Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 101427 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 507(@200wpm)___ 406(@250wpm)___ 338(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 101427 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 507(@200wpm)___ 406(@250wpm)___ 338(@300wpm)
The neckline now dipped lower, just past modesty and into temptation—cleavage sculpted, the shadows between my breasts teasing with every small, natural shift. My bra lifted them just right. The lace caught the light.
Zo whistled. “Your breasts are lethal.”
“I must agree.” Hiroko nodded. “Now look in the mirror, Nyomi.”
I turned and drank myself in.
Damn. I’m a femme fatale.
Zo had painted my lips a deep lush plum. The color made my dark brown skin look like velvet lit from beneath—molten, dangerous, alive.
Smoked shadow ringed my eyes. The liner pulled into a razor-fine wing. My lashes curled upward, thick and fluttering, while my cheekbones were contoured to perfection.
My 4C curls had been swept into a sculpted power bun, tight and regal at the crown. Not a single coil out of place.
The blood-red patent leather stilettos gleamed—slick as a fresh wound. The toe, vicious. The arch, obscene. The red sole—Christian Louboutin's wicked signature.
My black pencil skirt hugged my hips. The slit was high enough to hint at ruin. When I walked, it would show a flash of my thigh.
Above it, my white satin blouse clung sheer against my dark brown skin—soft, feminine, and dangerous.
The black lace bra underneath didn’t just show.
It performed.
My breasts shifted subtly as I moved, full and proud, commanding attention without apology.
I didn’t look like someone headed to a meeting.
I looked like the reason meetings were called.
Hiroko stepped behind me. “When you walk into that war room, they will not see Kenji’s woman. They will see their Queen entering.”
Their Queen?
Those two words echoed in my ears, settling in the darkest corner of my mind.
I stared at my reflection, suddenly seeing more than just my killer outfit and sexy heels. There was a spark in those smoky-ringed eyes, a glimmer of something I had not seen before.
I let out a shaky breath, tasting the sweet, heavy scent of wealth and power that clung to the space.
Zo gave one last approving nod, then spun on his heel with a wink, and headed off. “My work here is done. You two play nice.”
I quirked my brows. “Where are you going?”
He grabbed the doorknob. “I found a weed hookup on the island.”
I blinked. “You what?”
“Mm-hmm. One of the Scales' girlfriends grows her own secret batch. Said it’s a homegrown Japanese strain too. Very boutique. Very elite.” He raised a brow. “Also, can we talk about how dramatic it is for someone to name their job Scale? Like… are they measuring things? Do they hiss? Are they into reptiles or justice?”
I snorted.
“I don’t know what’s happening on this island, but I’m not surviving it sober.” Zo opened the door. “I need to smoke or I’m going to fully spiral into madness. This rich mafia energy has my anxiety in a chokehold.”
Next, he was gone.
The door clicked shut behind him.
Silence bloomed.
And then Hiroko stepped behind me again—closer this time. So close I could feel the whisper of her kimono sleeves drag softly across my arm. It was silk flirting with nerve endings.
She placed her palm flat on my lower back.
Firm.
Warm.
Grounding.
“Breathe,” She leaned in. “Let the power settle into your spine. Let it fill you.”
Her touch didn’t move, but it commanded.
I stood taller. My shoulders dropped back. My chest lifted.
She leaned in even more—not touching me, but close enough that her breath skimmed the shell of my ear. “Look at you.”
I shivered.
“If I were ten years younger. . .” Her pause came thick and heavy with everything unsaid. “Hmm. Or. . .maybe if I was just. . .less disciplined. . .”
She exhaled, long and slow, and it dragged heat down my neck like a tongue made of breath.
And. . .I shouldn’t have, but I had to know what was on her mind, so. . .I whispered, “What would you do?”
“I would teach you what real worship looks like.”
My breath caught.
The room tightened around us.
Or maybe it was my body doing that.
Clenching.
Wanting.
Her hand at my back slipped upward a half inch—not high enough to claim anything. But high enough to make it clear that she could.
Then, she met my eyes in the mirror. “By the way. . .this blouse isn’t dangerous because it’s sheer or revealing that lovely lace bra holding up your perfect full breasts.”
I quirked my brows.
She smiled, slow and wicked. “It’s dangerous because you are in it.”
I bit my lip.
For a second, the air didn’t belong to either of us. It just pulsed between our bodies like static before a storm.
And then my mind betrayed me.
I imagined her gliding that hand away from my back and over my hip, around the curve of my waist, then trailing it down.
I would see the movement in the mirror.
The smooth path of fingers trained in pleasure.
She would find the slit of my skirt. Slip through it like silk through a ring. Her hand would be cool at first, then hot—moving with that dangerous grace only women who’d been taught to please truly possessed. She’d press her palm right where the lace hugged my pussy tight.