Page 131 of Emperor of Lust

As for Miyamoto…well. His empire has crumbled, the Yakuza families once loyal to the Kato-kai now split between Mori-kai and Ishida-kai.

His power is gone: rumor is that he’s a shadow of himself, hiding away like a paranoid ghost in his empty mansion. There’s a strange satisfaction in knowing he’s alone, stripped of the power he was desperate to cling to so fiercely.

The car stops, jarring me back to the present. Damian takes my hand in his and guides me out, his grip firm and steady. I stumble slightly, feeling pavement change to floorboards beneath my feet, the warmth of indoors swallowing me as he leads me forward.

“Where are we?” I ask. There’s a familiar scent, but I can’t quite place it. My pulse quickens as we stop, his hands moving to my wrists. The ropes loosen and fall away, and I flex my hands, enjoying the freedom, though my eyes are still bound.

“We’re here,” he whispers, his breath teasing the edge of my ear. Then, with a slow, deliberate touch, he lifts the blindfold.

I blink, my vision adjusting, and my breath catches.

We’re standing in the Golden Monkey, my favorite jazz club in the world, where he stormed into my life, intense and utterly impossible to ignore.

“Blue in Green” plays softly—the recording drifting lazily over the house speakers, rich and soulful, like they’ve been waiting here all this time for us to return.

I turn to him, wide-eyed, a wide smile splitting my lips. “What are we doing here?”

He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he slowly reaches into his pocket. A small glint of metal catches the dim light, and he holds it up between us. Without a word, he drops the key into my hand.

“What’s this?” I whisper.

“This is yours,” he growls, his eyes dark and intense. He turns to nod his chin at the space around us. “All of it. You’re the new owner.”

For a second, I’m stunned, unable to process the weight of it. And then joy floods through me, raw and overwhelming. I squeal, throwing my arms around him, pulling him close as I press my lips to his in a deep, desperate kiss. The world around us fades, leaving only this moment.

Damian pulls me down onto a chair, his arms wrapping around me as I straddle his lap, feeling the solid strength of him beneath me. I shiver when I feel the throbbing thickness of his cock against my core, and when he reaches between us, yanking his belt off and tugging open his pants, I moan. His fingers slip under the gusset of my panties, pulling it aside, and I whimper when I feel his huge cock pushing against me. With a soft cry, I bite down on my lip as he sinks into me, filling me with one strong, dominant thrust.

His hands are on my back and hips, his fingers pressing into me as we kiss, hard and hungry. I writhe on him, moaning as I slide up and down his length, feeling him swell inside me. He grabs my wrists, shoving them behind my back and wrapping his belt around them. I groan, grinding down harder as our lips crush together.

Everything we are, everything we’ve fought for, is distilled into this single moment.

“I love you,” I murmur, the words spilling out between kisses, each one more fervent than the last.

He pulls back just enough to look at me, his gaze fiercely possessive. “I love you too,” he says, his voice low and rough, every word a promise.

The music swells around us, wrapping us in its melody, and I let myself get lost in it.

In him.

Inus.

EPILOGUE

TAKESHI

I slipthrough the mansion’s dark halls, the place reeking of dust and neglect. It makes sense: his staff and his guards are long gone.

The power’s out, shadows stretching long and silent across the bare floors. Various thieves have already picked the place over—paintings ripped from the walls, glass shattered, drawers dumped out and looted. But I’m not here to pillage or steal.

I’m here to settle a debt.

It took every ounce of patience I had to wait. To know that each passing day would make Miyamoto dread it more, anticipate it, knowing that his end was coming.

Tonight, the wait is over.

I find him huddled near the fireplace in the empty library in a disheveled old suit, looking lost, beaten. When he hears me, he jerks up, his body tense, like he’s going to bolt.

Pathetic.

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