Page 67 of Knotted by the Yakuza

His curse came with him. Those black hands singed the fur on his stomach, blackening and gripping him.

Old cloth wrapped his forearms. A thick rope knotted at his waist, and a leather cloth draped from the rope at his waist, shielding his groin from my eyes.

Holy shit.

Long, black claws slid from his fingertips.

I shoved back into the pillows so hard half my nest tumbled off the bed. One arm flew across my chest. My other hand went for my gun and then realized I didn’t have it.

Calm down. He will not hurt me.

Still. . .I had to whisper. . . "Jesus Christ, Yoichi."

The beast warrior tilted its head. “Do I scare you in this form?”

I swallowed. “Just. . .a little. . .”

“Mmmm.” A beastly tongue swiped out at his jaw. “Unfortunately for you, we like a little fear, but never the true kind. . .”

I shivered.

Then it came to the bed.

One massive hand sank into the silk. The frame groaned under its weight. Those sickle claws dug into the embroidery right beside my hip, and it leaned over me, slow, a mountain of fur and fang and eight burning tails.

I stopped breathing.

It lowered its huge head until that long muzzle hovered inches from my face. The heat radiating off him made me feel like I was standing in front of an open oven.

Its nostrils flared.

And it inhaled me.

A sound rumbled out of it, so deep it rattled the windows.

“One day, I will take you like this, and you will scream in pleasure.” Then it lifted one of those black, killing claws, and traced it down my cheek.

Gently.