The salt of his skin clung to my lips where I’d kissed his wrist before we went to bed, double checking that I hadn’t cuffed him too tight when we played in the water.
Right here in bed with him now. . .and like a crazy person, I licked my lips and smiled.
How could the man everyone in Japan feared be the only place I’d ever felt safe?
On the nightstand sat evidence of our mutual soothing of each other: two empty hand-painted porcelain teacups; a small silver pot with its lid askew; empty bowls of fruit; a dish of honey imported from Kyoto orchards, crystallized at the rim where I’d dipped a silver spoon that still gleamed in the shadows; folded hand towels we’d used; and a scatter of crushed flower petals.
I’d rubbed arnica into his wrists and ankles, then held each joint and kissed the center of his palm and the bony knobs of his ankles like I was telling his body thank you for giving itself to me.
The room still smelled faintly of chamomile and lust, that strange marriage of calm and carnality.
His handcuffs lay coiled on the chair like snakes sleeping off their hunger.
Hiroko had told me thataftercarewas a simple word for a whole religion built on one simple truth: If I break you open, I’ll stay to piece you back together again.
It was faith.
It was ritual—water offered like communion, the slow feeding of fruit whose sweetness lingered against the salt of skin, a warm cloth pressed to flesh like a blessing, a blanket draped over bare shoulders carrying the faint scent of smoke.
A tender oath whispered:you’re safe, you’re mine, you’re here.
It was holding each other when the adrenaline still roared, when the body shook with leftover lightning, when breath still carried the copper tang of blood.
It was forgiveness without needing to ask, love woven straight into bruises and bite marks.
I thought of every lover I’d had before, every man who had dared to touch me, and realized none of them had ever made me feel this alive. None had ever made me feel this close to passionate destruction.
To my surprise, Kenji’s hand shifted, sliding slowly along my side.
He’s still awake.
Excitement hit me.
His calloused fingertips traced the curve of my waist as if mapping my body all over again.
Naughty Dragon.
A shiver ran through me when his mouth found the back of my neck, then lower, kissing a slow trail down the knobs of my spine. The scrape of his teeth, the heat of his lips, the low groan that rumbled in his chest—it all melted into me until I wasn’t sure which heartbeat was mine.
Very naughty.
My eyes fluttered open, and through the curtains billowing at the windows I caught the fading light. The sky outside had bruised into indigo and gold. The sun was already gone as evening stretched her arms across the island.
I kept my voice low. “You should be asleep.”
Kenji’s lips brushed just below my shoulder blade. “I’m not used to sleeping with anyone in my bed.”
I grinned. “Should I leave, then?”
His palm tightened possessively on my hip. “Only if you want me to follow you to wherever you go.”
“You need to go to sleep.”
“I need some more pussy.” Without shame, he began to grind his cock against my ass.
I chuckled.
“Something funny, Tora?”
