Page 47 of Brutal Union (Ruthless Mafia Kings #8)

NADIA

I sit in the middle of Aoi’s room. It is small, the kind of space that feels like a secret, tucked high above Tokyo’s humming arteries.

Every inch of the walls is dressed in aged, hand-painted Japanese portraits—geishas caught mid-laughter, kimono slipping from shoulders, frozen in erotic grace.

Time-stained rice paper scrolls drape unevenly along the walls like whispering ghosts of pleasure, and a sweet, musky incense curls from the brass dish in the corner, softening the air with lotus and old ash.

Tatami mats cover the floor in tight, clean lines, but it is the deep crimson silk sheets in the corner that demand attention—where elegance meets indulgence. Paper lanterns glow softly overhead, casting the room in a golden, flickering light that paints our skin in shades of fire and shadow.

I sit in the center on top of a plush pillow, my legs crossed and my hands resting on my knees to stop my clothes from crumpling.

My clothes are a borrowed fantasy: a crimson furisode robe, its long sleeves dragging the floor, half open to reveal black lace lingerie trimmed in gold.

My hair is pinned high, not unlike the women watching me from the walls.

Aoi kneels before me, quiet, reverent. Her dark hair is pulled back in a low knot, but a single loose strand curls against her cheek as she dips the brush into the pot of red pigment. Her hands, always so steady, tremble just slightly as she brings the brush to my lips.

“Open,” she whispers, touching the tip of the brush to my inner lip.

I follow her command, the silk bristles dragging fire across my mouth.

I watch the focused curve of her brows, how her lips purse in concentration like she’s painting a goddess and not a girl trained to kill.

She leans back after a moment, her eyes scanning my face like an artist stepping back from a nearly-finished portrait.

“Rub your lips together,” she hums gently.

I do, feeling the smooth lacquer spread evenly across my mouth. The color stains my reflection in the lacquered mirror beside us—an image both feral and divine. My gaze slides back to Aoi.

“You’ve done this before,” I murmur.

Her lips twitch. “I used to prepare the girls before they met the men in the black cars.” Aoi pauses. “Sometimes, I was one of them.”

There’s no shame in her voice—only memory. She reaches for a pot of shimmer to dust along my cheekbones, her fingers soft and clinical. But when she speaks again, her voice is different. Warmer.

“But none of them ever looked like you. I don’t know a more strategic and deadly woman of the night.”

I smirk, tilting my head just slightly. “Not a compliment I hear often.”

“It should be,” she says, now carefully tucking a silk strand of hair behind my ear. “In this world, beauty is temporary. Fear is currency. You’re both.”

I chuckle under my breath. “So are you.”

Aoi scoffs, but her cheeks tint with something soft. “There was a woman in high court who once killed an entire house of men in one night, and it was all because they were stupid enough to think she was pretty. She used her hairpins to kill each and every one of them.”

“Is that why you are putting pins in my hair?”

Aoi sighs. “If anything goes left, just remember to pin your hair.”

“Pins in the hair,” I repeat to myself. “Any other hiding places?”

She pauses, considering. Then: “Depends on how deep you want to dig inside.”

I pause for a second bursting into a consuming level of laughter that Aoi shortly joins me in, and right as we’re mid-giggle, as Aoi reaches for a final touch of gold across my collarbone, the door clicks.

Sho leans into the room, one hand still on the doorframe, the other shoved into his pocket like he owns the air we’re breathing. His shirt is unbuttoned just enough to hint at what lies beneath, and his eyes flick between us with an unreadable glint .

“Aoi,” he says smoothly, “could I have a moment alone with her?”

Aoi doesn’t respond immediately—her hand still lingers near my skin, and for the briefest second, I see her fingers curl as if she doesn’t want to leave. But she rises gracefully, smoothing her skirt and dipping her head.

“Of course,” she says.

And before she walks out, she leans toward me, just close enough to whisper, “Don’t let him win too easily.”

Then she’s gone, the door sliding shut behind her with a soft click.

Sho takes a few steps in. That smile—the one that says he already knows what I’m thinking—curls across his mouth.

“You clean up nice, Hime,” he murmurs, voice low and charged.

“Don’t touch me,” I snap, looking into the tiny mirror across from me. “Aoi just finished.”

Sho steps fully into the room, closing the door behind him, as he kneels down behind me. His fingers graze the nape of my neck—warm, calloused, and too familiar—as he studies the high knot pinned at the crown of my head. The same knot Aoi carefully constructed only moments ago.

“You sure, because I really want to mess it up,” he murmurs, his breath brushing my skin like a warning, “ and besides I think I know the male gaze better than Aoi does. Like this for example, I love the top knot. It is traditional…”

His fingers slide into the base of the knot, gently teasing the pins loose.

“But you’d look so much better with your hair down.”

One by one, the pins drop into his palm with quiet metallic clicks.

Then my hair tumbles down in a silken cascade, sliding over my bare shoulders, framing my face like a veil of temptation.

His fingers don’t stop—they comb through it slowly, reverently, as if every strand tells a story only he’s allowed to read.

Then he leans in.

His lips find the curve of my neck, just beneath my ear, and kiss the spot slowly—once, twice—before trailing lower. Each kiss is warm, deliberate, laced with both heat and possession. His mouth lingers at the hollow of my throat.

I don't move. Not yet. Not even as my pulse hammers beneath his mouth.

His hand slides down my spine, fingers grazing the curve of my lower back before he grips my hip roughly, pulling me flush against him.

I can feel him already hard, pressing insistently against me through the layers of fabric separating us.

My breath hitches—sharp and audible—and his lips curve into a smirk against my skin.

“You’re not going to make this easy, are you?” His voice is low, a rumble that vibrates through me, setting every nerve on edge.

“Should I?” I tease breathlessly, though my knees are already shaky.

He doesn’t answer. Instead, his fingers tighten in my hair, tugging just enough to tilt my head back, exposing my neck to his hungry mouth.

His teeth graze the sensitive skin there, and a shiver races down my spine.

His other hand cups my ass, squeezing firmly as he grinds against me, the friction sending sparks of heat straight to my core.

He pulls back slightly, his dark eyes locking onto mine. “Lay down.”

The command is simple but loaded, and I don’t hesitate.

I step backward until my legs hit the edge of the low Japanese-style bed, dropping down onto the soft cushions.

He follows immediately, his body hovering over mine, one hand braced beside my head while the other fists in my hair again.

The tug sends a thrill through me, mixing pleasure with a hint of pain that only heightens the anticipation.

His lips crash onto mine, hot and demanding, swallowing the gasp that escapes me.

His tongue slips past my lips, tangling with mine in a kiss that feels less like affection and more like domination.

I moan into his mouth, my hands gripping his bare shoulders, feeling the muscles tense beneath my fingers as he shifts above me.

He breaks the kiss long enough to yank my kimono robe open, the fabric spilling to either side of my body but not fully removed. His eyes rake over me, taking in the sight of my bare skin beneath the silk, and I can see the hunger in his gaze. It’s almost feral.

“Keep it on,” he growls, settling between my thighs. His hand slides up my leg, pushing the hem of the robe higher until it bunches around my hips. His fingers brush against my panties, damp already from the intensity of his touch, and he groans low in his throat.

“You’re always so ready for me.” His words are almost a purr, and they send a fresh wave of heat flooding through me.

His fingers hook into the waistband of my panties, dragging them down my legs and tossing them aside without another thought.

Then his hand is back, sliding over my skin, parting my folds with a single finger that presses against my clit in slow, deliberate circles.

I gasp, arching into his touch, my nails digging into his shoulders as he teases me relentlessly. His mouth finds mine again, swallowing my moans as his fingers work me closer and closer to the edge. But just as I’m about to tip over, he pulls away, leaving me trembling and desperate.

“Sho,” I whimper, my voice cracking with need.

He doesn’t respond. Instead, he sits back on his heels, his hands moving to unbuckle his belt and unzip his slacks.

He doesn’t take them off—just pushes them down enough to free himself.

My eyes drop to his cock, thick and hard, already glistening at the tip.

My mouth waters at the sight, but he doesn’t give me the chance to indulge in anything more than a fleeting glance.

He leans over me again, his hand fisting in my hair once more as he positions himself at my entrance. His eyes bore into mine, intense and unyielding.

“Tell me you want this.”

“I want it,” I breathe, the words trembling on my lips.

“Say it louder.”

“I want it!” My voice is firmer this time, laced with desperation.

He smirks, satisfied, and then he’s pushing inside me in one swift thrust. I cry out, my body stretching to accommodate him, the sensation so intense it borders on overwhelming. He doesn’t give me time to adjust—he starts moving immediately, setting a ruthless pace that leaves no room for thought .

His grip on my hair tightens, forcing my head back as he drives into me again and again.

The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room, mingling with my gasps and his guttural groans.

Every thrust sends jolts of pleasure through me, building a pressure deep inside that threatens to explode.

His free hand grips my hip, holding me in place as he fucks me with a single-minded intensity that leaves me powerless to do anything but take it. My nails rake down his back, leaving faint red lines in their wake, and he growls in response, his pace quickening even further.

“Is this what you wanted?” he rasps, his voice rough with exertion.

“Yes,” I choke out, my voice barely above a whisper.

“Louder.”

“Yes!” I scream, the word torn from me as he angles his hips just right, hitting a spot inside me that makes stars burst behind my eyelids.

He chuckles darkly, clearly enjoying the way his relentless rhythm has me writhing beneath him.

His hand leaves my hip, sliding up my body to cup my breast through the thin fabric of my robe.

His thumb flicks over my nipple, the sensation sharp and electric, and I moan loudly, my back arching off the bed.

“You’re mine,” he growls, his voice low and possessive. “Say it.”

“I’m yours,” I gasp, the words spilling out without hesitation.

He groans, burying his face in the crook of my neck as he thrusts harder, deeper. I can feel myself unraveling, the pleasure coiling tighter and tighter until it snaps, sending waves of ecstasy crashing over me. My body clenches around him, milking him as I cry out his name.

He doesn’t stop—he fucks me through my orgasm, his movements growing erratic as he chases his own release. With a final, brutal thrust, he buries himself as deep as he can go, his hips jerking as he spills inside me with a guttural groan.

We stay like that for a moment, both of us trembling as we come down from the high. His grip on my hair loosens, his hand sliding down to cup my cheek instead. He kisses me—softly this time, a stark contrast to the intensity of just moments ago.

When he pulls back, his eyes meet mine, dark and still burning with residual heat. I lean in trying to steal another moment for ourselves when Aoi's voice screeches through the walls.

“If you messed up her perfect face I will skin you alive, Sho!”

Sho’s jaw twitches. I blink, startled—then press my lips together to stifle a laugh.

Instead, I fall forward into his chest, stifling a chuckle that breaks through anyway. “God,” I mutter against him. “She’s terrifying.”

Sho lets out a low, amused breath into my hair. “You should see her when she’s calm.”

I push away from him with a small smirk, adjusting the robe over my shoulder. “Go before she kills you, and me.”

With a lazy salute and one last glance that drags across my body, he grabs some of the clothes we’d thrown around the room, and slips out the door.

The moment it clicks shut, Aoi enters without knocking from the other side. She stops in the doorway, sharp-eyed and silent for a beat too long.

“I told you not to smear the lip,” she mutters under her breath.

“I didn’t,” I say, wiping the corner of my mouth with the back of my hand, then looking at the stain. “He did.”