Total pages in book: 24
Estimated words: 22496 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 112(@200wpm)___ 90(@250wpm)___ 75(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 22496 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 112(@200wpm)___ 90(@250wpm)___ 75(@300wpm)
“Ziatso. Ryoichi Ziatso.”
“Ryoichi. Nice name.” I take another deep breath. “You’re really good at this.” I sweep my hands toward him, giving him an up and down.
“Is there something else you’d rather me do, Ry?”
I cross one leg over the other as my walls jolt in response. And I’ll be damned if Ryoichi’s unaware of every thought in my mind. Every friggen thought and a second before I think said thought.
“Listen, I’m hungry. But I can’t afford half the food on this menu. I’m not like many women who reach out to Book Boyfriend Extraordinaire. I’ve calculated every night that I’m on vacation. So, if we share a few small plates, then we go upstairs to do things you may or may not have done in the past, I might be able to swing it.”
“I can assure you I've done whatever you’re thinking.”
I laugh, then hide the smile behind my hand.
In a flash, Ryoichi stands.
Two Japanese businessmen seem as if they might rise, but its peculiarity is lost to me as he places his seat next to mine.
Again, my friggen heart.
Stuttering.
Jolting.
Throbbing.
The pulse at my other set of lips syncs perfectly with my heart. This is only going to end one way. And I’m gonna pray about that later, too.
But for now, I stare speechlessly as Ryoichi snatches the black scarf from his suit jacket and binds my hands together. The silk tugs firmly over my wrists, holding them together. My gosh, we're out.
Out and about and . . . and images of being tied up by him consume my mind.
“What was my order?” Ryoichi asks.
Mr. Panty Wetter, I can’t remember a second ago in your presence. The glower piercing through me causes the momentary amnesia to fade. “No hiding my smile?”
“And you did. Did you not, Ry?” he asks in a deep, subdued tone, which washes over me like a steamy shower after a night of torment. He brings my bound hands up to kiss the silk of my knuckles.
“Ryoichi, listen, as I said, I’m not like the other women who seek your services. I’ve scheduled a few must-see tours I’ve set aside money for, and I intend to do them.”
“But you also intend to do me. Yes?”
Yes, please. “Pending your price.” I rub my hands together, irritated that Ryoichi has pulled at the bind, unraveling it from my wrists. I yearn for whatever positions he’d like to tie me up in.
I shake my head at myself. All this from the woman who was the What Would Jesus Do? poster girl when the trend launched in the early 2000s. Some girls had the keychain. Not only did I have that, but I had the shirt, the hoodie, and the friggen WWJD shoestrings.
I’ve repped the Lord all my life.
Tonight, though, I’ve fun in mind. I’ll pray God forgives me . . . tomorrow.
Chapter
Three
Ryoichi
All around the room, I have an underling eagerly awaiting my next order. As a honey glow floats over Ryann’s skin, she blossoms for me like a flower. I discreetly divulge a few secrets of the yakuza. The very consideration of sharing why we operate and our approach to various activities would label me a disgrace to my oyabun, Osaka Tatchan. It has been almost three decades since I was inducted into the yakuza, yet I recall every moment. Every word Osaka’s second in charge, Banri, the wakagashina, said. The delicate floral aroma of the tea we drank. And most crucial was the moment Osaka declared that he was honored that I joined the House of Tatchan.
My leader was honored to have me, while the opposite had always been standard.
What would he say now as I spill our secrets?
My only defense is that I’m caught by captivating eyes that have seen no offense. A lush mouth that I’m confident has never partaken in sin.
Ryann runs a nervous hand over her forearm, her fingers stalling where I’d restrained her momentarily. Does she beg for more?
She will.
My second in command, Umito, nods as a server places food before us. A while ago, a man of Chinese descent wearing the tsubaki flower on his suit had waved toward Ryann. The man’s gaze darted away from mine. The second he attempted to gather her attention again, two of my men rerouted him. Now, Umito’s gesturing that we may leave. But I must admit, Ryann’s company brings light to my life. After acquiring wealth beyond one’s imagination, I’m rarely fascinated by new things. And Ryann fell straight into my lap after weeks of following her.
Though I’ve stalked her, which I’ll not admit, tonight has been a serendipitous encounter—if you don’t count an underling bribing the concierge for her plans.
For the past few weeks, Ryann’s been this illusory creature, perhaps a figment of my mind. I wondered whether I had indeed encountered her in Los Angeles. She’s hidden in one hotel room or another. On one rare occasion, out of frustration I’m sure, an underling of mine suggested that we abduct her. That unwarranted advice was severely corrected. Now, I have a six-sense that my bodyguards are still restless. There’s been no verbal defiance to accompany the jitter in their legs when they sit or how they glimpse their mobile for a lover’s text. They wouldn’t dare.