Emperor of Havoc: Chapter 24

The moment Takeshi moves into the Ishida house—which he does that night—the air shifts. I begrudgingly arrange a room for him at the far end of the house, near the guest quarters. It’s pristine, impersonal, and far more space than he deserves.

But when I walk into my own room that evening he’s already installed himself, his motorcycle jacket draped over the back of my chair, his bag casually tossed in the corner.

A low purring sound rips my attention to the far side of the room, where my fearsome tiger protector is sprawled on the floor, happily gnawing on a massive, bloody piece of steak.

You traitorous little shit, I think venomously as I glare at Furrcules. Then I rip my gaze to Takeshi.

“This isn’t your room,” I sign sharply.

He smirks, stepping to me with infuriating ease. “It is now.”

“No, it’s⁠—”

Before I can finish my protest, his hands are on me, his mouth crushing mine. The kiss is bold, demanding, and utterly confounding. I’m torn between wanting to shove him away and yearning to sink into the unexpected warmth of his touch.

It’s new, this tenderness mixed with his unrelenting dominance.

Confusing, frustrating…and not entirely unwelcome.

“Husband,” he growls as he pulls back, pointing to his chest. “Wife,” he continues, turning his hand and pressing his fingertip against my chest, between my breasts. “Ergo—this is our room.”

Goddammit.

The next few weeks blur together as I divide my time between the Ishida-kai compound and the hospital where Papa’s continuing to receive treatment. The once-unstoppable “Yuki no Akuma” or Snow Demon is now confined to bed rest, his pale skin a painful reminder to me of his mortality.

“You’re doing well, Koshka,” he tells me during one of our morning meetings in his hospital room. He’s propped up by a mountain of pillows, his eyes sharper than one would expect for someone so weakened. “You’re officially in charge now, I hope you realize that. You have their respect.”

“Respect is fragile,’ I sign back, my movements measured and deliberate. ‘They only follow because they have no choice.”

He smirks, a shadow of his former self. “Incorrect. They follow because they know you’ll gut them if they don’t.”

The corner of my mouth twitches up, but it doesn’t quite become a smile. It feels like in praising me, Papa is preparing me for something I’m not ready to face.

I don’t dwell on the matter, though. My focus is razor-sharp, my resolve unyielding —and yet, somewhere in the recesses of my mind, Takeshi lingers like an unwelcome shadow I can’t shake.

Oh FUCK…

I moan deep in my throat, writhing in the sheets as the orgasm floods through me. My back arches from the bed, my legs wrapping tightly around Takeshi’s muscled hips as he groans, driving his cock deep.

My eyes roll back, another wave of pleasure crashing over me as his one hand tightens around my neck, the other gripping my hip hard enough to leave bruises as he grinds into me. With a choked roar, his muscles clench and ripple, his cock swelling inside me, his cum filling me.

Now that is a wakeup I could get used to. As in, I literally woke up with his cock inside me. Which, for some people, might blur the lines surrounding consent.

But my lines were blurred long before he got his hands on me.

I’ve found myself wondering recently more and more about why I’m so comfortable with blurred lines when it comes to him. Why I crave the dark pleasure he can offer me.

I think partly it’s that there’s something about Takeshi that makes surrender feel more like defiance than weakness—like, giving in to him is its own form of rebellion. Does that make any sense?

Partly it’s because I tell myself I trust him not to truly hurt me…though that trust is tenuous at best.

And maybe it’s because, with him, it’s the first time I don’t have to be in control. I can let go, knowing he’ll catch me.

Forcefully and brutally, but he’ll catch me.

It’s fucked up, and I don’t quite understand it, but I’ve stopped pretending I don’t crave it.

I smile contentedly, luxuriating in the afterglow of my orgasm as he slowly pulls his thick cock from my tight pussy. I shiver as he slides free, his cum dripping out of me in a way that makes me blush but is also electrifying.

Before I can reach for a tissue, he’s sliding down my body, grabbing my thighs and pushing them wide apart. He dives between my legs, his eyes locked on mine as he dips his mouth…

Oh sweet fucking hell…

His tongue drags over my tender lips, nibbling, licking, sucking. He doesn’t seem to care that he’s just emptied what feels like a pint of cum inside me. In fact, I realize as his tongue dances over me that he’s actively licking it up, and…

Holy hell…

Pushing it back in with his tongue.

Fuck me, why is that so fucking hot?

I jerk and writhe as he devours me, using his tongue and fingers to push his cum back into my pussy before wrapping his lips around my clit and starting to suck.

It’s too much.

My body spasms as another orgasm rips through me. He finally releases his hold and I collapse onto the bed, shuddering and trying to find my breath.

“Now,” he growls as he slides up and collapses onto the pillows next to me, his lean, muscled body rippling. “Now, you can take a break.”

“Tyrant,” I sign, grinning as I roll over to stare at him.

God, he’s attractive. Like, outrageously, unfairly so.

“Want a camera to take a picture? It’ll last longer.”

I blush, rolling away.

“Don’t let it go to your head, dick,” I sign, arching my eyebrows flirtatiously as I slip out of bed and pad to the bathroom, closing the door behind me.

I stop when I see my own reflection. I look like…well, like I just got fucked, hard.

But I also look happy. Truly, weirdly, happy.

How about that.

I pee, brush my teeth, and then go to take my morning birth control pill.

But when I pick up the foil blister pack, something feels off.

I frown as I rub my thumb across the back of it, leaning closer to inspect the pills. They’re all there, except, something literally feels off…maybe the foil…?

Just then, my thumb pokes right through the backing into one of the blister pockets…and instantly crumbles the pill inside.

…None of this has ever happened before.

The foil is always a major pain in the ass to poke through. And the pills themselves are rock-hard little tic-tacs, not crumbly, powdery things.I scowl as I touch the crushed up pill and bring my finger to my lips, tasting.

What the fuck?

Sugar. The pill is sugar. I mean, yes, there are placebos in the pack, but I’ve never noticed them to be sweet, and they’re always at the end of the pack anyway.

My hands shake as I easily pop open another blister pocket and put that pill in my mouth. It dissolves quickly, leaving a sweet aftertaste on my tongue.

They’re all sugar pills.

Oh my God.

Oh. My. Fucking. GOD.

I storm back into the bedroom, the pack clutched tightly in my hand. Takeshi is still sprawled out on the bed, one arm flung over his face as he sleeps.

I don’t bother to wake him gently. I grab my glass of water from the nightstand and splash the contents on his face and chest, instantly jolting him back to consciousness.

“What the fuck is this?” I sign furiously, my movements tense as I toss the pack at him.

I’m waiting for a hurried excuse and some bullshit. Instead, he just looks up at me, an infuriating smirk on his lips.

“Morning, princess,” he drawls, voice still rough with sleep.

“Explain this. Now,” I sign viciously, my hands moving so quickly I’m surprised he can follow.

He picks up the blister pack, turning it over lazily as if it’s nothing. “Looks like birth control pills, maybe?”

“Don’t play dumb,” I motion. “You tampered with them.”

He sits up slowly, his smirk never fading. “Yes. I did.”

The admission is so casual and brazen that I almost can’t believe it. My hands tremble as I sign furiously. “What the fuck was your plan? Knock me up and take over via an heir? What is this, ancient Rome?!”

He laughs, the sound dark and low, and it grates on my already frayed nerves. “You’re overreacting.”

“Overreacting.” My movements are sharp enough to cut. “You’re insane.”

“And you’re scared,” he counters, suddenly serious. “Scared of what it means to have someone like me in your life. You’re as scared of motherhood, it would appear, as you are of trusting me.”

The accusation hits too close to home: I falter for a moment before recovering. “And I wonder what the common thread there is,” I throw at him bitterly.

His expression hardens. For a moment, neither of us speaks.

“You think I’m plotting against you?” he finally mutters, low and dangerous.

“Aren’t you?” I challenge. “You’re always scheming, always manipulating. Why should this be any different?”

He stands abruptly, the pack of pills still in his hand as he strides to me, looming.

“I’m not your enemy,” he says, his voice a rough whisper. “You just can’t see that yet.”

I laugh bitterly. “Sure have a funny way of showing it.”

His hand reaches out, cupping my jaw roughly but not painfully. “You don’t trust me? Fine—but don’t think for a second that I’ll let you push me away.”

I slap at his hand, my chest heaving with the effort to contain my rage. “Get out,” I sign, my movements slow and deliberate. “Now.”

His eyes hold mine, dark and unyielding. For a moment, I think he’ll argue and push back. But then he steps away, tossing the pack of pills onto the bed.

“This isn’t over,” he murmurs before turning and walking out of the room.

The door clicks shut behind him, leaving me with just the sound of my ragged breathing and the memory of his words. My hands tremble as I pick up the package of pills, staring at it like it’s a bomb before I suddenly drop it to the floor.

He’s right. This isn’t over.

And that scares the hell out me.