Page 30 of The Dragon 2 (Tokyo Empire #2)

Chapter twenty-seven

The First Course of Ruin

Kenji

Jazz hummed from the band behind us.

The waitresses placed four small lacquer trays onto the table. Heart-shaped. Black with gold trim. Laid out like something sacred.

They moved in perfect rhythm. Every tiny plate gleamed, and every scent that curled upward from those trays knocked something loose inside me.

Colors bloomed across the trays. Some sort of sun-gold bread was nestled on a cast iron spoon and drizzled with a dark red liquid.

A jeweled smear of aioli lay next to a pile of odd green pointed vegetables.

I did recognize a deviled egg wearing a shrimp crown.

And last, there was this brown and black sort of cake bathed in an amber glaze.

So many scents floated up. Smoke. Bourbon. Butter. Oil. Spice. A hint of vinegar. A breath of honey.

The waitresses bowed and left in silence.

I moved my gaze to Nyomi and lost some of my ability to breathe.

The light licked her skin like it wanted to fuck her. Her cheekbones gleamed like polished gold. Her curls swayed a little and they were sin caught in moonlight, and that scent, even from here. . .wrapped around my cock and squeezed.

If Aphrodite had ever fucked a war god, she would've worn this same red leather dress and had her hair in a similar way.

My gaze dragged over Nyomi’s mouth, her throat, the soft rise of her breasts under that tight red leather.

The way the corset cinched her waist made my hands ache to undo it—slowly.

No ripping.

No rushing.

Just me, on my knees, peeling her like fruit I’d been starving for.

I imagined her flat on this table.

The trays scattered. Jazz still curling in the air. My hand gripping her ankle, spreading her open.

Her curly hair fanned over the table.

Her lips parted.

I’d fuck her here.

Not hard at first.

I’d start slow—let the head of my cock drag along her soaked pussy’s slit until she arched and begged for more.

Until she was cursing me in languages she didn’t even know she spoke.

Her thighs would tremble. The table might creak. The gold trim might imprint into her spine.

I’d lean in, fuck her with my tongue between each thrust, kiss her like she was my altar.

Then I’d flip her.

Push her chest to the table.

Watch her ass arch and fuck her again.

Deeper.

Dirtier.

Until the wood below us soaked in her cries and my groans.

Until she clawed at lacquer and begged me to stop just so I could ignore her and keep going.

Because she wouldn’t mean it.

She would want all of my cock.

And I’d give it to her.

Every brutal inch.

Fuck.

I hadn’t touched her, but I was already full-body wrecked.

I sat there with jazz in my blood and fire in my veins, my cock heavy beneath the table, and my pulse stretched too tight across my neck.

She hadn’t even looked at me since the trays were delivered.

Until now.

Nyomi turned her head slowly, her lips curling in a kind of smile that could resurrect gods. “I know what’s on your mind.”

“Do you now?”

“You’re thinking nasty things.”

“Nasty’s too soft a word.”

“Oh?”

“You don’t want to know what I was just imagining.”

“I have a guess.”

“I bet you do.”

“But. . .” she reached for her napkin and unfolded it with maddening grace. “We’re going to take things slow tonight.”

I scoffed. “Slow? In a BDSM club?”

She shrugged. “The setting doesn’t dictate the speed.”

“No but the Dragon does.”

Her smile widened, feline and smug. “He doesn’t.”

My body hummed with lust.

She winked. “It’s all the Tiger tonight.”

And just like that, the air shifted, and an image hit me behind my eyes.

A black and gold dragon circling a tiger with a steady gaze. The tiger’s stripes shimmered, and she didn’t flinch when the dragon growled.

“Tora. . .” I leaned in. “There will be no slow this evening.”

She sipped her water like a queen, unconcerned. “We’ll see.”

I smiled. “How did you get Hiroko to let you rent this club out for the evening?”

“A magician never tells her tricks.”

“You will tell me yours.”

“I won’t.”

“You will.”

“Or what?”

“I’ll take it from your mouth one kiss at a time.”

Her eyes flickered with heat. “And if I bite you?”

“I would like that.”

Nyomi laughed and the sound turned me inside out. When she finished, she gave me a thoughtful look. “Dinner first. After that. . .maybe.”

“Maybe I don’t like waiting.”

“Maybe you’ll learn to like it.”

I gripped the edge of the table, loving her challenge. “And if I won’t be patient with waiting and take you whenever I damn well please?”

Nyomi didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. Just whispered back. “Then you’ll be punished.”

Lightning rippled down my spine. My hand nearly twitched in my lap. Every instinct inside me screamed to break the table in half and take her right there.

But I held still.

Barely.

Calm down. She’s got your cock in her hand.

I turned toward the trays, forcing myself to breathe, to think. “You really cooked all of this?”

“Yes.”

My voice came out lower than I intended. A growl wrapped in disbelief. “When did you do this?”

“All day today.”

Stunned, I blinked. “Where?”

“In my friend’s apartment.”

“Zo without the e?”

She chuckled. “Yes.”

I frowned. “That makes no sense. How did you do that?”

“Kenji, it makes all the sense. I cooked with ingredients and a stove.”

“No. I know how one cooks, Tora. But how did you slip all of this past my guards? Past my Roar ?”

A mischievous smile curled on her lips. It was the kind of smile that could start empires and ruin them in the same breath. She lifted a bare shoulder in a wicked shrug. “Maybe. . .I’m just that good at hiding things from your people.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Did you bribe your guards?”

“Me?” She touched her chest. “I would never think to do such a thing. I’m a proper lady.”

Yet a wicked chuckle followed.

I narrowed my eyes at her but the corner of my mouth twitched with reluctant awe.

She’s a fucking nosy writer.

I needed to remember that.

Not just a woman in red leather who made my cock ache and my pulse misbehave. Not just a brilliant, sensual force who cooked like she wanted to seduce my soul.

She was a nonfiction writer—a professional infiltrator of closed doors and locked hearts.

Writers—especially journalists—were notorious for getting into places they didn’t belong. For bribing their way into courtrooms, corporations, and underground lairs with a smile, a lie, or a strategically placed compliment. They cleverly collected information the way assassins collected kills.

Nyomi was no different.

If anything, she was more dangerous.

Because she’d done it with honey and cast iron. With bourbon and spice. She’d turned a dinner into seduction and I’d walked in willingly, blind and smiling.

Note to self: Never underestimate a woman who writes for a living.

I stared at her across the table. “How did you bribe your guards?”

She smirked. “I would never.”

I turned back to the trays, inhaling deep. The scents hit me square in the chest.

A groan escaped before I could stop it, and then I looked back at her. “You bribed them with food, didn’t you?”

“Can you stop being so nosy so that I can begin our first course?”

I quirked my brows. “ First course? There’s more than one?”

“Yes, Kenji.”

I couldn’t help it—I grinned. Big. Unrepentant. “You really cooked for me.”

She blushed, roseish brown blooming high on her cheeks. “Yes. . .I did.”

“How many courses?”

“Four.” Her gaze flicked to the tray. “Now stop asking so many questions and just enjoy the moment. . . Dragon .”

Four.

I was taking her back to the mansion tonight.

No discussion.

No polite offers.

No room for protest.

She would walk through my doors and be unable to walk back out.

“So. . .let’s begin.” Nyomi smiled. “First—”

“One moment.” I stood up.

"Kenji, what are you doing?"

"This distance between us is torturing me." I carried my chair from across the table and positioned it directly beside her, tight, like we were meant to share the same air, the same skin.

I sat.

Closer than necessary.

So close our legs brushed beneath the table, and the scent of her—black amber and ripe plum—curled into my heart.

But before Nyomi could speak again, a chill slithered up my spine.

I turned my head just enough to glance back—toward the shadows near the far wall.

Hiroko stood there, still, silent, and watching.

Her hands were delicately folded in front of her kimono. Her expression said everything: You’re ruining the performance. You’re not playing your role.

And maybe I wasn’t because I knew now that she wasn’t here just to supervise.

Hiroko was here to guide Nyomi and help my Tiger tame the Dragon.

This whole night was carefully orchestrated powerplay and I was meant to be the one kneeling by the end of it.

The only problem was. . .I would never be an easy king to uncrown.

Nyomi shifted slightly beside me and crossed her legs.

The movement was casual—graceful, even—but the slit of her red leather gown parted wider as she did it, exposing a long stretch of thigh that gleamed like polished copper.

So smooth and sinful.

I stared.

Not politely.

Not discreetly.

Like a man who’d just discovered gold hidden in plain sight.

Her skin called to me, the way wine calls to the parched, or blood calls to wolves.

My breath slowed.

Unable to help myself, I moved my hand to that sexy thigh and brushed my fingertips along her warm skin.

She bit her lip.

I let my thumb stroke upward along the inner ridge of her thigh, just enough to tell her, I know what you’ve done tonight, and I plan to reward—or punish—you for it later.

She shivered. "You didn’t like your spot on the other side of the table?"

“It was too far away from you.” I began to slip my fingers further up.

A throat cleared softly across the room, and it was as sharp as a blade cloaked in lace.

Hiroko.

Silent, Nyomi reached down with elegant fingers, took my hand, and gently moved it.

To my utter disbelief, my fingers were on the damned table seconds later.

I should have been pissed, but my cock jumped at her touch and wordless authority.

Fuck.

Even if it was Hiroko’s command, there was something about Nyomi elegantly owning the moment that set fire to every nerve in my body.

The brush of her fingers stayed on my skin long after she’d pulled away.

My breath caught in my throat as I wondered how the hell was she touching me less, yet making me feel more?

I glanced toward Hiroko, who stood poised and pleased in the shadows.

You think you’ve won this round, don’t you?

I trembled in lust.

Fine. You did. Take this little win. There won’t be any more.