Page 111 of The Dragon 1

I took a sip of my sake. “I would think she was in pain with all the rope but she looks like. . .she’sreallyenjoying this.”

Kenji smiled slightly. “Pain is subjective. Some might find it painful others might find it pleasurable, even liberating.”

She exhaled as the nawashi tied another knot at the small of her back.

The waitress appeared at our side like a wisp of fog. She poured the sake delicately, bowing slightly, then vanished.

When she left, Kenji picked his cup back up. “In Shibari, the rope doesn’t just restrain—it reveals. It brings you into your body. Into the present. Some people fear that kind of closeness. . .”

“Why do you think that is?”

“Because closeness requires a vulnerability that everyone is not ready to face. The rope doesn’t bind. It reveals. It demands presence. Surrender. Control.”

I stared at him, completely transfixed by his words.

I took a sip of my sake.

Warm.

Silken.

Slightly sweet.

The heat of it slid down my throat.

He watched me the whole time. “When you’re ready, Tora. . .I would love to show you what the rope can really do.”

I swallowed and set the cup down.

Me tied up by a dangerous man that happened to have a group of killers that he called fangs.

Honestly, the idea of my being tied up by anyone didn’t sound correct in any situation, but with a Yakuza mafia boss named the Dragon?

Well. . .that just sounded suicidal.

Then there was the other part. . .

I leaned back in my chair. “There’s this fear that comes from my imagining this.”

“That is understandable.”

“But there’s also this odd guilt or. . .I don’t know, warning from my ancestors,” I let out a nervous chuckle. “I don’t know if I’m even making sense. I’ve had a good bit of sake.”

Amusement hit Kenji’s gaze, “warning from ancestors. Are you sure you’re not Japanese?”

I grinned. “Oh, trust me. African Americans are all about the ancestors too.”

He chuckled. “Then you understand that voice inside you that isn’t quite yours. . .but still sacred.”

“Exactly, sometimes it’s loud. Sometimes it’s more of a. . .feeling. A pressure in my chest or a whisper in my ear. It tells me to protect myself before I even know why.”

His eyes lingered on mine. “What is it telling you now?”

“No, I don’t want to take the fun and sexy out of this conversation.”

“Yet, I want to know what’s on your mind…”

I sighed. “Ropes and Black women. There’s a murky history there.”