Total pages in book: 152
Estimated words: 154368 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 772(@200wpm)___ 617(@250wpm)___ 515(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 154368 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 772(@200wpm)___ 617(@250wpm)___ 515(@300wpm)
Red.
Industrial.
Ready.
My stomach dropped.
On a side table near the wall, instruments were laid out in neat rows. Metal rods with wrapped ends. Glass containers filled with clear liquid. Small bundles of white cotton. Wet towels stacked in a pile.
And in the center of the room. . .
Kenji.
He leaned against a stone slab, watching me enter.
Oh shit.
His hair was pulled back from his face, exposing the sharp lines of his jaw, the column of his throat. He wore leather shorts—almost bikini cut. The fabric hugged his muscular thighs like a second skin. The kind of shorts that left nothing to imagination.
Every tattoo on his body was visible.
Tonight, in the candlelight, with hundreds of flames painting his skin in shifting gold and shadow—those tattoos moved.
The dragons coiled across his chest breathed. Their scales caught the light and rippled, dark red bleeding into black, those vicious mouths opening wider every time a flame surged.
The hydra wrapped around his ribs tightened with each breath he took.
The oni demon on his shoulder twisted in the shadows, its face shifting between rage and hunger depending on which candle burned brightest.
And that katana inked along his abs—the one that pointed down past his waistline like a threat and a promise—it fucking gleamed. The blade's edge caught every flicker in the room and threw it back at me.
God, this man is so deliciously sexy. I might bite him tonight.
When his eyes found mine, his expression shifted. His lips parted. His nostrils flared. A hunger crossed his face—wild, primal, barely contained.
The same look he'd had when he bit me.
I understood now. The clean skin. The hair pulled back. The fire extinguishers in the corners.
We are definitely playing with fire tonight.
Hiroko stepped in behind me and slid the door closed. Her assistants nearby.
“Fire?” I turned to her. "We are not doing this."
Her face remained calm. "We are."
"Fire. . .are you serious?"
"Yes." She moved to stand beside me. "This is dangerous. But this is what the Dragon wants."
My heart pounded against my ribs. “So. . .how are we going to do this?”
"He wants you to wield the fire tonight, Nyomi."
I stared at her. Then I looked back at Kenji. At the slab. At the restraint points I could now see clearly—metal loops for wrists and ankles, bolted into the stone.
"Why?" My voice came out too high. "Why would he want that?"
"I don't know why. But he was adamant about you burning him."
I shook my head and tried to breathe. "So. . .he’s going on the slab?"
"He is."
The words landed like a blow.
"I don't know how to do any of this." I gestured at the instruments, the candles, the men with their extinguishers.
"That's why I'm here." Hiroko gave me a sad smile. "I'll be with you through the beginning. I'll guide you."
I pressed my hand to my chest. My heart was racing too fast. "I don't want to hurt him."
Hiroko's expression shifted. Her eyes softened. The professional mask slipped, just for a moment, and I saw the woman underneath—the one who had seen everything, done everything, and still found herself moved by what was happening in this room. "I know. He knows too. That’s why he wants you to do it."
The men stepped forward from the corners.
They approached Kenji. One on each side, the men guided him onto the slab and laid him flat against the cold stone.
The third secured his wrists to the metal loops above his head. Then his ankles. The restraints were leather—soft but strong.
He wasn't going anywhere.
The position stretched his body long against the stone. Arms overhead. Chest expanded. Every muscle pulled taut. The tattoo dragons strained across his pecs like they were trying to break free.
His abs contracted with each breath—a ladder of muscle that led my eyes down past the katana tattoo to those ridiculous shorts and the thick, heavy print of his cock pressing against the leather.
He looked like a sacrifice laid on an altar.
And I was the one holding the fire.
No. This can’t happen.
I moved before I could think.
My feet carried me across the room, past the candles, past the instruments, until I was standing beside the slab.
Beside him.
His eyes tracked my movement and never left my face.
I kept my voice low. "Kenji. We are not doing this."
He smiled. "We are, Tora."
"This is dangerous." I gripped the edge of the slab. "I've never done this before. I don't want to hurt you."
"You could never hurt me."
"I feel like I need to read books first. Watch videos. Learn something before I—"
"You did well with the water."
"That's different. This is fire. I know what fire does, Kenji. I know what it can do to a body."
“I know too.”
I took a breath.
"You wanted me to ask permission from you. You wanted me to defer to you." He shook his head. "And I couldn't do that."
"And I told you that I understand. That doesn't mean I need to now set you on fire."