“Now, Arakawa, don’t react,” he hisses. “Midori-san put me on you. Told me to follow you around.”
I jerk my head back, trying to look at him. Follow me around? The fuck?
Then he throws his head back, howling loud enough for the crowd to hear. “God, this hole! Perfect fucking wrecked cunt!”
I blink, confused as hell, not sure if I heard right. He leans in again, teeth clamping on my neck.
“Bet a Tetsukaminari-ikka rat’s watching us fuck right now. Sodon’t react,you dumb fuck.”
Idoreact.
I glace around quickly, barely caring, and—SLAP!—he hits my face, hard.
“Eyes forward, bitch! I’m the one fucking you,” he growls, making a fucking ridiculous face.
Yeah, fine, I deserved that.
I throw my head back and let him suck on my Adam’s apple. Teeth grazes, tongue dragging, nails still digging into my ass.
“My bet is peace is over,” he whispers into my neck. “I think Midori-san and Hasebe-san are working together to take Dokugumo-kai. Don’t know how. Don’t know if they want you breathing or rotting. But that streak of bad luck? Fuck, I bet they want Dokugumo’s top fighter gone.”
He drives into me again, harder.
“You feel that, bitch? That’s how much I’ve missed this.”
He finishes with a low groan, teeth buried in my neck, muttering how that felt fucking great. He pulls out with care, and I hear him laughing as he takes the condom off and zips up. He slaps my thigh and then he’s gone, letting another guy take his turn. I stop keeping track of faces after the second one.
Ryo stays, though. I catch him in the corner of my eye, sitting on the couch with a drink in one hand and a cigarette in the other, watching the scene with a grin flickering behind the smoke.
Time crawls. My shoulders feel like fire, wrists raw, everything slick. I don’t know how long it goes—an hour, maybe more—until all the condoms are used.
Then Naoya-san is there.
He steps close, flips the light to green. He presses a hand to my lower back, steadying me, then reaches up to unbuckle the gag.
“Are your arms still fine?”
“Yeah.”
They’re not. But I can take it.
He hums. Always calm, always in control. He crouches near his bag, unzipping it slowly, metal clinking inside. My head tips forward, eyes half-shut, until I see what he pulls out—a small box, white gloves, gauze, alcohol.
He soaks a gauze with alcohol and carefully dabs at my nipples.
“They’re really red,” he says, touching the skin around them.
“You never complained before.”
“I’m not complaining,” he corrects me, and then he glances at me, mouth hinting at a smile. “It looked like you were having fun with that friend of yours.”
I snort.
“Jealous?”
“No.”
He takes his attention back to the box and pulls a needle, chuckling softly when I make a surprised sound.I fucking hate needles, what the fuck?!I feel it hover over my right nipple, and a shaky breath escapes me. My body tenses, hips jerking even though I can’t move.
