Total pages in book: 111
Estimated words: 115388 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 577(@200wpm)___ 462(@250wpm)___ 385(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115388 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 577(@200wpm)___ 462(@250wpm)___ 385(@300wpm)
However, Nyomi’s attention wasn’t a transaction. No manipulation or tit-for-tat love. She wasn’t playing at true dominance either. She was offering me something more sacred.
Safety in surrender.
Fuck me, that made me want to fall to my knees and worship her. My legs actually fucking throbbed from the possibility.
Heat spread down my spine, coiling in my thighs.
What is this. . .feeling?
I thought back to those men I would see in BDSM films, on their knees in dark leather rooms, licking the sharp heels of a woman who barely looked at them.
I used to think they were weak and pathetic.
But now. . .I knew exactly what they were worshipping.
It wasn’t the shoe.
It was her mercy.
Her attention.
The fact that she could destroy them and didn’t.
Tora. . .
Something dangerous lodged in my chest—some truth I couldn’t spit out. . .just yet. I steadied myself as she studied me. “Well. . .Tora. I am sitting.”
And then she did something that unraveled me completely.
Nyomi licked her lips.
Slow.
Intentional.
Like she already knew the ruin it would cause.
It wasn’t just a casual swipe.
No.
It was mind-numbingly sensual.
Fuckkkk. . .
That wet, pink tongue slipped out of those plump lips—and inch by inch—traced the full bow of her lips.
Caught in her daze, I leaned forward.
Then to my utter shock, that tongue even dragged over her bottom lip, glistening it in slick shine, then curled up to catch the corner, teasing the skin.
What are you doing to me?
My cock throbbed so hard it pulsed at the tip, a thick ache curling deep in my stomach. Pre-cum spilled out, warm and slick inside my boxer briefs, and I had the sudden, humiliating urge to rub against the seat like a fucking animal.
Because in that moment, I didn’t just want her mouth on me.
I wanted to live on her tongue.
I blinked, but the vision hit me fast and hard. Nyomi on her knees. My cock, flushed and straining, brushing against her lips. That perfect mouth slightly parted, eyes gleaming. Then the tip of my cock, glistening, sliding across her bottom lip.
Marking her.
Branding her.
And when I came, it would be hard, shooting all over her face.
White streaks painting that beautiful dark brown skin.
My hips twitched in real time—under the table—just from the image alone. My jaw tightened.
And then she shocked me again and practically purred, “Good, little Dragon.”
Mmmm.
I shifted in my seat. The front of my briefs definitely wet around the tip as my cock ached and spurt.
And all she did was lick her lips.
Fuck. She might kill me.
Out of my control, a dark groan left me. That shouldn’t have happened, but it did.That sound—I hadn’t even meant to give it to her. But it rolled from my chest, deep and hoarse, like it’d been dragged out on a leash.
I swallowed.
Again, she didn’t smirk. All she did was give me a warm smile and tilt her head. “Are you ready to eat, Kenji?”
“Eat what? Your pussy? Yes. Right now.”
She gestured to the table. “Are you ready to eat the food?”
Stunned, I looked down. “Oh. . .yes. . .the food. . .”
She could have laughed, but instead she kept that sweet smile on her face.
I cleared my throat. “I am more than ready, Tora.”
“So. . .” She moved her hand to the first tray and removed the lid. “Tonight’s entrée is braised oxtails in their own reduction.”
I looked down.
Steam rose, fragrant and dark, and I inhaled. “It smells good.”
The dark, rich brown of the oxtails glistened. The dish was garnished with bright green herbs, adding a splash of color to the deep hues of the meat.
I got a fork and cut into the oxtail but there was barely any need. The meat slid off the bone like it had been waiting its whole life to give in. The braised flesh trembled at the edge of my fork, dark and glistening, streaked with its own reduction.
So eager, I took the first bite, and fucking froze.
Flavor burst on my tongue—bold, smoky, rich. The reduction had this deep, sticky darkness to it. There was the salt of bone marrow, the whisper of heat from the paprika, and something else—maybe the vinegar pulling it forward—but perfectly restrained.
I closed my eyes. “Now I get it.”
“Now you get what?”
I opened my eyes. “Mother used to quote this old philosopher and say, ‘sometimes nirvana can be found not in temples or silence, but in a dish prepared by the hands of one who loves you.’”
“That’s beautiful.”
“That’s this moment right here.”
She blushed.
I took another bite, slower this time, letting it linger on my tongue. When I swallowed, I sank into this blissful daze. “We have something called niku jaga—meat and potatoes stewed in dashi, soy sauce, mirin, and sometimes sake. It’s comfort food. When I miss my mom, I have my chef make it.”
“Your mother made it a lot?”
“Yes. It was one of my favorite dishes from her.”