soft light. She stood tall, letting him see every inch of her without flinching, her expression poised, though her pulse was racing.

Takumi’s drank her in, savoring every angle from his point of view. He rose from his seat and crossed over to her, his hand lifted, two fingers sliding along a strap at her hip, tugging it just enough that it snapped back against her skin. “Interesting”, he said softly, “Silk, satin, lace…”, his eyes lingered on the sharp cut of the leather against her curves, “…and now leather. Four trials. Three reviews. But only three.” He circled her slowly, his hand tugging one strap, then another, as though she were an instrument he could play, “You described the guard, the salesman, Shoma…”, he spun her lightly with a pull of the strap at her back, forcing her to pivot until she faced him again, “But one kiss, it seems, slipped your mind.”

Rei’s lips parted faintly. She steadied her breath, refusing to be rattled, “Did it?” He smirked. Tugged her again, spinning her a half step closer, “Yes. It did.” His hands found the small of her back, pulling her into a slow dance that only he led, each tug on the leather forcing her to move, bend, turn. She let herself be guided, graceful despite the improper precision of his control. He gave the strap at her hip one last firm pull, sending her down, not falling but guided neatly into his lap as he sat back into the chair. She landed against him, straddling, the leather creaking faintly as she steadied herself with hands on his shoulders.

His turbulent eyes locked onto hers, cold and burning at once. “So,” he murmured, voice low, “what about your driver?” The way he said it made it sound filthy, a mark of class difference, a deliberate diminishment. His hand brushed up the back of her thigh, just shy of where she wanted him, “You left him out. Why?” Rei’s throat tightened. She swallowed, holding eye contact. “Because…”, her voice almost a whisper, “that kiss was the hardest to review, and impossible to compare.”

Takumi’s lips curved faintly. His hand cupped her jaw, thumb pressing lightly at her bottom lip. He leaned in, his mouth hovering just short of hers, close enough she could feel the heat of his breath and smell the sake from earlier. “Then review it now,” he whispered, “Candidly.”

Everything dissolved around them, until there was only to the tension between their mouths, the cruel invitation in his eyes: one wrong word, and she would burn for it. Rei steadied herself on his shoulders, her body taut against his, his thumb moving to press her pulse. She drew in a measured breath. “The kiss was steady,” she began softly, her words deliberate, “Controlled, but respectful. Not hurried, not tentative. A kiss that knew what it wanted, but didn’t take more than it was given.” Her eyes flickered, betraying the memory of it before she smoothed her voice again, “It was… gentle yet firm, warm…”

Takumi tilted his head, studying her like a hawk examining prey that tried to look like stone. His hand slid from her throat down to the line of her collarbone, his fingers tracing the hollow there. “Go on,” he said, his tone tainted by a bitter undercurrent. His other hand moved over the curve of her waist, fingertips testing the leather straps like reins.

He lowered his mouth, brushing lips against her jaw, then her neck, tasting her as she tried to maintain her careful review. Rei forced her words through the heat crawling up her skin. “It was… desirable, yes, but restrained. A kiss that—”, her voice wavered when his teeth grazed just below her ear, “—that did not presume to claim.” Takumi leaned back slightly, just enough to watch her eyes. He smirked, slow and dangerous, “A measured evaluation.”

He tapped her jaw with one finger, almost mockingly, “You’re not a bad actress, Rei… but you forget—”, his thumb slid lower, brushing along the swell of her breast through the straps, “—I know the difference between a careful review and truth.”

Her chest rose sharply, betraying the pull of his touch. He relished it, his own composure cracking just enough for the fire to show. “You want him. You warmed at the thought of him. Even while sitting here, in my lap”, his voice dropped into a growl, but instead of pushing her away, he pulled her closer, savoring his own jealousy like it was a delicacy.

And then, without warning, Takumi’s lips met hers with a precision that startled her, but it was not brutish. It was the kind of vehemence meant to leave no ambiguity. Rei gasped into him, but the sound dissolved when he angled her jaw with a commanding grip, forcing her lips wider. His tongue pressed into her, tasting her with an intensity that felt like interrogation.

He wasn’t just kissing her, he was unearthing her truths. And she responded, her tongue tangled with his, not submitting, but meeting him, testing him. She savored him, the lingering burn of sake, the cold refreshing taste of soda water, the faint salt of his lips, the restrained fire he allowed her to glimpse. It wasn’t just a kiss, it was a duel. A communication, a dance of breath and teeth and hunger.

Her hands, trapped against his chest, slid under his blazer, grabbing the edges of his vest, pulling herself closer, until her breasts were crushed against him. His hand slid lower, curving under the leather straps biting into her waist, pulling her down more firmly into his lap. Under the wool of his suit pants, she felt his desire pulse beneath her, growing stronger by the second.

She moaned melodiously against his mouth, not in weakness, but acknowledgment. A message in their wordless dialogue: I feel you. I want you. He let her taste him, let her tongue explore as much as he invaded, but never gave full ground. Every movement of his mouth was controlled chaos, an assertion of dominance wrapped in an invitation: try me. Fight me. Prove you can withstand me.

The kiss stretched, a rhythm forming, breath mingling, tongues clashing, retreating, surging again. It was merciless discovery, each of them probing for weaknesses and savoring every refusal to give in to the other. She shuddered as his teeth grazed her lower lip before he sucked it into his mouth, pulling a sharp gasp from her throat.

And still it continued. It wasn’t a kiss to seduce, it was a kiss to brand. A kiss that burned her lungs empty, then filled her again with his breath. A kiss that told her, wordlessly, in the oldest and most carnal of languages: You are mine, whether you admit it or not. Every kiss before me was rehearsal. Every kiss after will be comparison.

When he finally broke away, he hovered, lips slick and parted, his breath harsh. Rei was trembling, but her eyes burned, her own tongue darting to taste the last trace of him, relishing it. Takumi smirked, his voice a low growl against her swollen lips, “Understand this Rei – a kiss is not a review. A kiss is truth. And this truth,” his index finger brushed her damp mouth possessively, “is ours.”

Rei leaned back, pushing herself away with her hands on his shoulders, chest rising and falling too fast, lips burning, breath ragged. There was no vocabulary to review that kiss. Not when it had undone her, stripped her down to something trembling and molten beneath his iron restraint. Takumi knew it too. His steely eyes gleamed with the cruel satisfaction of a man who had just demonstrated his dominion.

She managed a sly smile. An admission and a challenge in one. Her body melted against his, pliant with surrender even as her words cut sharp, “There’s still time to cancel the arrangement… with my driver,” she whispered, the faintest tease on the word, “You could take his place tomorrow. Or even now.”

Something flickered in his gaze. For a fraction of a second, the mask faltered; temptation, a crack of desire, annoyance and something that might have been respect, all at once. He wanted to. She could feel it in the tension of his body, the throb beneath her, the way his hands lingered as if caught in indecision. But Takumi Kuroda was not a man who bent when pushed. Her victory, his kiss, was already more than he had intended to give. He would not grant her another.

Without a word, he lifted her easily, his hands slipping beneath her thighs as though she weighed nothing, carrying her across the room into the bedroom. For a heartbeat, hovering above the bed, she thought he might relent; that he might pin her down and claim the attraction he had denied for so long. Her breath hitched, her nails digging lightly into his shoulders.

He leaned forward. Gently, he set her down on the madras and stepped away. His fingers slid down the front of his blazer, smoothing out the creases she had made, adjusting his lapels, then his tie, every movement as precise as his self-control. The rejection burned hotter than desire. She was still aflame, trembling, her thighs pressed together beneath the leather straps, but she refused to let him see it as defeat. “It seems,” she said, voice husky but measured, “the leather is your favorite.”

He paused mid-adjustment. A gleam sparked in his eyes, a knowing curve in his lips that never became a smile. Takumi didn’t answer her. He didn’t need to. Instead, he turned with a glance of finality, straightening his tie with the calm composure of a man reclaiming absolute authority. “You won’t be wearing that tomorrow with Kelly,” he said coolly, each word sharpened into command, “Tomorrow, you’ll wear the red satin.” The declaration left no room for argument.

Then, as if nothing between them had happened, he stepped toward the door. “Rest,” he added, clipped and formal, almost dismissive. And with that, Takumi Kuroda left her shuddering, half-naked in leather on the bed; victorious in a kiss but still bound in his game.