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 cherry blossom tree in the black stone planter held its pink.
The bed—low, wide, impossible—waited with black sheets and a spill of deep red. I took pride in the fact that my Tiger had finally slept there and now those sheets would smell like her—ripe plum and black amber.
Heat climbed my throat.
The word mine sat heavy behind my teeth.
Two housemaids were finishing a spread at the lacquered table—tea steaming, little sweets arranged in militant rows, napkins folded into paper cranes, lotus blooms, and fans.
They bowed when they noticed me and then kept their eyes down. Soon, they headed out in a rustle of slippers.
The bathroom door stood ajar, letting a veil of steam slip into the room, warm and perfumed, blurring the edges of the furniture like a dream half-remembered.
I crossed to the nightstand.
The book—When the Dragon Swallowed the Moon—waited where I’d left it, but the tassel sat further along.
You read more, Tora? Very naughty. Couldn’t wait, could you? Next time, I’ll hide the book from you.
A childish annoyance cut through my ribs. I wanted to read the story to her from now on, be the voice that carried those words into her ear. I imagined my Tiger curled against me, listening, her breathing syncing to the story’s rhythm. Her eyes roaming where I would be guiding them. I considered the joy it would be to see her eyes widen at the exciting new things to come for Sol and her two ferocious dragons.
Has she met Korin’s twin brother yet? I hope not. I want to do that voice for her.
I even pictured how hot it would be to read the nasty sex scenes soon to come in the book. Then, touch her pussy, feel her wetness, and fuck her hard.
Yes. Next time you open that book, it will be us reading it together.
The sound of water spilling continued from the bathroom.
Then it stopped.
My Tiger, what are you doing?
I moved toward the bathroom, the steam parting for me in slow, reluctant curls. The heat from the bath pressed against my skin, and the new smell of lavender filled the space.
Mmmm.
The fragrance loosened my shoulders.
The last twenty-four hours had stacked inside me—orders, detonations stopped and detonations done, the weight of three hundred men’s lives.
My skin felt too tight over the muscle, my skull too small for my thoughts.
The pressure in my chest still had not left.
Release.
I needed it like air.
Tora. . .help me. . .
I shifted into a predator, hunting its seductive prey. My pulse pounded through my veins. I padded lightly across the room. When I reached the threshold, I nudged the door further open and stepped inside.
Aww. There is my Tiger.
The bathroom was a temple, and she was its priestess.
Black stone framed my massive tub set deep in the floor. Gushes of perfumed steam rose from the rippling surface. Rose petals lazily drifted.
Candlelight burned along the perimeter despite the hour, steady points of gold caught in the stone, in the water, in the sheen on her throat.
The glass shower to the right gleamed with its rainfall heads and the waiting bench.
To the left, the gold-rimmed vanity usually held an army of brushed metal and glass—lotions, oils, combs, lip color in a line that looked like ammunition.
But today. . .other things lay on the surface.
A coiled length of braided silk rope, dark as midnight, still damp at the tips as if it had just been pulled from water.
A pair of silver clamps rested on a folded square of black cloth.
And there were other things—a thin, clear tube, a glass wand, a slick, black whip.
I knew what some of these did.
The others. . .I wasn’t sure.
Not yet.
And the not knowing twisted a heat in my gut.
I raised my eyebrows.
This will not be a normal bath. . .
I fixed my gaze to her.
Earlier, she’d worn a black pencil skirt, sheer white top, and those red stilettos.
I’d imagined tearing all of it off—splitting the seams, hearing the fabric surrender—then bending her over with the heels still on, letting that flash of red stay in my peripheral vision while I slammed my cock into her over and over until she forgot her own name.
But she had changed the game once again.
Nyomi stood at the far edge of the pool in a shiny silk robe the color of ripe plum. It stopped at the mid-point of her thighs. The robe didn’t hide her curves, just traced over the slope of her full breasts, the dip of her waist, the swell of her hips.
Mmmm.
Her hair was pinned up in a loose knot that made my palms ache to pull it down.
Steam curled around her calves and climbed, licking the undersides of her thighs and worshipping her like I planned to soon.
Her dark brown skin glowed against the dreamy haze, making her appear almost untouchable.
She was so full of surprises—constantly having me on edge, in the most maddening, and endearing ways.