Page 43 of The Dragon 2 (Tokyo Empire #2)

Chapter thirty-nine

The Bowl and the Flame

Kenji

The bourbon was warm in my chest and she sat across from me like a goddess who didn’t know—or maybe absolutely knew—she had set me on fire.

I loosened my collar and leaned back in my seat. “What’s next?”

She just smiled that slow, dangerous smile and reached for her water glass. “Wait and see.”

I groaned, dragging a hand down my face. “You may need to take me to the hospital.”

“Why?”

I tapped my thigh under the table trying not to wince. “My cock’s been hard the entire night. Surely that can’t be good for me.”

She tilted her head. “You want release?”

I stared right into her eyes with no shame. “I want my cock deep inside your wet pussy.”

She didn’t blink.

Didn’t flinch.

Didn’t melt.

She simply set her glass down with care and said, “but we’re taking it slow.”

“Say slow again,” I growled. “And I’ll flip this table over.”

She let out a wicked laugh that hit me in the chest and I smirked.

“Why don’t you like the word slow, Kenji?”

“Tonight, has been anything but slow, Tora. It’s been passionate torture.” I leaned in slightly. “You have outdone yourself. Thank you. I will never forget this. Not a second of it. Never.”

Her eyes sparkled with mischief. “I’m glad you enjoyed my food.”

“I more than enjoyed it. I’m moving you into my mansion this evening.”

She remained silent.

And her silence was power, held gently and completely. She knew exactly what kind of man I was—and still had the nerve to keep me waiting.

But I needed her to understand that she was mine now and that I wasn’t going home tonight without her.

Did she truly know that?

I wanted to reach across the table, curl my fingers around her jaw, and say it out loud— You belong to me now.

But I didn’t.

Because I had a feeling that whatever she was planning next. . .it would say everything I couldn’t.

The air thickened.

One waitress returned with a bowed head, and a single silver dog bowl. Soon, she set it down right in front of me.

What is this?

I stared at the bowl.

It was small, simple, and made of shiny, polished silver. Around the outer rim and etched into the metal were engravings of bones.

Inside, steam curled into the air in elegant ribbons. Something golden and rustic nestled at the bottom—some kind of pie, maybe. The crust was perfectly flaky, the kind of texture that shatters under a spoon but melts on one’s tongue.

The filling looked like peaches. Or some similar fruit. Bright, warm, and glistening with sugar.

The scent hit me next—cinnamon, vanilla, summer fruit, and something floral. It smelled like pleasure so intentional it bordered on cruelty.

My mouth watered.

Yet still. . . I couldn’t get over what they had put this dessert in.

A dog bowl? Why?

I pursed my lips.

Was this a mistake?

Was it a joke?

Or—more likely—was it a message?

I looked at Nyomi’s side of the table. There was no dish placed in front of her.

Is she not eating the dessert?

My pulse jumped.

She didn’t look surprised. Not even a flicker of reaction crossed her face.

My gaze slid back to the bowl. There was no collar or leash. It didn’t matter. My mind still went there immediately.

She thinks I’m going to be her little dog this evening? No. I’m the Dragon.

I looked up and seared her with my gaze.

She just watched me and didn’t even blink.

What are your plans, Tora?

I began imagining scenarios.

Would she run her fingers through my hair and call me her good boy while I licked something sweet from her hand?

I shifted in my seat, my cock twitching again—half-hard, half-terrified.

This was more than flirtation. It was a glimpse of where she could take me if I let her.

And she wasn’t just feeding me dessert. She was feeding me the idea that I could be owned.

And the sickest part?

I wasn’t sure I hated it.

I studied her. “Where is your. . .doggy bowl?”

She formed those lips into a wicked smile.

“Tora. . .” I leaned my head to the side. “I asked you a question.”

The other waitress approached silently and offered Nyomi something small and sleek.

I took it in and raised my eyebrows.

A blowtorch? Where is this going? I’m really glad she stressed us needing to have a safe word.

My heart boomed in my ears.

Still smiling at me, Nyomi cradled it in her hands.

The waitresses bowed again and disappeared, leaving only the soft jazz, the silver bowl, and a growing tension so thick I could’ve sliced it with my steak knife.

I was not used to surprises on dates but this was no longer a fucking date.

It was sensual theater on the highest level.

It was erotic power plays where I kept getting outmaneuvered.

And even more. . .it was psychological warfare dripping in sex.

And without any fucking logic at all. . .I was becoming obsessed with this night and her.

I narrowed my eyes. “What are you going to do with that flame torch.”

Still silent, she stood slowly, gathering the folds of her red leather gown with one graceful motion, and crossed the space between us.

O-kay.

Her heels whispered against the polished floor but every step she took was thunder in my bloodstream.

Tora. . .where is this going?

She stopped at my side, close enough that I could feel the heat of her skin through my suit.

She didn’t speak but at least she set the blow torch down.

A single waitress appeared again, silent as breath, and handed her a tiny glass decanter—narrow-necked, filled with something warm and gold.

Nyomi turned her focus to the bowl and uncorked the decanter with one twist. A curl of steam rose as she tilted it, and a stream of some sort of custard poured into the silver.

Slow.

Rich.

Velvet gold.

My nostrils flared as the scent hit me.

Cinnamon.

Warm vanilla.

Summer held in a pour.

My mouth watered.

This is going to be incredible.

Her voice came next—low and steady. “When I was pretty young, every summer, I had one job.”

She hadn’t look at me yet. Her gaze was still on the bowl as she poured. “I had to carry bags of peaches from my grandma’s tree to the kitchen. Honestly, she probably had me do that to keep me out of trouble.”

I imagined Nyomi young and her hands sticky with the juice of sun-ripened peaches.

“I would hold them like they were treasure. They were always so. . .sun-warm and heavy. It always made me think that summer would last forever.”

The decanter emptied with one final drip.

She paused. “But summer never lasts forever. Still. . .this dessert. . .is the sweetness I held onto much later in life. During depression. During any grief. This is without a doubt my comfort dish.”

She picked up the blow torch held it over the bowl and clicked the switch.

A blue flame burst alive from the tip, low and fierce.

I grinned like a boy, so giddy with the performance of it all.

Slowly, she brought the torch to the surface of the custard and her movements were confident and even erotic in their care.

The sugar began to shift under the heat.

First, it glistened.

Then it crackled, darkened, and melted—a slow transformation from soft to sharp. The scent thickened in the air, clinging to everything around us.

Caramel.

Burnt sugar.

Ripe peach skin singed by fire.

Mmmm.

I could hear the tiny pops and hisses as the crust formed .

My cock throbbed against my zipper.

I hadn’t even moved.

When the last corner was torched to a golden crisp, she clicked off the flame. The scents she’d unleashed curled into my lungs—burnt sugar, ripe peach, golden lust. It all rode the air.

Then finally, she looked up at me. “Try it.”

I reached for my spoon but her next words stopped me.

“I’ll be right back,” she smiled. “Excuse me for just a moment.”

My brow lifted. “You’re not staying to enjoy your comfort dish with me?”

That wicked smile came again. “Try it.”

I watched her turn away. “Where are you going?”

Ignoring me, she left the table. Even more crazy, she didn’t head toward the kitchen. She went for a different door—one tucked discreetly along the side wall closer to the band.

I didn’t realize that it was there.

I narrowed my eyes.

Where is she going and why?

I looked in the other direction hoping I could get some clues from Hiroko.

What?

My breath hitched.

Hiroko is gone too? When did she leave?

A ripple of anticipation rolled through my body. The band seemed to shift on cue, playing a melody that sent shivers down my spine. The bluesy notes echoed through the room.

The surprise is coming, and they are setting the stage.

It took everything in me to not rush off after them. I was not the sort of man to sit around and wait while others plotted.

But here I was. . .being a good little Dragon for my Tiger.

At least she left this with me.

I glanced down at the dish in front of me—steam still curling from the caramelized crust, the scent beckoning like perfume at the edge of a dark fantasy.

Mmmm.

I picked up my silver spoon and then dipped it in.

The top gave with a soft, sexual crack.

Oh yes.

That perfect br?léed crust shattered like ice under a flame.

I already know this will be my new favorite dessert.

My spoon sank into the golden custard below and dragged a slice of ripe peach along with it.

Yes, Tora.

I brought the spoon to my mouth and when I tasted it all my soul went to its knees.

Fuck me.

It was more than good.

It was obscene.

No one had better have tried this. Not Reo. Not anyone. Not even the fucking waitresses. Only me.

The crust kissed my tongue with heat, crunch, and a caramel snap that gave way to sweet warmth.

The custard was poured silk over every taste bud, thick with cinnamon and smoke.

The peach was soft and sweet enough to make my molars ache.

Somewhere in the middle—beneath the butter and burn—there was all this unbearable lust.

She could have easily been a world-renowned chef.

This was not dessert.

This was a mouth-fuck of emotion.

A sacred seduction in sugar form.

The cobbler didn’t just melt—it seduced.

It clung.

It whispered lick me again and I obeyed.

I groaned aloud, slumping slightly in the chair, legs spread wide under the table like the heat had gotten to me.

Because it had.

I’m caging her up as soon as I get the chance.

This dish made love to my mouth like it missed me. I moaned as I feasted. Each bite was hotter than the last. Richer. More shameless. I didn’t stop devouring every morsal until the spoon scraped the bottom.

And that’s when I saw it.

What?

This thing. . .glinted up at me.

I set my spoon down.

What is this?

At the very bottom of the bowl, there was this shimmering gold card wrapped in clear plastic.

More surprises.

My breath slowed. My fingers moved automatically, fishing it out with the tip of the spoon. The gold card was elegant. Liquid dripped down its edges.

Tora, you are an amazing woman. No one could ever take your place.

I wiped a thumb across the surface, clearing away the custard film.

Oh.

Black ink in old script stared back at me.

I read the two words.

COME UPSTAIRS.

A dark groan slipped out of me—low and filthy. Every cell in my body braced.

This was the next level.

This was the threshold.

And I was fucking ready to walk through it.

Yes, Tora. Now we are talking.

I rose from the table in one smooth motion, shoving the chair back with a scrape of wood and hunger.

No more pretending.

No more flirting.

No more waiting.

Just my cock a few seconds from being deep inside of her.