Chapter 640: Call Me Okaa-San

The car’s engine growled beneath us, a low, steady hum that matched the pulse in my cock as I watched Emily’s fingers dig into the wheel like she wanted to strangle it.

She hadn’t spoken since her last snarl, her jaw locked tight, her breath coming in short, sharp bursts through her nose. Good. Silence suited her better than lies.

I pulled out my phone, the screen casting a cold blue glow over my fingers as I thumbed a message to SERA: "Any Update on Victor and Isabella?"

The reply was instant, the words sharp and clinical—just like her: "Isabella’s forces are mobilizing. Three teams. Simultaneous strikes on Victor’s strongholds in the north, east, and downtown. He’s obsessing over the shopping center footage—the one where you and Emily ran into each other."

"No traces. I erased everything. But he’s not stupid. He’s close. And he’s not just looking for you anymore. He wants to kill both of you."

The phone’s glow painted my fingers blue, the weight of it grounding in a way nothing else could. The world outside the car was chaos—Victor’s hunters, Isabella’s war, the stink of blood and gunpowder clinging to my clothes like a second skin. But here, in the dim glow of the screen, was something real.

Yuko’s name flashed, and for a single, stupid second, my chest tightened.

"Can we meet?"

I exhaled, slow, controlled, before my thumbs moved—deliberate, unhurried, like I had all the time in the world.

"Sister Yuko," I typed, the words careful, measured. "I’m on a business trip for a week." My thumb hovered. Then—"Is something urgent? I’ll cancel. If you need anything."

The three dots pulsed. Once. Twice.

Then— "No.. No... No.. It’s nothing urgent. Really."

I imagined her on the other end—Haruna curled beside her, the scent of lavender tea thick in the air, Yuko’s fingers twisting in the hem of her kimono sleeve.

"Haruna and I are fine. More than fine. You’ve given us everything. Thank you, always."

My grip crushed the phone. "You never have to thank me," I sent, the words clipped, final. " You are Haruna’s sister..., my family."

The dots again. Longer this time.

"I know. But... It’s nice to hear. Be safe."

I stared at the screen until it went dark.

I exhaled sharply. Guilt was a luxury I couldn’t afford. Not now.

Emily’s scoff was a whipcrack, her hand lashing out before I could react. The phone tore from my grip.

"Who the fuck were you texting?" Her voice was venom, but her fingers trembled—just slightly—as she clutched the phone. "Victor’s seen your face. He’s not an idiot. He’ll trace this, you reckless bastard—"

I didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. Just watched her, the way her chest heaved, the way her thighs shifted like she was fighting the urge to squeeze them together.

Emily’s scornful snort dragged me back. "Who the fuck is Yuko?" Her voice was razor-edged, but her fingers twitched on the wheel, betraying her. "Your wife? Your pet? Or just another whore you’ve got on a leash?"

"Yuko," I said, slow, deliberate, watching her pupils dilate. "My wife."

A beat. Then— "Wife." The word was flat, dangerous. Her grip on the wheel tightened, her knuckles bleaching white. "How cute. How fucking domestic." A bitter laugh tore from her throat. "And here I thought you were mine."

I leaned in, close enough to smell the salt on her skin, the musky hint of her arousal beneath the leather and gasoline. "Jealous?"

"Fuck you."

"No," I purred, my breath hot against her ear. "Fuck me."

She jerked the wheel, the car lurching as she slammed the gas. The engine roared, but her voice cut through it—sharp, unsteady: "Japanese, huh? Oka-san? Onee-san?" Her lips twisted, her gaze flicking to my mouth. "Which one turns you on more, boy? The mother... or the sister?"

I didn’t answer. Just watched her, waiting.

Her tongue darted out, wetting her lips. "I’m old enough to be your oka-san," she purred, her voice dropping into something dark, honeyed. "So call me that."

I let the silence stretch, let her squirm in it. Then— "Oka-san." The word rolled off my tongue, thick, filthy. My hand shifted, my fingers brushing the inside of her thigh—just barely. " Okaa-san... my cock is hurting.. it needs Okaa-san’s pussy."

The car swerved—hard. Emily’s breath caught, her hips jerking in the seat like I’d touched her. "You—!" Her voice cracked, her free hand flying to shove at my chest—but I caught her wrist, pinning it to the wheel.

Her laugh was broken, desperate. "You little shit—" But her thighs parted. Just an inch. Just enough.

"Oka-san’s pussy," I repeated, my voice a rasp, my cock throbbing against my zipper. "Right now."

"Pull over." My voice was gravel, command, the words scraping out of me like a promise of ruin. The car’s engine snarled beneath us, the heat of her—musky, desperate—filling the space between us until I could taste it.

Emily’s laugh was wild, reckless, the sound of a woman who’d already decided to burn and was just waiting for the match. The car screeched into an empty alley, tires spitting gravel, the headlights carving two jagged blades of light into the dark. "No."

Her hand crashed against my chest, shoving me back—but her legs spread. Just enough. Just fucking enough to let the cool air hit the soaked lace of her panties, the scent of her spilling between us like an offering.

"You want it?" Her voice was a snarl, her fingers digging into my collar, yanking me closer. Her eyes burned, dark and hungry, her lips parted—not for words, but for teeth, for bites, for the filthy things she’d rather do than say.

I didn’t answer. Just watched her, my hand sliding up her thigh, my thumb pressing against the damp heat of her through the flimsy fabric. "Then earn it."

Her breath hitched, her hips jerking into my touch before she caught herself, her laugh turning sharp, mocking. "Oh, darling." Her fingers trailed down my chest, slow, deliberate, until they hovered over the bulge in my pants. "You think I’m just gonna spread for you like some desperate little slut?"

My grip tightened on her thigh, my nails biting into her skin just enough to make her gasp. "Aren’t you?"

She laughed again, broken, breathless, her head tilting back against the seat. Then—her voice dropped, low, poisoned honey: "What happens... if you made your Okaa-san pregnant." Her hand cupped me, squeezing, her thumb dragging over the head of my cock through the fabric.

I froze.

For a second, the world narrowed—just her, the weight of her words, the image they painted: her, heavy with my kid, her breasts swollen, dripping, her lips wrapped around my cock while she fed me—

"Fuck." The word was a growl, torn from me, my hips jerking into her grip before I could stop myself.

She pulled back, her laugh ringing out—wild, triumphant, her hand yanking away like she’d burned herself. "Oh, god." She wiped her eyes, like she were crying from laughing so hard. "You should see your face."