No Ordinary Love (14 page)

I pointed to the plastic bed. “So is this where all the magic happens?”

“What did you do today?” Step by step, Kenji circled me. It was such an odd thing to be perused in such a way. Part of me stirred with desire. The more logical part jerked with unease.

“I went to Harujuku station.”

“With who?”

“My friend.”

“Zo without the e?”

“Could you please stop saying that?”

He stopped in front of me. “What did you buy?”

“Fudge.”

He licked his lips. “How did it taste?”

No kissing or anything else. Remember.
I edged back. “Good.”

He came forward. Barely an inch existed between us. His cologne was odd for a man, yet tantalizing. It made me think of citrus and spice mixed with heat. This was bad. I was getting used to him being too close to me. I needed to set some boundaries on personal space.

But I don't want to.

“Don’t step away from me unless I ask,” he whispered.

Who does he think he is?

I slipped away from him. “Don’t come up on me like a creep.”

Laughing, he caught me and pulled my shocked body into his arms. I should've tensed, but I relaxed as if my skin was meant to be against his. “How do you feel about this Zo without an e?”

“He's my best friend.”

“That's it?”

“Yes, not that it's any of your business.”

He held me tighter. “Trust me. It is.”

“This isn't part of our deal.” My words were low. I made sure not to look into his eyes. I couldn't disrespect him, yet I had to make it clear.

“We said no sex, but nothing about touching.”

I climbed out of his grip. “When you touch me, you need to ask. I thought I taught you that lesson the first time we met.”

He remained where he was. “The tiger has brought out her claws.”

“While the dragon is full of hot air.” I formed my fingers into fake talons and swiped at the space in front of him. “Maybe I should cut you and see if that hot air will escape from your torn flesh.”

He shook his head. “My scales are too thick.”

“My claws are pretty sharp.”

“Let’s hope so,” he whispered.

Chapter 14

KENJI

She said nothing else and kept a decent amount of space between us.

You’re being very careful tonight. Why? Is it really all about Jun?

Speaking of the lying mongrel, he entered and brought a chair into the room. The women were prepping the client in another area—shedding his clothes and arousing his senses. Soon they would come where we were and the games would begin.

Jun set the chair a few feet in front of the plastic bed. Purple velvet draped it. I guided my Tora to her throne and sat down on the floor next to her. An onlooker would’ve thought I’d lost my mind, her above me and me below.
Imagine if Father was here.
Jun surely turned away as if someone was being killed and he hoped not to be called in as a witness. No one sat above the Dragon, and surely I never lounged on the floor.

But tonight a serious point needed to be made. Nyomi needed to understand that she was in control. I gazed up at her.

What are you thinking now?

The tiger was not at ease. Her striped fur ruffled. Those claws had been out before I even opened the door to greet her. They remained exposed and ready for war. It could’ve been Jun’s broken arm that made her anxious or maybe his bruised face. Either way, the confidence she owned days ago had slipped away. I didn't relish whatever had taken its place.

Is it fear? Maybe a little, but not enough. Not like the others. You're feeling something more than fear. What is it? This is who I am, Little Tora. Can you handle it?

With others, I took my time as I brought them into my dark world. With this one, there weren’t any minutes to waste. The clock kept ticking, letting me know that her trip in Tokyo would eventually end. The goal was to get her to extend her journey, the main mission to show her how to break me.

And she would.

Rage lingered behind her eyes. It made me hard just thinking about it.

How angry can you get?

“Are you really going to sit on the floor next to my feet?” Even her voice aroused me. Second by second, this one seeped into my hard armor. That very fact thrilled me. Not many could succeed in simply doing that. She held no anxiety like the others, just curiosity.

I folded my legs and grinned. “Does this make you uncomfortable?”

“No, but is this some sort of symbolism for my place in your courtship?”

She’s very smart.

Even if I didn’t know she was a writer, I would’ve assumed it. Her mind remained too intrigued, her eyes constantly drinking in her surroundings. She acted like a reporter in the middle of a war zone, taking in the setting and doing her best not to drown in her emotions. She liked questions and paid a lot of attention to detail. Her recorder lay in her hand.

“Why aren't you speaking into that old thing?” I asked.

“Because I have nothing to say, and this space right here, well … it will stay in my memory. There's no need to take notes.” She set her pocketbook on the floor and dropped the recorder in it.

“When did your father give you that recorder?”

“How did you know he gave it to me?”

“You told me, and it's clear you're attached to it, which would only mean one thing—someone special gave it to you.”

“I'm the one that's supposed to do the observations, not you.”

“When did he give you the device?”

For a few seconds, she stared in front of her and didn't say anything. Then, after a while, she turned to me. “When I was fourteen. He used to call me his little reporter. Bought me the recorder to use for my new position at my school's newspaper. Of course at the time, it was shiny and new.”

“You're not ready to get a new one?”

“I don't need to. It works just fine.”

You don't like to look weak or even show that you're too sentimental, especially for him.

“So anyway, back to this symbolism of yours. Tell me what I'm supposed to get from this. You’re sitting on the ground,” she continued. “I doubt you do that often.”

She crossed her legs, giving me great exposure to the lush curve of her thigh. My breathing ceased as something thick and hot rumbled in my chest. Her dress was made out of strips of hot red and dark black. My fingers itched to tear each one away and reveal the woman inside.

Not yet. Not now.

“You’re treating me like royalty.” She raised her eyebrows. “What do you want?”

“I’ve told you.”

“No. There’s something more.”

So clever.

My shoulders relaxed and I leaned closer to her legs. “We both know you arouse me.”

“We both know you want more than sex.”

“Oh, I want it.”

“But you want something more than regular sex, right?”

I focused on those spiked heels and imagined my tongue licking their sleek outline.

“Kenji?”

There was strength in silence. It clouded most judgment like fog mingling around a hunter as he tracked a beast within the brush of a forest. A quiet pause left many things unsaid and other statements clear.

“Are we not talking now?” She tucked a long curl behind her ear.

Tonight her hair hung past her shoulders. When I first saw her, my dick had gone stiff while my head blurred out of control. Her entire display was a riot of seduction. The dress fit her perfectly. Someone must’ve designed it solely for her. No other person could wear it. But the best part was the exposure of her firm arms and succulent legs.

“Should I refer to you as the Dragon?” she whispered.

I raised my head and targeted her with my gaze. “No.”

She formed those lips into a wicked grin. “You don’t like that, huh?”

“Not from you.”

“Why not?”

“Because with you, I want to be something else.”

“What?”

“I’ll tell you after we watch the session.”

“And what if I want to know now?”

“Then you’ll be disappointed.”

She frowned. For the first time in a long while, I considered giving in. I despised the annoyed expression on her face. Yet, I couldn’t forget that I had to take my time. This was too important to rush, and she was too unpredictable to move out of step.

“Can I ask you something else?” she said.

I tensed. “Yes.”

“Did you really want to retire from soccer?”

That knocked me off guard. Anyone who knew me wouldn’t dare ask that question. None had tried. To my family and men, that topic was never to be discussed in my presence.

“Why are you asking me that?” I asked.

“I just want to know.”

“The knowing won’t tell you more about me. If you’re goal is to figure me out, then you’ll fail.”

“I have no goals, just lots of questions.”

The floor was suddenly getting harder to sit on. The urge to stand above her buzzed in my head.

“Are you going to ignore me again?” she asked.

“I’m deciding how to answer.”

“Go with the first thought.”

“Then the answer is no. I didn’t want to retire from soccer.”

“But you did.”

“Of course.”

“For your father?”

“No.” I bit my lip. “For my mother. That’s what she would’ve wanted.”

My mother’s image flashed in my head—soft eyes that gave a hard gaze at the most dangerous of times. Her hair flowed like silk. She kept it in a tight bun behind her head, never wanting too much attention from other men. She hated to see people die, and with my father, anybody staring at her for too long would bleed from their chest. Yet, she was no delicate flower, either. In order to catch my father, she had to have been a wild beast in her day.

Something like a tiger, probably.

Nyomi shifted in her seat. “Did your parents grow up poor?”

Again, my immediate reaction was to hiss. Who asked such questions? What would she gain from them? How did her assumptions come so close to the truth?

“Yes,” I said without thinking.

“How poor?”

“So much that my parents considered doing things others wouldn’t.”

“But you had a decent childhood?”

“Yes.”

“So you never had to make hard decisions like your parents?”

“Not really.”

“Hmmm.” She pondered that for a minute. “No, wait. That's wrong. You had to make a hard decision when your mother died. You had to retire from doing something you loved. Had you ever considered taking your father's position with the Yamaguchi before?”

“I’m done talking about this.” I rose from the floor and rubbed my face as if I could clean the muck away from my skin. My body came at ease while I stood above her.

“Why don't you want to talk about it?” She watched me, those eyes typing away notes into her head.

Running my fingers through my hair, I paced back and forth. “You’re walking a very dangerous line, Little Tora.”

“The best writers always do.”

“I’m not your topic.”

“Everyone and everything is my topic. Some books I write for the world. Others are mental ones I just keep in my head. That's where your book would be.” She touched her forehead. “Right here, for no one to see.”

“So I have a place on your mental bookshelf?”

“Definitely, I’m writing it as we speak.”

I pierced her with my gaze, but she met mine with confidence. “Some stories are too dangerous to write.”

“Those are the best ones.”

I paused and turned to her. “So then you are like Basho, nurturing your craft from experiences?”

“Maybe.” She allowed her gaze to slip up and down my body. My length stiffened inside of my pants. Women didn’t ogle me. They snuck glances when they could and pretended not to notice me walking by. Her attention triggered reactions within my flesh—my pulse quickened and boomed in my ears. At one moment, she enraged me. In the next, she set me on fire.

This one is perfect.

“Why aren’t you married?” she asked.

Lust transformed into embarrassment.
What type of person asked questions like this?

“Kenji?”

“I'm not ready for marriage.”

“Why not?”

“Because my work is time-consuming.”

She chuckled like a downtrodden person would when faced with yet another bad luck situation. It was the giggle right before hysteria. “Your work? Time-consuming?”

“Yes.”

“Are you scared your wife would die? Maybe even any kids you had would be in danger.”

What time is the damn customer coming in?

“Dragon? Why aren’t you answering?”

A grumble left my sneering lips. I dove my hands into my pockets and formed my fingers into fists. “I’m not Dragon to you, only Kenji. When it comes to you, I want your respect, not your fear.”

She swallowed. “You’ll have to earn my respect. For now, I’ll call you what I want.”

“No.” Full of rage, I stomped her way.

She was no dummy and rushed to her feet. The chair fell to the side. Its boom echoed in the room and overpowered the waterfall’s subtle pitter patter. Candlelight flickered. The space was big enough for her to move away from me for a few seconds, but not enough for an escape.

Saying nothing, she backed up, step by step, her hands spread out in front and raised. “I didn't mean any disrespect.”

“Yes, you did.” I continued to follow her. “Admit it.”

“Maybe I did. Either way, that's just my thing. No disrespect.” She was now a foot or two away from the wall. Shadows danced around her skin. I inhaled her perfume and stifled a groan.

“I like to push buttons,” she said.

“I'm starting to see that.” The rage from earlier began to dissipate.

She backed into the wall and placed her hands on the tile surface behind her. “Do you usually go zero to ten so easily?”

“Excuse me. What do you mean?”

“You know?” She checked the door as if someone outside could walk in and save her from me. “You're calm and then all of a sudden you're really pissed. Your rage level shoots up from zero to ten. My friend says zero to cunt.”