Page 56 of Emperor of Lust

How lovely.

I open my mouth to speak, but his gaze pins me in place. “Still feel fake?” he murmurs, his voice laced with dark satisfaction.

Damian pushes the emergency button, and the elevator begins to descend again as we both straighten ourselves up.

The doors slide open to the hotel lobby, where a frowning Kai shoots me a worried look and glares at Damian’s back. I try to push past him, but Damian grabs my arm, sending a bolt of lightning sizzling through me as he leans down to my ear.

“Enjoy your meetings, Kitsune. When you’re sitting there trying to make deals with my cum seeping out of your pussy and into your panties all morning, I want you to remember something.”

Heat floods my face as my eyes dart to his. “What,” I mutter quietly.

“You’remine.”

17

HANA

Anger still simmersunder my skin as I stride out of the meeting, heels clicking on the marble floor.

That fuckerDamian.

The man is everywhere, prowling into every corner of my mind like ink spreading across a page. An infuriating shadow I can’t shake.

I glance back at the offices of Yuma Solutions, a financial analytics firm that I’d like to buy via Mori Holdings to expand our legitimate footprint in Tokyo.

The meeting went well; the team I’d be buying out and then working with were polite and very receptive to my initial offer. I should feelproud.

Instead, all I can think of isthat fucker. All I was able to think about the whole meeting was him. How he infiltrates every thought, even when he’s nowhere in sight.

How he fucks me and makes me scream when he’s very muchinsight.

I have to put some space between us. Yes, the sex isoutrageouslygood. Psychopathic narcissist or not, the man certainly knows every single way to make my breath hitch, my toes curl, and my body come apart for him.

But we’re blurring lines. The whole point of this charade is so Miyamoto can sell us to the patriarchal, old-school leaders of lesser Yakuza families that report to him. It’s clear to me now, especially after having dinner with him, that Miyamotohimselfdoesn’t give a shit if I’m “spoken for” or not. But he understands that Yakuza culture, in Tokyo especially,willgive a shit. Several shits, actually.

Damian and I pretending that we’re engaged is one thing. Us hopping into bed together—okay, a padded bench and the wall of an elevator—is another. Entirely.

Ithas to stop. No matter how mind-blowingly good it is.

I shove open the glass doors to the street and step out, frustration billowing behind me like smoke. The second I get outside I stop abruptly, and an incredulous smile splits my face, instantly breaking my foul mood.

Takeshi grins back, leaning against a sleek, matte-finish dark red Yamaha with black and gold accents.

“Tak!” I shriek, bolting toward him. He chuckles as I throw my arms around him, hugging him fiercely.

“What are you doing here?” I blurt, pulling back to look him over, searching for any sign of trouble. He just shrugs nonchalantly, like he’s here on vacation.

“Just making sure everything’s going smoothly.”

I scowl, arching a brow at him. “You honestly think I need checking on?”

He grins. “Nah. That’s not really why I’m here. I may or may not have some…otherbusiness to deal with,” he shrugs.

“Would this be part of whatever you and Mal were whispering about involving Kolya Ishida?”

“I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Tak says, grinning innocently. “But I will say that I’malsohere because I don’t trust that psychopath you’re fake engaged to. Not one fucking bit.”

I laugh mirthlessly. “Yeah, well, fuck him.”

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