Akimi twisted his hands nervously as they rode the elevator up to the penthouse of an enormous skyscraper. It was just him and his...husband. He gulped.
That was still such a strange thought.
He fiddled with the new ring on his finger, then peeked up at the tall, dark-haired man talking so seriously on his cellphone. There was a hint of a frown on his handsome brow.
The young blond still couldn’t believe it.
His husband.
They had met just last week. Both men were from Japan, but ironically enough, they met in Paris. Akimi had been on a photojournalism assignment, documenting the mysterious ‘Paris syndrome’ that befell so many of the Japanese tourists. About a dozen a year had to be repatriated on an emergency basis from the French capital after suffering complete psychiatric breakdowns. Many others became so depressed and traumatized afterwards that they never traveled outside of their homeland again.
The problem was, in Japan, Paris was romanticized to no end. It was portrayed as a beautiful, almost magical place, with gorgeous cobblestone streets and perfect classical architecture. It was imagined to be quaint and friendly and endlessly romantic. The truth was that it was just a city. There were rude cabbies, trash, discourteous Parisians and slums, just like any other large metropolitan center. Sadly, when their idealized vision of the city was not realized, many tourists were unable to appreciate the beauty that WAS there, even though it might not be quite what was hoped for.
Akimi went to Paris as a photojournalist to document both sides of the coin. His assignment was to bring back a realistic and balanced picture of the exquisitely beautiful and yes, sometimes terribly ugly, city.
The photographer had gotten in a bit over his head. Taking one turn and then another down dark alleyways, he had gotten twisted and confused and desperately lost as night closed in around him. And then he had noticed footsteps following him. First one and then others. A gang cornered him and demanded his camera and wallet. He would have given it to them, but the problem was that Akimi hadn’t understood what they were asking him. His French was very, very limited.
Just as things had been about to turn ugly, a tall man in a dark suit had emerged from the shadows, smoking a cigarette like James Dean in the movies. Dark hair tumbled over a handsome brow and amber eyes flashed as he came to stand protectively in front of Akimi. In flawless French, he had told the punks to 'Fuck Off'. That was one phrase Akimi DID know. And when that hadn’t worked, the suave businessman had single-handedly kicked all six of their asses, like a ninja assassin in an Armani suit. It was pretty much the hottest thing Akimi had ever seen.
By the time he was done, the thugs lay at his feet and Akimi looked on his hero with stars in his eyes. He never been more turned on in his life, and apparently, neither had his savior. It was magic as soon as their eyes met. Not a word was said before the man’s tongue was down his throat.
They spent the next week doing the horizontal (and sometimes vertical) mambo all over the ‘City of Love’. It hardly mattered that the businessman was twice Akimi’s age, the chemistry between them was electric. And not only was the sex earth-shattering, but Akimi also felt like he had known him his entire life. It was like they were soulmates. Apparently, his lover had felt the same, because even though Akimi was quite inebriated when they got married on top of the Eiffel tower, the other man was stone-cold sober.
Akimi woke up ten hours later on a private jet with a wedding ring on his finger and the realization that he didn’t actually know anything about his husband, but his name and his shoe size.
Twelve.
Just like his dick, if you converted that to inches.
And that was about all Akimi knew about him, except that he had a private jet, and apparently more money than GOD.
Akimi had thought to pass off the whole marriage thing as a joke, but with a confident smirk, his husband had produced an official French wedding certificate. Gay marriage had been legalized in France in 2013. If you had enough money and political pull, you could translate that into an adoption in Japan. And apparently, Akimi’s new husband did. Therefore, Akimi’s name was now Endo Akimi; the official adopted ward of Endo Daichi - sole heir to the massive EndoScience corporation.
When his husband told him, Akimi’s jaw dropped to the floor in shock and Endo had taken that as permission to join the mile-high club. Endo’s appetite for his young bride was ravenous. After plane-sex came limo-sex, after that was elevator-sex. And apparently, they were about to have penthouse-sex, because right after the wedding Endo had cancelled the younger man’s lease and moved all of Akimi’s things into his own apartment. Without even asking.
Every time Akimi protested at his heavy-handedness, his husband took that as his cue to initiate sex; dirty, hot, filthy, mind-blowing sex that made Akimi completely forget whatever it had been that he was upset about.
The boy frowned as he thought about that and just then, Endo clicked his phone shut. The broad-shouldered man moved to pin Akimi against the wall, forcing the boy's mouth open in another hot, ravaging, toe-curling, spine-tingling kiss. The poor overwhelmed, shell-shocked blond just panted. His innocent mind had been completely short-circuited by the incredible sexual prowess of his new husband.
His husband.
It was still so weird. Akimi stifled a giggle as his husband grabbed his hand and dragged him to the only door on the top floor of the building. Akimi’s eyes widened as he realized that the entire floor was Endo’s apartment. It had to be like ten-thousand square feet!
“Welcome home baby,” the older man drawled in a deep, husky voice that always made Akimi shiver.
He threw open the door, lifted the petite blond into his massive arms and carried him across the threshold. As they entered, Akimi boggled at the size of the penthouse; twenty-foot ceilings, a crystal chandelier the size of a station wagon, floor to ceiling windows and a panoramic view over downtown Tokyo.
That alone was enough to overwhelm anyone, but then three more Endo Daichis walked out in the foyer. They looked so similar that Akimi really had to squint to see the difference. One was a little older, with distinguished grey hair at his temples. The other two looked younger. One wore glasses, but other than that, they all looked exactly the same. Practically triplets, they were identical down to their black three-piece suits and glowing golden eyes which were all fixed intently on him…very intently.
Akimi looked up in wide-eyed panic at his husband. The handsome man chuckled at his shell-shocked expression and then turned to address his family.
“Father, meet my bride. Boys? Meet your new mommy!”
Bride?
Mommy? MOMMY?
As if on cue, Endo’s little wife fell back in a full faint in his husband’s waiting arms. The four Endos just smirked at each other.
