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)
Right here in bed with him now. . .and like a crazy person, I licked my lips and smiled.
How could the man everyone in Japan feared be the only place I’d ever felt safe?
On the nightstand sat evidence of our mutual soothing of each other: two empty hand-painted porcelain teacups; a small silver pot with its lid askew; empty bowls of fruit; a dish of honey imported from Kyoto orchards, crystallized at the rim where I’d dipped a silver spoon that still gleamed in the shadows; folded hand towels we’d used; and a scatter of crushed flower petals.
I’d rubbed arnica into his wrists and ankles, then held each joint and kissed the center of his palm and the bony knobs of his ankles like I was telling his body thank you for giving itself to me.
The room still smelled faintly of chamomile and lust, that strange marriage of calm and carnality.
His handcuffs lay coiled on the chair like snakes sleeping off their hunger.
Hiroko had told me that aftercare was a simple word for a whole religion built on one simple truth: If I break you open, I’ll stay to piece you back together again.
It was faith.
It was ritual—water offered like communion, the slow feeding of fruit whose sweetness lingered against the salt of skin, a warm cloth pressed to flesh like a blessing, a blanket draped over bare shoulders carrying the faint scent of smoke.
A tender oath whispered: you’re safe, you’re mine, you’re here.
It was holding each other when the adrenaline still roared, when the body shook with leftover lightning, when breath still carried the copper tang of blood.
It was forgiveness without needing to ask, love woven straight into bruises and bite marks.
I thought of every lover I’d had before, every man who had dared to touch me, and realized none of them had ever made me feel this alive. None had ever made me feel this close to passionate destruction.
To my surprise, Kenji’s hand shifted, sliding slowly along my side.
He’s still awake.
Excitement hit me.
His calloused fingertips traced the curve of my waist as if mapping my body all over again.
Naughty Dragon.
A shiver ran through me when his mouth found the back of my neck, then lower, kissing a slow trail down the knobs of my spine. The scrape of his teeth, the heat of his lips, the low groan that rumbled in his chest—it all melted into me until I wasn’t sure which heartbeat was mine.
Very naughty.
My eyes fluttered open, and through the curtains billowing at the windows I caught the fading light. The sky outside had bruised into indigo and gold. The sun was already gone as evening stretched her arms across the island.
I kept my voice low. “You should be asleep.”
Kenji’s lips brushed just below my shoulder blade. “I’m not used to sleeping with anyone in my bed.”
I grinned. “Should I leave, then?”
His palm tightened possessively on my hip. “Only if you want me to follow you to wherever you go.”
“You need to go to sleep.”
“I need some more pussy.” Without shame, he began to grind his cock against my ass.
I chuckled.
“Something funny, Tora?”
“You’ve had quite enough pussy today.”
“I am the Dragon.” Those words were a growl that vibrated against my back. “I decide how much of your pussy is enough.”
I rolled my eyes. “But I am the Tiger, and only I decide when the Dragon’s cock gets fed.”
“Mmmm.” He groaned low in his chest. The sound vibrated against my spine and was almost better than an orgasm because it told me that I owned the hunger of a man that controlled empires.
I slipped out of his arms and rolled around to face him.
The dim light cut across his face, and for a moment I forgot to breathe.
Kenji’s beauty was never soft. It was carved from sharpness—cheekbones cut high, a jaw that looked like it could crush stone, stubble shadowing the lower half of his face like dark smoke.
His mouth was full, indecently so, lips that should have belonged to a man who recited poetry, not one who ordered executions.
I’d seen men try to look dangerous before.
Kenji didn’t try.
His face was both threat and invitation.
Menace and hunger.
He could ruin me with one kiss.
He could tear me apart with one look.
His eyes—God, his eyes—fire with a glint that shifted too quickly, danger and desire blazing so close together it made me dizzy. They could narrow into razors in a heartbeat, but just now they were heavy-lidded, molten, drinking me in like I was the only thing left for him to live for.
My gaze fell lower, and the breath I’d managed to catch left me again.
His body was ink coiled over muscle that strained against skin. Dragons snarled across his chest, scales glinting dark red as though slick with fresh kill. Their claws dug into his flesh, eternal conquerors marking their territory.