This isn’t that.
Yeah, sure, IrespectNaoya-san, but there’s a whole lot of disrespect tangled in there too. Because fuck, he could bend me over one of those tables and I’d let him. I’d fuckingwanthim to.My dick throbs hard, pressing against the zipper, and my hole twitches, too—what the fuck? I’ve been in fights, got stabbed, broken bones, taken bullets and thought I knew every piece of my body from it all, but I’ve never felt my hole pulsing for cock like a whore’s pussy just because ofwords. Never felt my body betray me like this—heat crawling up from gut to spine—all from one delicate-ass man talking down to me like I’m nothing but dog’s shit.
He walks toward me, and it’s worse than if he’d yelled. His tone drops, just for me.
“Just because I said I like brats doesn’t mean you can do whatever you want.”
My heartbeat turns violent. He’s so close now, I can smell his cologne under the smoke, coffee, and sake. My throat goes dry.
“I want you to apologize to everyone.”
For a second, all I see is red. My headfloodswith it. The urge to pull my tanto and gut the first asshole who breathes is right there, begging. Fuckingmassacreeveryone here and force him to fuck me over the bodies. I want to fight him, to snarl, to see if he’d push back harder. But fuck, my cock’s pressing against my pants and I’m about to lose my mind.
My body wants to kill and obey at the same time.
I bow. Half-assed, barely bending, eyes still on him.
“Sorry,” I mutter.
“That’s not a proper bow, Kaito,” he says, dead calm.
A low growl escapes me. I clench my fists until I hear something pop in my knuckles.
“Don’t make me make you kneel.”
I breathe out hard, then bow the right way this time, deep and proper. My head almost hits my knees.
“Sorry,” I say again.
Naoya-san bows to his coworkers, too.
“Forgive my pupil’s bad manners. Sadly, I’ll have to leave early and deal with him.”
Everyone nods fast, obviously too scared to do anything else.
He turns, walks past me without a glance, drops a few bills on my table, and says, “Let’s go.”
And I follow.
My whole body’s buzzing, every nerve alive and screaming, torn between wanting to wreck something and wanting to drop to my knees the second we’re out that door.
* * *
He makes me drive to my own damn place.
“You don’t get to step foot in my home until you’ve remembered how to behave,” he had said.
That shit stings. Makes me want to snap the wheel in half. But there’s this other part of me that likes it. Him inmyhouse, undermyroof. Like I’ve been thrown a bone after getting kicked.
When we get there, he steps out of the car first. Doesn’t even wait for me to open the door for him. Inside, he lines up his shoes, sets his bag down neat.
And fuck, he looks so out of place here. My house is a dump—cracked floor, ashtrays overflowing, smell of cigarettes and trash all over. He’s the only shiny thing this place will ever see.
He walks in, eyes scanning the room, then stops dead center. His face shifts. That calm disappointment hardens into something much more focused.
“Your tanto,” he says. “Give it to me.”
“What?”
