“Thank you.” I picked it up with my fingers. The warmth spread through my fingertips immediately. The skin crackled against my thumb—crisp as glass.
I placed it in my mouth.
The skin shattered first. A murmur of crunch that dissolved into oil—rich, buttery, tasting of salt and sea. Then the flesh beneath gave way. Soft. Warm. The torch had unlocked lush flavor hidden inside the fish, something the raw version would have kept secret.
A moan left me that I did not authorize.
Kenji's eyes darkened.
Chef Mariko smiled, bowed, and prepared even more delights right in front of us.
We ate slowly.
Savored.
Let the koto music wash over us while candlelight danced and Tokyo glowed at our feet.
I was mid-chew when I felt it—this heat on my neck.
I glanced at Kenji.
He wasn't eating. His sushi sat untouched on the board. His eyes were fixed on my throat. Specifically on one of the spots where his teeth had left two crescent-shaped bruises.
He wasn't even trying to hide it.
The bite tingled under his gaze. Not a small tingle either. A deep, spreading warmth that pulsed outward from the mark and rolled down my neck, across my collarbone, and lower. My nipples tightened against the bodice of the gown.
From just his eyes.
Just him looking at what he'd done to me.
I swallowed my food. "What are you looking at?"
"I'm searching for another place on that beautiful brown skin to bite."
My breath caught. The marks on my neck throbbed in response—all of them, at once— like they'd heard him and agreed.
I recovered and straightened my spine. "You won't be biting me anymore, Dragon."
His eyes lifted to mine. Slow. Dark. The corner of his mouth curved. "And who is going to stop me, Tiger?"
A laugh burst out of me before I could help it.
Because the honest answer—the one my body was screaming while my mouth played tough—was nobody.
Not a single soul on this island.
And definitely not me.
He knew it too. I could see it in the way he finally picked up his sushi. Calm. Satisfied. Like a man who'd already won an argument his opponent didn't know was over.
And then Kenji fed me a piece of yellowtail from his own chopsticks, watching my mouth close around it with an intensity that made my skin heat and hum.
I returned the favor with a slice of sweet shrimp, and the way his lips brushed my fingertips felt more intimate than some kisses I'd had from other men.
And in between the sensual flirting, he told me which fish came from which waters. Which ones were rare. Which ones his mother or even Hiro had loved.
And somewhere between the golden eye snapper and the sweet shrimp, I realized my jaw had unclenched. My shoulders had dropped. The knot I'd been carrying behind my sternum since the pyre—the one made of ash, anger, and fear—had loosened.
