Total pages in book: 111
Estimated words: 115388 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 577(@200wpm)___ 462(@250wpm)___ 385(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115388 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 577(@200wpm)___ 462(@250wpm)___ 385(@300wpm)
“When I saw your Roar earlier and walked him through the back halls, I assumed it was some corporate associate that you all were dealing with. Maybe a liaison from Beijing or a tech heir from Seoul. Not. . .you.” She shook her head, but she recovered instantly. “Had I known it was the Dragon himself, I would’ve worn sapphires or diamonds.”
“You do not need jewels. You are stunning without them.”
She let out a nervous chuckle. “Please, follow me, Mr. Sato.”
Nyomi. Nyomi. How the hell do you know Hiroko?
I followed, my footsteps matching Hiroko’s slow, regal pace as we entered the hallway beyond.
The walls glowed obsidian. A deep red carpet ran beneath our feet, plush as wet velvet. Every few meters, ornate sconces bloomed warm golden light.
Even though we had business dealings, I had never been to Hiroko’s club before. I’d heard whispers. Rumors. But I’d never stepped inside.
That had been a mistake.
Because now, walking beside Hiroko, I realized I was in enemy territory. Not in the sense of danger—but in the sense that I really would have no control here.
This was her world.
Her rules.
Her suites.
A place where kings were uncrowned.
And made to beg.
And tonight, this place had somehow been gifted to my Tiger.
A dark thrill twisted in my gut.
What kind of date requires Hiroko Watanabe to be the gatekeeper? Tora, you are blowing me away. No wonder Reo likes you.
Hiroko curated presidents' secrets and criminals’ confessions like art. She was the very definition of a woman in power—unflinching, unrepentant, and unforgettable. Her club was known for two things—exquisite design and exquisite surrender.
Only the most discerning souls were allowed in. And even then, most men walked out completely ruined.
A shiver slid down my spine.
Not from fear.
From anticipation.
Fuck. Tora. . .I can’t believe this.
I was excited.
So excited I was losing my goddamned mind.
In fact, I wanted Hiroko to walk faster. I wanted us to sprint. My palms itched. My heart beat faster. I had no idea what Nyomi had planned—but if Hiroko were involved, it wouldn’t be soft.
It wouldn’t be safe.
It would be designed to disarm and delight me, and I would love every second of it.
Oh, Tora. I’m moving you into my mansion tonight. You will never sleep on that fucking futon again.
I glanced sideways at Hiroko, studying the slight curve of her smirk.
She knew exactly what I was feeling.
She didn’t rush.
She only slowed, as if savoring my torment.
Damn it, Reo. You could have warned me. No wonder you had on those damn glasses.
I swallowed hard and my adrenaline licked at the edges of my nerves.
No part of me wanted to turn back.
Soon, we stopped in front of double doors so dark they absorbed the light. But it wasn’t the doors that held my attention.
It was the ceiling above. A fresco stretched across the space—hand-painted, baroque in detail, and coated in carnal power. At the center of it sat a woman lounging on a red throne carved with roses. Her expression was regal and unbothered.
She wore nothing.
At her feet, a collection of men knelt. Strong men. Pale men. Older men. Each of them sculpted in agony and awe. Bodies contorted into living footstools. One man’s lips kissed her toes. Another’s back arched beneath her heel. They weren't bound, but they looked utterly possessed by her.
Oh my.
I tilted my head to take it in more.
And, I shouldn’t have, because then I began to imagine Nyomi up there—on that throne. That same lazy smile on her lips. Her foot pressing into my chest. Her eyes half-lidded, knowing I would never leave her feet unless she told me to.
My cock twitched.
Fuck. Do I want that? Even more. . .Tora. . .do you want that?
I put my view back on the doors and noticed that to the left, set into an alcove beneath a lantern carved with angels and vines, sat a shallow obsidian bowl.
Steam curled from its surface.
I caught a floral perfume coming from the liquid.
Beside the bowl, a silk red cloth lay folded.
Above the door was a sign covered in flowing script that read, Enter not to dominate, but to be undone.
I stared at it and then turned toward Hiroko.
She didn’t meet my eyes. She only nodded at the bowl and spoke, “This space is sacred, Kenji. Please cleanse your hands.”
I looked down at my hands, fingers that had broken men, and then stepped forward.
A sacred space? Is it now?
Smiling, I dipped my fingers into the water.
Heat kissed my skin.
The perfume clung to my flesh.
Then, I lifted the cloth and dried my hands slowly. It was softer than any linen I’d known.
“Thank you.” Hiroko turned and opened the double doors.
So close. . .so fucking close. . .
Chapter twenty-six
Before the World Gets Cruel
Kenji
Once the doors opened, light spilled out and I followed Hiroko.
We stepped deeper inside, and to my shock, the sound of jazz rode the air—lazy, sultry brass weaving through the space like smoke.