𝐆𝐨𝐝'𝐬 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐑𝐞𝐝 𝐋𝐞𝐝𝐠𝐞𝐫 ~ 𝐁𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞

He’s watching you again.

You can feel it even with your back turned, standing at the kitchen counter, hands trembling over the cutting board. You don’t have to turn around to know he’s sitting at the dining table, broad arms folded, eyes locked onto you with that same expectant stare. A predator waiting for his prey to understand its place.

The knife in your hand is useless. You learned that the hard way. The last time you tried to fight, he broke your wrist with his bare hands.

Now, you don’t fight.

“You’re too slow.” His voice is flat, impassive. “A wife should already have dinner prepared.”

Your stomach knots, your grip tightening. You want to say something, to bite back, but you know better. Your silence is its own rebellion, and Ushijima does not tolerate rebellion.

The chair scrapes against the floor as he stands. The air shifts. His presence looms closer, each heavy footstep deliberate, controlled. You barely have time to flinch before his hand grips the back of your neck, fingers digging into the tender skin.

He wrenches you away from the counter and forces you against it, your cheek pressing into the cold marble. The knife clatters to the floor, useless.

“A woman should be obedient,” he says, his tone unchanged. His other hand drags up your thigh, pushing under the hem of your dress. “Submissive.”

Your breath catches when he grips your panties and yanks, tearing the flimsy fabric away like paper. You thrash, but it only earns you a bruising squeeze to your nape, forcing your body to still.

“You don’t listen,” he continues, dragging his cock free from his pants. “So I have to remind you.”

The blunt head of his length presses against your unprepared entrance. The realization sets in too late—he’s going to take you like this, bent over the kitchen counter, whether you’re ready or not.

You cry out as he thrusts inside, splitting you open without care, forcing your body to accept him. The pain is instant, raw and searing, your walls clenching in rejection, but it doesn’t deter him. If anything, it only spurs him on.

He pounds into you with ruthless precision, each snap of his hips driving you against the hard counter. Your fingers claw at the surface, your legs threatening to buckle under the sheer force of his thrusts.

“You exist for this.” His voice is controlled, unwavering, even as he ruins you. “For me.”

You don’t answer. You can’t. The words wouldn’t matter.

Because to him, you’re not a person. You’re a wife. His wife. And that is all you’ll ever be.

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