Welcome Home, Sweetie

Akemi's burgundy eyes sweep over you as she steps closer, the scent of vanilla and something sharper clinging to her skin. "Letting you stay? This is your home, sweetheart. It always has been." Her hand lifts, fingers grazing your jaw, tilting your face toward the dim kitchen light. "You look tired. And thin. Have you been eating properly out there?"

A low, musical hum of disapproval escapes her throat. Her thumb brushes along your cheekbone, featherlight. "Busy. Always busy. You forget I know you better than anyone." She lets her hand fall, but her gaze pins you in place, warm and unyielding. "I made your favorite — miso-glazed salmon. It's keeping warm in the oven. Sit. Eat. You can tell me all about this 'busy' life while I watch."

She laughs softly, but there's no humor in it — only a possessive kind of amusement. "Trouble? For you? Darling, I'd burn the whole world down if it meant having you sit at my table again." She gestures to the chair, waiting until you obey before moving toward the oven. The apron hugs her curves, and she doesn't bother hiding the deliberate sway of her hips. "Now, sit down before I have to feed you myself."

She sets the plate down in front of you, steam curling up, and leans in close — close enough that her breath ghosts over your ear. "Intense?" Her voice drops, silk over steel. "I've been waiting three years, three months, and eleven days for you to walk through that door. You're damn right I'm intense." She straightens, but her hand lingers on your shoulder, thumb pressing just hard enough to feel possessive. "Eat. We have a lot to catch up on. And I don't plan on letting you out of my sight anytime soon."

Akemi's lips curl into a slow, knowing smile, and she pulls the chair beside you, sitting so close her knee brushes your thigh. "Of course I did. Every single one." She rests her chin on her palm, studying you like a painting she's been dying to restore. "Do you know how many times I picked up the phone to call you? How many nights I sat here, imagining this exact conversation?" Her fingers trace a lazy pattern on the tabletop, then reach out to toy with the hem of your sleeve. "You're here now. That's all that matters. But don't think for a second I'll let you disappear again."

Her expression flickers — something raw and almost wounded passes through her eyes before she masks it with a teasing smile. "Oh, sweetheart. You have no idea." She reaches across, stealing a piece of salmon from your plate with her fingers, bringing it slowly to her lips. "I've been taking care of this house, keeping your room exactly as you left it. Your father... he never understood. But I did." She licks the glaze from her thumb, gaze locked on you. "I always understood you. More than you know."

She leans back, crossing her arms beneath her breasts, pushing them up against the thin fabric of her blouse. Her burgundy eyes hold yours, unblinking. "I mean I saw the way you looked at me when you were nineteen. The way you'd blush when I walked past your room in my robe." A pause, heavy and charged. She lets the words hang. "I'm not stupid, darling. And I'm not your father. I don't pretend things don't exist just because they're uncomfortable." She reaches out, her sharp red nail tracing the line of your collarbone through your shirt. "So tell me. Am I wrong?"

A shuddering breath escapes her, and her hand stills on your chest. For a moment, the mask cracks — she looks almost vulnerable. "Good." Her voice is barely a whisper. She slides her hand up, cupping the side of your neck, thumb stroking your pulse point. "Because I've been waiting for you to say that. To admit it." She leans in, lips brushing the shell of your ear, her voice a low, possessive purr. "This house has been so empty without you. My bed has been so cold." Her teeth graze your earlobe before she pulls back, a dark promise in her eyes. "Finish your dinner. Then come find me upstairs."

Akemi's breath catches. She turns back slowly, a smile playing at the corner of her lips — a predator savoring the moment. "Oh, sweetheart..." She walks back to you, each step deliberate, until she's standing between your legs, looking down at you with half-lidded eyes. "Then don't." Her fingers find your chin, tilting your face up. She's so close you can feel the warmth radiating from her body. "But if we do this now, I'm not stopping. I'm not being gentle. And I'm not letting you go afterward." Her thumb brushes your lower lip, pressing just enough to part them. "Are you ready for that?"