Total pages in book: 160
Estimated words: 161615 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 808(@200wpm)___ 646(@250wpm)___ 539(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 161615 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 808(@200wpm)___ 646(@250wpm)___ 539(@300wpm)
The way Korin's wing had moved with Sol when she shifted—protective even in sleep. In that moment, Kenji's arm adjusted as I breathed, tightening slightly as if sensing even in unconsciousness that I might slip away.
That same impossible safety Sol must have felt, of being held by something—someone—so dangerous.
And even more, leaving Kenji's embrace felt like tearing my lungs away from oxygen.
Sol had described it perfectly in that scene—the terrible comfort of a dragon's heat, the way her body betrayed her by wanting to stay even when her mind screamed run.
But I had to move.
I had things to do, a life that existed beyond these silk sheets and this dangerous man's embrace.
Slowly—so slowly—I began to slide downward beneath his arm, using the sheets as leverage.
Without warning, his arm tightened, locking me in place.
Kenji. . .go back to sleep.
I froze, holding my breath until his breathing resumed its deep, steady pattern.
Okay. Let’s try this again.
It took a few minutes of inch by inch moving, but finally, I slipped free.
My feet touched the cool floor, and the loss of his heat felt like punishment.
I stood beside the bed for a moment, unable to look away.
Kenji sprawled across the mattress, one arm still reaching for where I'd been, his fingers slightly curled as if trying to hold onto my ghost. His dark hair fell across his forehead, softening the sharp angles of his face.
That mouth that had bitten me, claimed me, whispered love against my skin—now relaxed, almost innocent in sleep.
Beautiful, dangerous man.
His chest rose and fell in that deep, steady rhythm that had lulled me to sleep last night. Even now, I could see the power in him—the thick muscle of his shoulders, the defined lines of his torso, the way his body took up space, owning the world.
The Dragon was at rest, and all that violent power appeared temporarily banked.
But I knew the truth.
One wrong move, one loud sound, and those eyes would snap open—golden and alert, predator awakened. He'd reach for me before his mind even caught up to his instincts.
I smiled.
Part of me wanted him to wake. Wanted him to pull me back into that furnace of heat and make the decision for me.
The other part—the part that still remembered who I was before him—forced my feet to move toward the closet.
But the writer in me—the part that existed long before the Dragon claimed me—had already started making lists in my head.
Check messages. Make sure everyone back home knows I'm okay after the bombs. Get a thick notebook from the office. Then, map out the timeline for Hiroko's memoir. Also. . .outline new chapter structure for the sex industry book. Oh yeah. Figure out how to balance both projects while Kenji's at war.
I had two books to write, interviews to re-schedule, research to organize. Hiroko's story deserved my full attention, and so did the book I'd been dreaming about for years—the one that would expose the truth about Japan's underground sex industry.
Kenji's war might be tearing through the criminal underworld, but my work wouldn't wait.
And I refused to be the woman who lost herself completely in a man's arms, no matter how perfect those arms felt.
Quietly, I padded toward the closet, my mind already racing through interview questions and chapter outlines.
Inside it, I grabbed the first comfortable things I found—black yoga pants that felt obscenely expensive against my skin and a simple grey shirt that probably cost more than my entire wardrobe back in the States.
Everything in this closet was designer, tailored, and perfect.
I dressed quickly, aware that every second I took was another second Kenji might wake and pull me back to bed.
Not that I'd fight him very hard.
Once dressed, I grabbed my phone from the nightstand and slipped out of the bedroom.
Seven big guards stood in the hallway.
Oh damn.
I stopped, taking them in with the same assessing eye I'd used during last night's test.
The one nearest the door had his weight distributed evenly—ready to move but not tense. His hands hung loose at his sides, no white knuckles, no clenched fists. When his eyes met mine, they were alert but not hostile.
Alright. He’s. . .loyal and. . .confident in his position here.
The second guard had a small scar above his left eyebrow and wore his suit like a second skin—comfortable, lived-in. I guessed that he'd been doing this job long enough that the uniform didn't feel like a costume. His stance mirrored the first guard's.
Also loyal.
I scanned the rest quickly. Same tells—relaxed but alert postures, clean weapons maintenance. I could see the careful way they wore their shoulder holsters. I noted everyone’s direct eye contact that held full respect to me rather than challenge.
All of them are safe.
These weren't men who questioned their orders or secretly worked for the Fox. These were some of Kenji's most loyal guards.