Page 219 of Celestial Combat

I moved carefully at first, rolling my hips, finding our rhythm as the water lapped quietly around us. Every brush of skin, every press of our bodies sent sparks through my spine. His mouth found my collarbone, then my shoulder, and I melted into him, fingers threading through his damp hair.

This was about connection. The kind that pulsed beneath the skin, low and warm and deep enough to hold onto.

His hands slid down to my thighs, guiding me, grounding me. Every slow lift of my hips and press back down made his breath stutter against my skin. I leaned in and kissed his neck, his jaw, his mouth – again and again – like I needed to taste the way he felt.

“You feel so good,” he murmured, voice low and wrecked. “So fucking good, baby.”

I curled my fingers at the base of his neck, holding him to me. And when we finally came together – my body trembling around him, his arms locked around me, holding me like I was something sacred – it felt less like falling apart and more like coming home.

We stayed like that long after, our foreheads pressed together, water still rippling gently around us, our bodies wrapped up in something that felt infinite.

The world outside could wait.

For now, we had this. Just us.

Chapter 57

Present

Tokyo, Japan

WE SLIPPED THROUGH THE PULSATING heartbeat of the nightclub and into silence – a private elevator humming downward, a velvet rope, and then we stepped into the VIP lounge. Soft light pooled on low tables, leather couches, dark wood panels etched with gold. Glasses glinted on black lacquer surfaces. There was a hint of sandalwood and cigarette in the air.

And there he was.

Akihiko leaned back in the center of the room, polished and composed like a dragon carved from onyx. No guards, no entourage – just one solitary figure beneath a single lamp, waiting. His tailored suit was midnight blue, with a silk pocket square folding like a secret. His presence filled the room.

Zane stepped forward and slightly bowed his head. The boss rose, offering a measured smile and outstretched hand. “Minato,” he said, his voice smooth as lacquer.

I followed behind, every sense on alert. The welcome was warm, but the air between Akihiko and me quivered. He lookedat Zane – open, respectful – then at me… Not hostile, but… Like he saw something in me he wasn’t sure he liked.

His smile never faded, but the shift – so slight I might have imagined it – made my spine tighten. Perfume and power drifted between us, heavy and charged. The lounge looked empty, but suddenly it felt full.

Zane shook Akihiko’s hand firmly, respectful. I lifted my chin but didn’t smile back. Something in that gaze unsettled me – like the surface was warm, but the depth was cold.

Akihiko motioned onto the couch. “Please,” he said, seating us. Zane sat first; I followed but carefully positioned myself between Zane and the boss.

The air held its breath.

I leaned forward, calm yet sharp. I wouldn’t let my guard down – this night demanded everything we planned to take.

After a few minutes of small talk, the mission began.

Zane leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Tell me about my mom,” he said quietly, voice smooth but weighted.

Akihiko glanced at him, lips curving faintly. “Yui?” He let out a soft, nostalgic sigh, turning a glass slowly in his fingers. “We were school friends, you know that. She was bright. Kind. Strong in ways most women weren’t allowed to be back then.” He poured amber liquor into the glass, his hand unnervingly steady. “I miss her, of course. But I like to believe she’s in a better place now.”

I studied him – his voice was too measured, too perfect. Zane didn’t buy it either.

Zane narrowed his eyes. “Were you ever involved with her?”

A beat.

Akihiko offered a shrug, cool and indifferent. “Ah,” he said, standing as if to wave it away. “Young people… We all had our moments, didn’t we?” His back turned as he moved to the bar –every step smooth, unhurried. “I need something a stronger for this conversation.”

The sound of liquid pouring, the faint clink of glass.

My muscles tensed.