Emperor of Lust: Chapter 32

It’s been three weeks since my brother pulled Damian out of Kolya’s torture room and since the Ishida-kai’s bold attack wildly accelerated Kenzo’s timeline for moving into Tokyo.

Since then, Mori-kai forces have flooded the city. Some of the smaller families have already picked sides, with a few of them outright joining under the Mori-kai banner. Others have faded to the sidelines to watch when the war starts.

It hasn’t yet, but it’s matter of when—not if.

Battle lines have been drawn, dividing up the city as the criminal enterprises in Tokyo wait to see what happens when the Mori-kai and the Ishida-kai finally clash.

Because of this, we’ve all essentially been on lockdown for three weeks. Under some circumstances, that might really suck.

But for me, it doesn’t.

Not. At. All.

Damian and I have left the Conrad Hotel and spent the last few weeks in the new penthouse apartment Damian ended up buying in the trendy Kabutocho neighborhood.

It’s been three weeks of heaven, the two of us locked in together, forgetting that the rest of the world exists.

Mornings melt into late afternoons. We sleep in. We wake each other up with our mouths, or with me sliding down onto his morning erection. We make breakfast together. Damian fucks me on the counter or against the fridge.

I help him with his physical therapy and exercises.

…Then I usually make him come in my mouth or ride him on the weight bench until we both do.

Some days we scarcely get out of bed, completely wrapped up in each other as though the rest of the world doesn’t need us. It’s a fragile, beautiful illusion, this strange little world we’ve made.

But it’s bliss.

I suck in a ragged breath of air, my body still trembling as I feel his hands slide up my arms. Damian’s cock is still buried deep inside me as his fingers twine with mine against the headboard.

“Fuck, Kitsune…” he murmurs against my shoulder as we both try and catch our breath.

…I’ve mentioned that I love when he calls me that, right?

Slowly, still inside me, Damian unties the ropes binding my wrists to the headboard. When I’m free, I push back against him, not to push him away, but to enjoy the sensation of his cock filling me a bit longer.

I yelp, giggling when he bites my ear hard.

“Greedy thing,” he growls quietly.

I bite my lip. “And?”

“And, keep it up and we won’t be leaving this bed…”

I can feel him swell rock-hard again inside me, my pulse spiking.

…Which of course, is exactly when my phone rings. Worse, it’s Kenzo.

Damian groans when he sees my brother’s name, AKA, “do not ignore during a Yakuza lockdown”, on the screen.

“Fuck,” he mutters.

I pout when he slides out of me but scramble to the bedside table to answer.

“Yeah?” I blurt into the phone.

Kenzo hesitates a minute.

“Are… Are you okay?”

“Yes?”

“You sound out of breath.”

For a second, I seriously consider scarring my brother.

“I’m…helping Damian with his PT,” I lie, glancing back at the devil himself, sitting back on his haunches with his thick cock springing up from between his muscled thighs.

I mean fuck, he’s hot.

“Well, take a break, because I’ve got good news.”

I freeze.

“Wait, are you lifting⁠—”

“Not a total de-escalation,” he sighs. “But we’re officially on a reprieve with the Ishida-kai.”

“A reprieve?” I repeat, my brow furrowing as I clutch the phone a little tighter. “What does that mean?”

Kenzo sighs and I can practically see him rubbing the back of his neck as he chooses his words. “Kolya called me ten minutes ago, asking for a ceasefire. Not sure why, but it’s legit. For now, anyway. Again, I want to stress this doesn’t mean this is over. But we agreed to back down for the present, and to talk again before things resume. I have no fucking clue why he asked, but the fact that he did is enough for me to trust him, at least on this.”

I’m almost too stunned to speak. Kolya calling for a ceasefire makes zero sense. The Mori-kai might be hungry for a piece of Tokyo, but the Ishida-kai are a very well-armed and defended group, especially on their own home turf.

I’d never say it openly to Kenzo, but if it did come to war, I wouldn’t exactly bet on us.

But if Kolya’s offering a temporary halt to hostilities, we’d be fools not to take it.

I hang up and glance over my shoulder, seeing Damian sprawled across the bed, his attention on me.

He’s still hard.

Very, very hard.

He raises an eyebrow, his gaze simmering with dark curiosity.

“Ceasefire,” I explain, grinning.

His brows shoot up. “Seriously?”

“Yup.”

“What does that even mean?”

I grin. “It means we can go out. Like, literally out.”

The corner of his mouth lifts. “You asking me on a date, Kitsune?”

“Fuck yeah,” I answer immediately, laughing and not caring how eager I sound. “Damian, we’ve barely left this place for three weeks. And we’ve never had a real date.”

“I mean, there was that dinner at Miyamoto’s house…”

I roll my eyes. “How about a date that doesn’t involve ninja assassins jumping out of the shadows.”

Damian grins a boyish smile that’s rare for him. “Okay,” he says, shaking his head. “We’ll go out. But first, there’s something very important we need to do.”

I grin as he starts to prowl across the bed toward me.

“Oh?” I giggle. “What’s that?”

The only answer I get is him flipping me over, pinning me to the bed as he shoves my thighs apart and kissing his way between them from behind.

I mean…great answer.

Later that night, after an amazing omakase dinner, we find ourselves stepping past the velvet rope of a super trendy, neon-lit nightclub in Roppongi.

Thudding club music pulses in the air, vibrating through my veins, and I feel like I’ve stepped into another dimension. It’s packed, the bassline thudding and moving the sea of gyrating dancers in a hypnotic rhythm.

It’s chaotic, but with Damian’s hand firmly around my waist, I feel grounded. Protected.

And then we’re on the dance floor, surrounded by people but somehow in a bubble of our own. Damian moves with unexpected natural ease, his body in perfect time with mine as we sway, the beat pulsing between us. My pulse races, every move syncing with his as we lock eyes. I can’t look away.

Okay, who knew. Damian can seriously dance.

The club music switches from a mix of your average bass-heavy club beats to something akin to salsa or a tango. I shriek as he grabs me, effortlessly spinning and dipping me, reeling me in close and then spinning me away.

I stop for a second, staring at him in disbelief. “The fuck?” I ask, breathless, a grin stretching across my face as I take in his effortless moves. “You can seriously dance. How is that possible?”

He smirks as he pulls me close. “Lessons.”

I arch a brow, smiling softly. “Your parents?” I say.

He chuckles and shakes his head. “Kir,” he says with amusement. “Apparently, he didn’t want the heir to embarrass himself in public. Said it was ‘good for business’ for me to be able to dance.”

I shake my head, laughing, and wrap my arms around his neck, pulling him even closer. His hands drop to my waist, holding me steady, and for a second, it’s just us, moving together like this is what we’ve been doing forever.

The moment stretches out as I look up at him, something stirring deep in my chest. He’s watching me with an intensity that sends shivers down my spine, a kind of devotion I’ve never seen directed at me before.

In that moment, something inside me clicks into place again: a realization I’ve been feeling for a long time but have always been scared to admit, even to myself.

I’m really in love with him. Hopelessly.

The truth settles over me, thrilling and terrifying. I don’t know when it happened, but it’s as sure as the ground beneath my feet.

He leans in, his mouth close to my ear. “Another round of drinks?”

“Sure,” I breathe, feeling heat rush to my cheeks as I shake my thoughts away. I step back, almost dizzy, desperate for a moment to collect myself.

“What do you want?”

I shake my head. “It’s okay. I’ll go.” As I turn to leave, the words slip out before I can stop them. “Be right back. Love you.”

I freeze. The words hang in the air like a live wire. The enormity of what I just said slams into me like a charging bull. I don’t even dare look at him, afraid of what I’ll see in his eyes. Panic courses through me, and I do the only thing I can think of—I whirl around, desperate to bolt before I make things even worse.

But before I can get more than a step away, I feel his hand wrap around my arm, pulling me back. I spin, my heart in my throat, and find myself falling into his chest, face-to-face with him, his eyes lancing into mine.

“Damian, I⁠—”

“I love you too,” he murmurs. It hits me harder than anything.

And then he pulls me close, his mouth crashing down on mine in a kiss that leaves no room for doubt.

“Why cranes?”

Hours later, we’re wrapped up in each other back in bed. Damian spoons against my back, his muscled arms circled around me as I curl against him.

“Hmm?” He murmurs lazily.

I flush as I twist the little origami crane I’ve just plucked off the bedside table in my fingers—every edge perfectly straight and sharp, with his customary red yarn bound around it.

It’s not every day that I find them left for me. And I love that. I love that I can be randomly going about my business and find one sitting on my laptop when I come back from getting a snack. Or on my pillow. Or perched on my toothbrush in the morning.

Always the same paper crane, always bound up so beautifully.

“Why is it always cranes?”

Damian shifts behind me. “Because of the crane wife.”

My brows knit. “What?”

“The legend of the crane wife. You’ve got a scroll of it up in your offices back in Kyoto. It made me think of you.”

I twist in his arms, turning to look up into his violet eyes as my brows arch. “I’m lost.”

Damian chuckles. “Which one of us is Japanese?”

I playfully slap his chest as his smile widens.

“In the story, a crane fools a man into believing she’s a woman so he’ll marry her. She really loves him, but she’s scared he won’t love her back if he knows she’s actually a crane. So every night, she stays up and pulls out her feathers with her beak, weaving them into silk for them to sell. But she’s constantly desperate for him to never figure out the truth—that she’s a bird who needs care, who can fly. Every morning, she wakes as a woman again, but she’s always exhausted because it takes everything she has to keep up the illusion, plucking out her feathers, one by one, trying to erase the part of herself she’s afraid he won’t accept.”

His eyes hold mine unflinchingly as I swallow.

“And you think that’s me?” I smirk. “Your crane wife?”

Damian shakes his head. “Your family’s crane wife, Kitsune. Trying to weave yourself into silk to keep the charade going. Afraid of what they’ll say if you just tell them the truth.”

My brow furrows as I chew on my lip.

“When I saw that scroll on your wall the night I decided to break into your office…” he shrugs. “I saw you in it.”

“That seems…sad,” I say quietly.

His lips curl as he reaches up to cup my face. “A little. But I understand it, too. There’s an honor in self-sacrifice for family, for the ones you love. When I figured out that you were The Kitsune, the anger I felt towards that entity changed.”

“To?” I whisper.

“Respect. Admiration. But also…” he frowns, his jaw working.

“What?”

“A need to protect,” he growls quietly. “A compulsion to care for you, to shield you from anything. To keep you safe.”

My pulse thuds. A teasing tingle spreads over my skin as I feel my heart somehow grow even bigger for this man.

“Is that why you started binding them up in red yarn?” I tease. “Or was that just to be kinky.”

His eyes hold mine, the piercing intensity of them captivating me.

“In the legend of the crane wife,” he says quietly. “The husband eventually breaks his promise to never watch her weave her silk. He peeks in on her one night. And when he does, and sees her true form, she flies away forever, leaving him heartbroken.”

I gasp quietly as Damian’s hand on my cheek pushes back into my hair, firmly gripping the nape as he pulls me tight against his body.

“I bind the cranes, Kitsune,” he murmurs. “To stop that from ever happening.”

I moan as our lips crush together, the intensity of the kiss sweeping me away as his hands and arms wrap me tightly, like steel.

Like red yarn.

Like he’ll never let me go.