Page 9 of Emperor of Lust

I stop, squeezing my arms tighter as a shiver runs through me.Damian fucking Nikolayevknows who and what I am.

Not just that I’m The Kitsune.

That alone would be bad enough. But worse, he knows my darkness.

He doesn’t just have the money laundering to hang over my head now—he’s got the vivid image of me on my fucking knees, swallowing his cock, hands bound behind my back.

My face burns crimson as I squeeze my eyes shut, inhaling deeply. I can still feel his breath against my ear, hear the soft, mocking whisper that sent a thrill of terror and excitement down my spine.

“Don’t think for a moment that this ends here.”

After he was done filling my mouth, he pulled out and wiped the head of his cock across my lips. Then he walked behind me and simply cut the ropes, his movements calm, almost gentle, before he leaned into my ear and purred those damning words.

“Don’t think for a moment that this ends here.”

After that, he simply slipped into the shadows, leaving me alone, still kneeling on the warehouse floor and tasting him on my lips, my wrists throbbing where the rope had bitten into my skin.

And then I drove home in silence, everything else a blur, my thoughts wrapped around me like chains I couldn’t break.

Now, standing in my neat bedroom, everything around me in fastidious order, I feel more lost than I have in years. I’ve built this life carefully, each decision a deliberately placed brick in a structure meant to protect me and my family.

And now, in a single moment, with a single action, Damian’s destroyed the whole thing.

I cross to the bathroom, my hands shaking as I turn on the tap and splash cold water over my face. The shock of it clears my head, but only for a moment. I can still taste him, faintly sweet and salty, a mark I can’t erase. The thought makes me flush, mypulse racing with a confusing mix of shame and excitement. I hate that even now, my skin hums with the memory of the thrill he pulled from me.

Swallowing hard, I reach for my toothbrush and start scrubbing away the last reminder of his presence. It’s not just for hygiene. It’s that I want to erase any trace of him, any proof that he’s managed to affect me in ways I never anticipated. Yet as I stare at my reflection, cheeks flushed, eyes wide and still a little dazed, the weight of his gaze descends on me all over again.

I force myself to take a breath, willing my hands to remain steady as I brush my bleach-blonde hair into its usual, immaculate style, without a single strand out of place. I reapply a hint of makeup, still unable to meet my own refection in the mirror.

This isnotthe time to fall apart. I have a meeting to attend, one Kenzo mentioned earlier, before I made my ill-fated trip to the warehouse. He didn’t give me details, only said that it concerned Mori-kai business and that he’d need me there.

Now paranoia sets in, and I wonder if somehow he knows—if he suspects the tangled web of deals I’ve woven under his nose, the careful laundering I’ve done to keep our empire steady.

I take another shaky breath.

He doesn’t know anything,I tell myself, straightening my shoulders.Nobody does.

No one in my family has a clue about the insane measures I’ve taken to keep things stable, the secrets I’ve taken on to maintain our position. And no one needs to find out—not now, not ever.

I pull on a sleek black blazer and fitted pants, trying to shoehorn myself back into the role I know best: the composed, reliable sister, the one who’s always in control.

I leave my room, making my way down the quiet hallway, past the quiet, empty rooms of the mansion’s east wing. The Mori family residence is a sprawling, gorgeous mix of both modern elegance and traditional Japanese architecture that Kenzo “liberated” about a year ago from one of our enemies. It perches high above Kyoto, nestled among the hills like a hidden citadel, its towering walls and manicured grounds designed to hide it from the prying eyes of anyone who might even think to intrude.

I pass through the central hall, glancing out the big picture windows toward the guest house in the distance where Mal and Freya live, and the enormous garage to my left, where Takeshi is almost certainly working on one of his “ladies.” Takeshi’s private workshop is practically a shrine to his collection of racing motorcycles, each customized to the point of barely being street-legal.

Focus,I tell myself. Kenzo is expecting me, and if he notices even a flicker of anything unusual, he’ll pry, and I don’t know if I’m steady enough yet to answer.

I enter the western-style living room, my stomach clenching when I see not just Kenzo there but the entire family. Annika sits beside him, her blue eyes meeting mine with a hint of curiosity. Freya is there too, sitting on Mal’s lap in one of the leather high-backed chairs by the fireplace. Kai, Kenzo’s head of security and close confidant, sits next to them, his large frame sprawled across half of a couch.

Takeshi, who is apparentlynotwith his bikes, is leaning against the sill of the huge window overlooking one of the koiponds outside, his muscled, tattooed arms folded and his face unreadable. Sota, the now semi-retired YakuzaOyabunwho acted like a father to Kenzo, Mal, Tak, and me for years, smiles and dips his chin. I force the most normal-ish smile I can muster back at him before I glance back to Kenzo, frowning.

Sortathought this was a one-on-one meeting.

My older brother clears his throat, his eyes not quite meeting mine. There’s a stiffness in his expression that sends a prickle of unease through me. “This, uh… This concerns the whole family,” he says quietly, as if reading my question telepathically.

He’sstillnot meeting my gaze.

I look to Takeshi, but he just shrugs. “No idea. Guy didn’t tell me shit.”

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