No Ordinary Love

NO ORDINARY LOVE

Kenya Wright

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The author makes no claims to, but instead acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the word marks mentioned in this work of fiction.

Copyright © 2014 by Kenya Wright

NO ORDINARY LOVE by Kenya Wright

All rights reserved. Published in the United States of America by Swoon Romance. Swoon Romance and its related logo are registered trademarks of Georgia McBride Media Group, LLC.

No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

Published by Swoon Romance

Cover designed by Najla Qamber Designs

Cover copyright by Swoon Romance

To My Fangirls,

A broken heart knocked me down, but with your loyalty, I rose again. May you all enjoy the Dark Ride.

To Ron,

who slurred to me one night after many drinks, "Write about the sex in Tokyo. There's so much to say--soaplands, hostess bars, and even crazier the Yakuza! I could tell you some stories."

To Gina,

who lived in Tokyo herself, and made it her mission to connect me with people that provided amazing research!
 

NO ORDINARY LOVE

Kenya Wright
 

Prologue

“Once you start choking women, you’ll be addicted.” Father placed the black rope into my tiny hands. “You’re too young to understand me now, but one day you will.”

“Yes, Father.”

“One must be disciplined in these types of endeavors.”

“Yes, Father.”

“Now put the rope somewhere your mother won’t find it.”

Chapter 1

NYOMI

Sex pulsed through the Japanese brothel. It was this intense heat, vibrating through my bones and causing my nipples to stiffen under my shirt.

Don’t forget the book, Nyomi. This is work, nothing more.

In my short life, I’d learned that pleasure came in all sizes. In Tokyo, they’d discovered the same notion, and sold lust in rich boxes for all to drool over and buy.

I can't believe I’m actually here!

Standing in the hallway, I ran my fingers along the warm, smooth tiles decorating the walls. Piano music mingled with women giggling. Cigar smoke intertwined with the sensual scents of lit candles outlining the bar. Art hung on the walls, portraying nude, feminine bodies in the most delicious positions.

Work, not play, remember. Thank God I brought Zo with me. He’ll keep me in line.

My buddy Zo stood on my right with his mouth agape and his attention darting back and forth. We had to be the oddest pair in there—a young mulatto woman with lazy brown curls hanging past her shoulders and a six-foot-tall white guy with a blond fashion Mohawk crowning his head. Our clothes didn’t help either. I wore army boots, raggedy jeans, and Salvador Dali’s painting “The Great Masturbator” plastered on my black t-shirt. A plaid suit was snugly wrapped around Zo’s slim body. Zo didn't have hot looks like some men, but he'd spent his life working with what he had. No one could deny that the man had style.

Let’s hope Zo can help me behave.

When we first entered the brothel named Castle in the Sky, this odd yearning had come over me, as if the owner sprayed sex in the air hoping to have us all instantly horny. My heart sped up. Excitement skittered across my skin, and between my legs warmth rose to my core.

I held the mini tape recorder up to my mouth and pressed the record button. “March tenth. I’m in Castle in the Sky, the third brothel I’ve visited. However, unlike the others, this one is elegant and—”

“Soapland,” Zo corrected.

Irritation laced my voice. “What?”

“This one isn’t a brothel. It’s a soapland.”

“Fine, soapland.” I pressed the off button. “Stop messing with my recording.”

“I’m trying to help.”

“You’re trying to voice bomb my notes.”

“There’s no such thing as voice bomb.” Zo snorted. “You’re making it up. Sure you can photo bomb someone as they’re having a picture taken, but you can’t voice bomb a recording.”

“Would you stop? You’re distracting me.” I took my time going down the hallway, pressed the on button, and whispered every detail I saw into my recorder.

This is exactly why our dating each other never worked. He talks too much.

“You're voice bombing,” Zo imitated me.

“Would you stop? This is serious.”

Tokyo’s underground sex industry was what I had to write about. My heart and mind craved to drink it all in. The need burned in my veins. And as I stood among these enticing females, watching them lure men and their wallets to the bathing areas, similar to Homer’s sirens drawing sailors to a rocky death, I filled with energy. My hands itched to write it all down. Every detail had to be absorbed, every image devoured until it was imprinted in my memory forever.

Goodness. These women are even more beautiful than the pictures on the website.

Makeup decorated exotic faces. Jewels glittered along slender necks and dangled from ears. I spotted dresses that would've damaged my already depleted bank account and inhaled some of the sweetest perfumes that lingered in the air. Men of all different races, sizes, and ages coupled with mainly Japanese women, although I noticed a few blonds and other females with complexions as dark brown as mine.

“Are you sure the manager is going to let you observe everything?” Zo raised a blond eyebrow. “Even the sex?”

“Sure, and stop voice bombing me.”

He waved my comment away. “There’s no such thing.”

Tucking a few of my kinky curls behind my ear, I returned to my recorder. The little machine had seen better days. Scratches covered the sides. The paint on the front of it was scraped. Duct tape kept the batteries in.

“This place is insane,” Zo mumbled.

Like the brothel’s castle theme, everything oozed royalty. The stairs were built from marble. Lush carpeting covered the floors. Sparkling chandeliers hung from the high ceilings. Brilliant centerpieces rested on every table, consisting of heart-shaped glasses, platinum beads, and dozens of candles intertwined with flowers. Tons of half-naked women pampered the men at those tables—massaging their shoulders, pouring them sake, and even a few singing and dancing in taunting movements. Their feminine laughter filled the place and even made me a bit giddy.

This is perfect for my book.

It was an adult circus for the dark and erotic part of the soul.

Waiters carried out immaculate dishes with simmering meats and creamy sauces that emitted a heavenly aroma. A huge fountain of chocolate stood in the center. I watched two Ethiopian women dunk slices of cake into the sweet liquid and then feed it to the men next to them.

On the far right of the staircase was a full bar, on the left, a long buffet table where six nude women lounged on their backs. Pearl masks covered their faces. Various types of sushi decorated their tan flesh. Many of the male customers crowded around them. Some men dipped their chopsticks between the women's legs.

Now talk about catering to the senses.

Lust swam inside my core, just craving to burst out of my pores and take me over. But I had a book to complete, as well as a writing career and credit score to save. Pleasure had to wait for another day.

“Nyomi?” Zo stopped me before I could get a look at the bar.

“What?” I asked.

“Are you sure the manager is going to let you observe?”

“Are you trying to say I would just waltz in here without permission?”

Silent, Zo placed his hands on his slim hips and frowned.

“Fine. Maybe I would.” I checked my Mickey Mouse watch. “But for real, this time I actually have permission. The manager's named Jun. We exchanged emails before I left New York. My publisher’s Tokyo office helped me with the correspondence.”

“But have you even met this guy?”

“Of course.” I rolled my eyes. “I met with him this morning and handed over the money.”

“Money?”

“Don't start,” I said. “I've done this kind of thing before. Sometimes you have to give a little cash to the locals to get an insider's look.”

“This is Tokyo. There's no honor in bribes, so if someone is asking for money then they're probably a shady character. Honor is important here.” Zo looked around, his gaze going to a half-naked woman dropping grapes into a chubby man’s mouth and then returning to me. “I wish you would've let me come with you when you met him.”

“No use crying over spilled milk. Besides, your new boo, Leona, is hot. You know you would've been whining the whole time if I dragged you away from her.”

Zo played with his penguin cufflink, twisting it from side to side on the end of his sleeve. “Why didn't this Jun meet us at the door?”

“Stop being nervous.”

“I'm not.” Yet he continued to molest the poor cufflink with his finger.

“Fine, then let's go meet Jun and get it over with.” I sped up my pace. “He said his office is past the main lounge.”

“I’m feeling uneasy. I don’t know about this.”

“What don’t you know?” I asked.

“There’s too much money here. My gut says something is wrong.”

Your gut always says something is wrong. If it was up to your gut, you’d be inside of a metal safe house for the rest of your life. Yet another reason why we never worked.

“Everything will be fine,” I said.

“I don’t know.”

“Sometimes not knowing is a good thing.” I twirled my fingers in the air. “This is an adventure.”

“I don’t know.”

“Dear God.”

“This place has a whole lot of money. Look at those shoes.” He gestured to an olive-skinned woman playing the piano. “Where there’s money, there’s crime.”

“Zo, we’re in a brothel so—”

“Soapland.”

“Castle in the Sky is the most expensive brothel in Tokyo and one that happens to be foreigner-friendly.” I combed my fingers through my curls. “Would you stop stressing me out? Everything will be—”

“Stop saying brothel,” he muttered.

A soapland was as close to a Japanese brothel as one could get without going to jail for prostitution. Women bathed the men and provided sexual services at their request. Most places limited these offerings to hand jobs and oil body rubbing, while others secretly allowed everything else.