Page 45 of Emperor of Lust

“Ms. Mori,” Miyamoto says as he takes a heavy drink from his glass. “I was hoping you might bring to your brother’s attention the opportunity for real estate development in the outer suburbs of Tokyo.”

One of the local politicians—a city planning minister, I think—nods enthusiastically. “Indeed. As the train network continues to expand outward, if one knew where the new stations were being planned, one could buy the landaroundthose potential stations for a fraction of the cost now, before they’re announced.”

I smile. “I think my brother Kenzo would love to have that conversation with you when he comes to visit Tokyo next month?—”

I almost fall out of my chair as the buzzing ramps up. The fucking toy pulses and throbs and vibrates insanely against my g-spot, soaking my thighs. Worse, Damian’s cupping my sex, running his fingers up and down my pussy lips and slowly rubbing his thumb over my swollen clit.

“Ms. Mori?” Miyamoto says with concern. “Are you sure?—”

“I’m fine,” I grit through clenched teeth. I glance at Damian, my eyes pleading with him to stop.

Hehas tostop, or I’m going to fucking come right here at the table. And I—I can’t—I?—

His thumb presses down. The pressure inside me explodes. And suddenly, as I pretend to cough into my napkin so I can cover my face, I’m fuckingcoming.

Hard.

The orgasm surges through me, wave after wave, even as I force myself to sit as still as possible, sure I’m going to humiliate myself and scream my release into the whole fucking dining room.

Except suddenly—mercifully—the buzzing stops.

Damian delicately slips his fingers to the little looped handle extending from the toy inside me and tugs. I gasp as I feel it slide wetly out of me.

My entire body is shaking. My thighs are quivering. My nipples are swollen and painfully hard against my gown as I turn to glare pure death at my smug, smiling fake fiancé.

…Who then brings his fingers to his lips and licks them clean, staring me dead in the eye before turning to our host.

“Deliciousmeal, Kato-san.”

When dinner is over,Miyamoto invites us all into a grand lounge area for drinks and more discussion. As the group moves toward the double doors leading to the lounge, I hang back, frustration and fury twisting inside me. Damian is only a few steps away, and I can’t hold it in any longer. I reach for his arm, yanking him into a quiet corner, my eyes ablaze.

“What the fuck is wrong with you!?” I snap, glaring daggers at him.

The motherfuckersmiles.

“I’m sorry, should I apologize for giving you an orgasm?”

“What you did was beyond inappropriate,” I hiss, struggling to keep my voice quiet as I unleash my fury, clenching my fists. “You made me look weak and distracted, like I’m some clueless fuckinggirltrying to play with the big boys.” I despise the flicker of vulnerability I feel, the way he’s pushed me into this raw, exposed state.

Damian leans closer, his voice soft yet laced with dark satisfaction. “You looked anything but weak, Kitsune,” he murmurs, his gaze locked on mine with a dangerous intensity that sends a thrill through me despite my anger.

“Do you have any idea how fucking patriarchal the Yakuza is?” I seethe. “How I have to fight just to beinvitedto a table like that? I need to grind three times as hard to be considered on equal footing with the men in this world,” I continue. “Sono, Damian, I’m not going to thank you for fucking with me in the middle of a very important dinner in front of men I need to impress.”

I spin on my heel, hellbent on getting away from him to regain my composure.

It happens so fast I barely have time to choke on the scream.

Just as I step into Miyamoto’s lounge area, a shadow lunges from behind a decorative shoji screen, silver glinting in the dim light. My eyes go wide, a silent scream dying on my lips as the attacker dressed all in black swings a blade down, aiming right for my chest.

A muscled, tattooed hand suddenly shoots out from behind me, grabbing the assailant’s wrist in an iron grip and twisting violently. The man in black screams as Damian shoulders me aside, snapping the intruder’s wrist and hurling the blade to the ground. In one motion, Damian smashes his wine glass against the doorframe and jams the jagged, broken stem into the man’s throat.

Again, and again, and again.

My hands fly to my mouth, eyes bulging in terror as the would-be killer’s screams turn to gurgles and a torrent of blood floods out of him.

The other guests are yelling and scrambling as Damian shoves the jagged wine-glass stem through the attacker’s eye before finally dropping the body to the ground.

My pulse races like a train as he whirls toward me, his violet eyes wild, his silvery hair framing his vicious, gorgeous face flecked with blood. He reaches out as if to cup my face but stops himself just as his fingers brushes my jaw.

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