Red As Snow...(BWAM, Yakuza Romance, 18+)

Chapter Thirty Six

Tsumibito's P.O.V

Sexual Chapter Up Ahead!

I get from under the silky covers, sit myself by the edge of the vast bed, look back to where she lays with such tranquility, with such peacefulness. Clasping fingers together before me, I glance back to my front, glance back to the empty nothingness ahead. A pang clings to my heart like a fucking leech.

For the first time in nearly a decade, I experience emotions that exceed just simple rage or overwhelming frustration. Jolly and gladness are both like a foreign object in my body. I am not calm in their presence. I cannot find peace even in their midst. Why? Because all good things come to a nigh. I have known this from when I was only but an infant.

I gaze upon her once more, drink in the grace of her facial features, the glory of the hills and valleys of her body, the stretch marks that slither upon her skin, the gentle heaving of her bossom, the softness of her breathing, the kindness of her lovely soul that draws me in like a moth would be to a flame.

I yearn to understand what she thinks, what she dreams, her pretty fantasias and the worst of her nightmares. I want to sap all the agonizing memories from her box of thoughts even at the expense of her never knowing or recognizing me. And in this moment, as I reach out a palm to caress her soft cheek, realization slowly becomes a part of my reality.

I may have fallen. I who sins, who commits iniquity after iniquity, who transgresses and executes and murders in the name of vengeance may have fallen for the light of the woman who rests so calmly against the softness of silk and velvet.

For her to forgive my faults, I am aware that I should liberate her, return her to the world as she knew it even at the expense of breaking more codes of conduct, even at the expense of my title being challenged by the kobun, even at the expense of shedding their blood in death combat or being slain and overthrown as their Oyabun.

Yes, I fathom that returning her may do little to dissipate the knowledge of all she has been through courtesy of me. It'll do little to grant her the life she knew before I appeared and smothered that flicker of hope she once held. But still...
I turn away from her, rise on my feet, tread lightly towards bathroom doors, slip right in.

Brushing teeth, I turn to the showers, turn on the faucet, stand under the furiously pounding waters with my palms pressed flatly against marble wall. The thoughts never dissipate, no. They are like a faithful companion, they keep me company so loyally. The waters -cool- pour down my hairs and down my skin. Yet they do nada to calm my raging spirits, my spiked nerves.

The doors to my far back glide open, and every one of my senses heighten. She makes her way to the sinks in muteness, brushes her teeth, and I utter not a single word. Then, after a while, her arms slither around my torso from behind.

Momentarily, the muscles of my limbs and back stiffen. Yes, touch still appears to be like a poison, a sweet poison in this case.
Her lips are against my flesh, pressing a trail of kisses against the spine of my back and against each slit and cut that litters and enfolds my nudity.

Tenderly, softly, she feels for each slash with the tips of her fingers, feels for each scarification, feels for every healing bruising. I have to battle against impulse, to refrain from gripping harshly her wrist in attempts to halt her in her soothing motions.

And yet, I have not the courage nor the bravery.

She works to move around me, caging herself between my body and the marble. She gazes upon me, looks upon me with eyes that shouldn't look upon a sinner. She wants me despite the murkiness of the title I hold, despite the murkiness of my past deeds.