Total pages in book: 64
Estimated words: 66993 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 335(@200wpm)___ 268(@250wpm)___ 223(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66993 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 335(@200wpm)___ 268(@250wpm)___ 223(@300wpm)
She said she would knee me. And she did.
I’d have to remember that—her threats were real and merciless in execution.
I clutched myself like a bruised pervert and laughed under my breath.
How. . .strange.
How fucking beautiful, that one woman—this dark brown skinned American stranger—could do something no one else ever had.
She made me feel something completely new that I couldn’t even name.
What is this? Excitement? Anticipation? Hot desire, perhaps.
In the numb landscape that had become my life, emotions were prizes. Rare. Tarnished. Better locked away than wasted.
Most women?
Predictable.
Soft shapes I memorized without touching.
I read them before they moved.
Knew their games before they smiled.
But not this one.
I wasn’t lying when I said she came into my office like an eclipse—a celestial event no man could summon and every man feared. She swallowed the light, bent gravity, and dragged my gaze toward her like a tide rising for the moon.
And I let her pull me in.
I was eager to let her drown me.
One moment, my world was order—every object in its place, every threat cataloged, every desire silenced beneath brutal control.
Then she walked in.
With those wild curls like smoke made flesh. With a mouth that looked sculpted to speak rebellion and kiss sin. With a scent I hadn’t breathed since childhood, when I stood in the shadows of my father’s study and first discovered that power could moan.
She didn’t just enter my space.
She rewrote it.
Bent the air around her.
Tilted the axis of my composure.
Suddenly, I was no longer the dragon perched on the cliff. I was the sky tearing itself open to make room for her fire.
I was the predator watching the skilled hunter.
And everything inside me—the control, the legend, the coldness—shifted like plates beneath the sea.
She disrupted everything.
Not because she tried.
But because she existed.
Because the moment I looked into her eyes, I realized that nothing in my empire—no man, no god, no blade—had ever dared to challenge my hunger quite like her.
I’d been right to name her Tiger.
There was this sharp fire in her bones.
And that smell. . .
That was what undid me.
I tilted my head back and inhaled, still able to trace her scent like it clung to my skin.
Black amber and ripe plum.
I’d only ever smelled it once before—in my father’s study when I was eight years old. A woman had been pinned to his desk, her moan the sound that followed surrender. That scent. . .it lingered through the air as a spell would.
Then my little tigress walks in with that scent wrapped around her like prophecy.
And now here I was—gasping through the throb in my groin and clutching my cock like I might die from wanting her.
She had touched something ancient in me.
Something monstrous.
Something divine.
I thought back some more to Nyomi—my naughty Tora.
Her body was one of a sleek beast that longed to be stroked—harmonious and muscled where most women would be soft and firm.
If I had to write a haiku on her frame alone, it wouldn’t be one compared to flowers or delicate things. Those three poetic lines would have claws and heat, deadly eyes, and the promise of passion with the bite of scorching flames.
Instantly, I thought of one.
Claws beneath her skin.
Fire licks the curve of grace.
Even a dragon would kneel.
I smiled and considered her beauty some more.
Her lips had snared my attention.
Those curves made my cock sit up in my pants.
She had curls for days, long, slinky black ones that bobbed when she moved her head too quickly to make a point.
And she’d made several arguments to save her precious book.
She wants to write about Tokyo’s sex industry. What a dangerous topic, little Tora.
To reveal my world would be to paint a huge target on her back.
There was a reason the red-light district didn’t maintain transparency.
I didn’t just move in the shadows of Tokyo—I controlled them. My syndicate didn’t thrive on chaos like Western mobs. No, we moved with precision. With legacy. With silence.
We didn’t shout our power.
We etched it into the bones of Japan.
Tradition kept our empire standing.
Honor shaped our hierarchy.
And privacy?
That was our religion. What happened behind closed doors stayed sealed in blood and oath. Outsiders didn’t get to peel back the curtain. Not without paying a price.
It would be easier for her to write a book on the Yakuza!
A laugh escaped my parted lips as the pain in my groin subsided to a sensual thumping.
My Tora had done more than hurt my loins.
She’d triggered excitement in my core.
I can’t wait to see her again.
The door creaked open.
I didn’t have to look to know it was Reo entering first. His presence always arrived a beat before his body. He was the whisper before the storm, warning you of the wind that would come to strip you bare.
Plus, Reo didn’t ask permission. Just stepped in like the air already belonged to him.
Currently, he moved with quiet confidence, the hem of his dark blue suit brushing against his polished shoes. The suit was sharp, cut in a subtle, European style.