Makoto grunted as he drove the girls home. "She sounds exactly like some petty little villain." He looked at Mika with a mischievous glint. "So... she mentioned you crying on someone's shoulder, Mika?" He smiled, but it didn't quite reach his eyes.
Mika let out a small sigh from the back seat. "She's not a villain," she said in a flat monotone, ignoring his second question. She stared out the window, her reflection a pale ghost in the dark glass. "She's... kind of right."
Yuna turned from the passenger seat, genuine concern flickering across her face. "Right about what?" she asked grudgingly. "About that Kenichi guy?"
Mika shook her head. "No," she whispered. "About me." She turned, eyes wet with unshed tears. "I was a manipulator, and still am," she said. "I take. I manipulate. And I win." She looked at him with wide, pleading eyes. "And I'm going to hurt you. All of you."
"I'm going to get bored. I'm going to leave. And I'm going to find someone new to play with." She took a shuddering breath. "And you're all going to hate me." Her voice broke, the confession torn from deep within. "Just like everyone else does."
Makoto smiled fondly and patted her head gently. "Come on, Yuna and Ayane won't be hurt if you leave the harem. It would just mean less competition."
As the car stopped before his apartment, he shrugged casually as he opened the door for them. "Have you started getting bored and want to leave yet? Otherwise, you can help me get those into the kitchen. It's too heavy for me to carry alone."
Mika stared at him, mouth slightly open. His nonchalant response clearly wasn't what she'd expected. She'd been prepared for anger, hurt, a dramatic confrontation. Not this. A slow, incredulous smile spread across her face.
Then she started laughing. Not a polite giggle, but a full wheezing laugh with tears streaming down her face.
"You're unbelievable," she choked out, clutching her stomach. "I just confessed I'm a manipulative, heartless bitch who's going to destroy you all, and you're worried about the groceries?"
Yuna, watching with confusion and fascination, scoffed. "Of course he is," she growled. "He's a simple pig, you know. He's probably just thinking about what he's going to cook for dinner and how to empty his balls afterward."
Ayane nodded solemnly. "He's got his priorities in order," she said apologetically. "Food first, emotional breakdowns later."
Mika's laughter finally subsided into helpless giggles. She wiped a tear away, new respect in her eyes. "Fine," she said breathlessly. "You win."
She got out of the car unsteadily. "But for the record," she added too sweetly. "I'm not leaving. Not yet, anyway." She grabbed a grocery bag with a triumphant smile. "And I'm still the second wife. No one can take that position from me."
Makoto pulled off his shirt and put on an apron. "Ayane, you and Yuna aren't allowed in the kitchen. You two can sort out the cosplay stuff in the living room instead."
Yuna, dumping fabric onto the living room floor, squawked indignantly. "Hey! Why does she get to help you cook?" she whined childishly. "And why are you half-naked?! Put a shirt on, you pervert!"
Ayane sighed theatrically, then a wicked grin spread across her face. "It's kind of hot."
Makoto then looked at Mika with a chuckle. "And you can help me prepare the food, you manipulating, heartless bitch. That's gonna be your pet name from now on."
Mika's eyes went wide. For the second time in ten minutes, he'd completely blindsided her. Her dramatic confession had been defanged, turned into a domestic chore and an affectionate, if profane, nickname.
A brilliant, genuine smile spread across her face, reaching her eyes and making them sparkle dangerously. "Yes, sir," she purred throatily. She dropped the grocery bag on the counter and glided to the sink with quiet grace. "This manipulating, heartless bitch is excellent at washing vegetables."
Mika picked up a sharp knife, testing its weight and licking the blade with a satisfied smile. "Now," she said softly as she began expertly slicing tofu. "Where were we?"
Makoto spoke softly. "It would help if you didn't grin while handling the knife like that, Mika. You're giving me chills."
Mika looked from the knife to him. The sweet mask was gone, replaced by a slow, wicked grin. "Oh, really?" she purred dangerously. "Does it bother you?" She gave the knife a playful twirl. "I find it very therapeutic."
"Must do something about this." Makoto thought, shook his head, then his look turned mischievous.
"Take everything off, then put this on." He handed her a pink apron with a fond smile. "You can wash the vegetables while I prepare the broth."
Yuna's eyes went wide. With dreamlike slowness, she began undressing. Her shirt came off, folded neatly on a stool. Her skirt followed, then her underwear. She stood before him in the bright kitchen light, completely naked, her body lean muscle and pale skin. No shame, no hesitation. Just quiet obedience.
Then she took the pink apron, her fingers brushing his. She tied it around her neck and waist. It was clearly Yuna's, far too short for her taller frame. It barely covered her front, leaving her entire backside and long legs exposed.
Makoto licked his lips slowly. "Hmm, you look quite delicious." He smacked her toned ass, then turned back to add bones to the broth. "Help me wash the carrots, mushrooms, and that tofu."
The slap echoed loudly in the small kitchen. Mika shivered, a breathy gasp escaping her lips. A pink handprint bloomed on her pale skin. She didn't flinch away. Instead, she arched her back slightly in pure pleasure.
"Of course," Mika whispered happily. She turned to the sink, hips swaying deliberately. The view of her naked, freshly-smacked ass was a blatant invitation. She turned on the tap and began washing vegetables slowly.
From the living room came an irritated groan. "Can you two stop making weird wet slapping noises in there?!" Yuna yelled sharply. "Some of us are trying to have a wholesome, SFW fabric-sorting session!"
"Oh, let them have their fun," Ayane's voice drifted back lazily. "It's called foreplay. You should try it sometime."
The sound of a pillow being thrown and hitting something soft followed.
Mika giggled softly, the sound nearly lost in the rush of running water. She held up a perfectly washed carrot, licking the tip while presenting it like a trophy. "All clean," she said too sweetly. "So what's next, chef?"
Makoto sliced the meat into thin, delicate pieces and arranged them on plates. "Well, you can help me mix the dipping sauce next."
Mika moved to the counter, her naked back a canvas of pale skin and lean muscle in the harsh kitchen light. She found the soy sauce, mirin, and sesame oil, mixing them in a small bowl with precise movements.
He looked at her with that familiar fond expression in his eyes. "So... you must be popular at school and in your club, Mika. How many guys have fallen for you already?"
"Popular?" she repeated in a conversational purr. She didn't look at him, just stared into the swirling dark liquid. "I don't think that's the right word." She paused, tapping a finger against the bowl. "A few from the track team. Some from my class. The boy who worked at the convenience store."
She listed them off like ingredients, each one insignificant. "They were all so boring, so predictable. They just wanted the sweet, quiet girl who always tries her best."
A small, dangerous smile touched her lips. "They never saw the manipulative bitch underneath, or the... pervert one who wants to be forced to submit." She set down the bowl with a soft clink. "And they're not you."
Makoto nodded with a fond smile. "Hmm, Mika, the sweet, quiet girl? You were giving me that vibe the first time we met, indeed."
He tasted the soup and grinned triumphantly. "Let's see... What should I do to mark this as mine, so nobody will dare try their hand on it again?" He lifted her chin up, then slowly caressed down her shoulder, her breasts, and her thighs.
A shiver ran down Mika's spine, a delicious full-body tremor. She leaned into his touch, head tilting back to expose the long pale column of her throat. The sweet innocent mask was gone, burned away by the kitchen heat and his possessive words. What remained was raw, hungry submission.
"Anything," she whispered breathily. "Whatever you want."
Her hand came up, not to stop him, but to guide him. Her cool fingers touched his chin gently, then trailed to his lips. "You could bite me," she suggested, voice breaking.
She turned her head slightly, offering the tender spot where neck met shoulder. "Right here," she breathed, eyes fluttering shut. "Hard enough to leave a mark, or a bruise. So when I go to class on Monday, everyone will see it."
A slow, wicked smile touched her lips.
Makoto leaned in with a smile. "That's a good idea." Instead of biting, he sucked her neck hard, leaving dark, angry hickeys.
Mika's breath hitched in pure bliss. A full-body shiver wracked her as his mouth closed over her neck. She gripped the counter edge, knuckles white, body a taut bowstring of overwhelming pleasure.
His eyes sparkled mischievously as he pulled away. "And when they start to fade, I'll repaint them."
Mika touched the spot with trembling fingers, a dazed smile on her face. She didn't need a mirror. She could feel the hot, throbbing proof of his ownership.
"Yes," she whispered in happy submission. "Please repaint them next time."
Makoto smirked and turned back, lifting the hot pot stove. "Now, let's bring these to our dining table."
Mika straightened unsteadily and picked up the plates of sliced meat and vegetables. She was still completely naked, save for the ridiculously tiny apron and the fresh dark bruises blooming on her neck.