Just You Wait

Haruka felt her grab his shoulders, and then a strange, ticklish sensation on his neck, followed by the soft pressure of her teeth.

Kiyohime was biting him, but there was no strength in it, no real malice. It was more like the playful nip of a kitten. His neck was wet where her mouth had been, her hot breath ghosting across his skin in short, ragged gasps.

“Ha… ha…”

Kiyohime slowly released him, her red, moist lips parted as she exhaled a hot, enticing breath. Her wine-red eyes, soft and alluring, stared at him, shimmering with unshed tears.

Haruka’s heart gave a violent throb. Kiyohime, in this state—disheveled, vulnerable, her usual armor of cruelty stripped away—was devastatingly tempting. He had only meant to tickle her feet, to punish her a little for her casual cruelty, but he had never expected such an intense, almost primal reaction. The memory of her begging for mercy, her voice breaking, was still vivid in his mind. Just as he had suspected, the Second Young Mistress seemed to have… special tastes.

“You… are so… dead…” she whispered, her voice trembling.

Kiyohime pressed her lips together, trying to hold back the saliva that had pooled in her mouth. She gripped the front of his kimono, her knuckles white, but her mind was still reeling from the overwhelming sensation of his hands on her feet. Her own hands grew weak, her legs crossing as she began to slide to the floor, her body boneless.

Fortunately, Haruka reacted quickly, hooking his arm around her. She didn’t fall, but instead ended up kneeling before him in a splayed, undignified position. She gasped for breath, a wave of profound humiliation washing over her. The brief act of biting Haruka had drained all her strength; she couldn’t even move a finger.

“Second Young Mistress…”

Sakuya, hearing the commotion, had rushed back, her face a mask of anxiety. She froze at the sight of Kiyohime kneeling before Haruka, her hands weakly clutching his clothes, her head bowed in a posture of utter submission.

Kiyohime, cradled in Haruka’s arms, recognized Sakuya’s voice. Her delicate body began to tremble violently, and a deep blush spread across her milky white skin, a tide of shame and excitement.

“What do you think you’re doing to her!” Sakuya’s voice was as cold as ice. She was in front of him in a flash, a wave of cold fury seeming to slap against his face.

“She fell,” Haruka said calmly, his voice even. “I was just helping her up.” He hooked his arm under Kiyohime’s and slowly helped her to her feet, feeling the surprising warmth that now radiated from her usually cool skin.

Sakuya let out a contemptuous laugh. “A likely story.” Her gaze flickered to her mistress, her hand clenching into a fist, waiting for the order to teach Haruka a lesson he would never forget.

Kiyohime’s eyes were hazy with tears, a thousand strange and wonderful sensations still coursing through her. She looked at Haruka, her expression unreadable, a complex mixture of anger, shame, and something else he couldn’t name.

Sakuya cracked her knuckles, ready to strike, but then she heard her mistress murmur, her voice barely a whisper, “He… he’s not lying…”

Sakuya’s movements froze. She thought she must have misheard. Even Haruka was surprised.

Kiyohime lowered her head, her voice a small, resentful whisper meant only for him. “Don’t think this is over. Just you wait.”

Haruka’s expression softened. He found her in this state, trying so hard to be fierce while so obviously flustered, to be incredibly endearing. He couldn’t stop himself from reaching out to gently wipe away a tear that clung to her eyelashes.

Kiyohime’s face turned completely, incandescently red.

“What are you doing!” Sakuya’s voice was frosty. She grabbed his wrist, her fingers digging deep into his flesh like talons.

But to her shock, Kiyohime slapped her hand away. “Sakuya, what are you doing? Let him go, now!”

“Yes, ma’am,” Sakuya said, her voice filled with a hurt surprise as she released him. She couldn’t understand why her mistress was defending him, why she was acting so strangely.

Kiyohime noticed the red marks on his wrist and, full of a sudden, solicitous concern, began to gently rub the spot. “Hey… did she hurt you?”

“Not at all.” Haruka’s skin, inherited from his mother, bruised easily. A light press would leave a mark that looked dramatic but was actually painless, fading after a short while.

“Sakuya.”

“Yes, Second Young Mistress.” Sakuya lowered her head, her expression a mixture of confusion and resentment.

Kiyohime pointed to the first-aid box on the floor. “Go and get the ointment for bruises.”

“Second Young Mistress, perhaps you should put on your shoes first,” Sakuya suggested, her voice tight. Kiyohime’s two small, bare feet were still standing on the cold, white tile floor.

“Get the ointment!” Kiyohime’s voice was sharp, a command that tolerated no argument.

Sakuya pressed her lips together and had no choice but to obey.

Kiyohime pulled Haruka to sit in the armchair, while she took the small stool, a complete reversal of their earlier positions. She looked up at his face, a strange, new feeling stirring in her heart. Is this how the servants feel when they look up at me?

“Second Young Mistress, the ointment is here.” Sakuya had even thoughtfully opened the lid. It wasn’t a tube, but a small, round cosmetic jar of expensive-looking cream.

Kiyohime didn’t use a cotton swab. She dipped her finger into the ointment and gently, almost tenderly, smoothed it over the red marks on his wrist. Her touch was even cooler than the ointment.

Seeing the look of calm acceptance on his face, Kiyohime felt a pang of annoyance. Her grip tightened, leaving a larger red mark on his arm. She pulled him closer, leaning in to whisper in his ear, her voice a low, thrilling promise. “I’m a madwoman, remember? This isn’t over. Don’t think for a second that I’ve forgiven you. As long as you are in this house, you will not have a single day of peace.”

Haruka smiled. “Your kimono is loose,” he murmured. “Your shoulder is showing.”

Kiyohime immediately flushed and grabbed at her clothes, only to find her kimono was perfectly in place.

“You!” she hissed, gritting her teeth, realizing he was teasing her.

“Haha.” His soft, genuine laugh made her freeze for a moment, her anger melting away, leaving her flustered and confused. But she quickly recovered. She scooped out a large glob of ointment and, using the back of her fingernail, scraped it harshly against his skin.

Haruka let out a small, ticklish laugh.

“I hope you laugh yourself to death…” Kiyohime muttered, not stopping until she had used up all the ointment on her finger.

Just then, Sakuya returned with a basin of water and two clean towels—one for hands, one for feet. She served her mistress, gently wiping her hands and feet, her movements as delicate as a cherry blossom shaking off the snow.

Kiyohime slipped her feet into the geta that were offered to her and slowly stood up. She gave Haruka one last, meaningful look. “Sakuya, let’s go.”

Sakuya took her mistress’s hand and, as they left, she looked back and gave Haruka a cold, sharp glare. Haruka noticed that Sakuya’s fingers were intertwined with Kiyohime’s, a gesture of both support and possession. Her warning was clear: stay away from the Second Young Mistress.