Emperor of Lust: Chapter 9

One of the things I enjoy about Hana is that I can’t ever quite tell if I’ve scandalized her, turned her the fuck on, or both.

I’d like to think it’s both.

That’s precisely the question I have after I whisper “You’re mine now, Kitsune” into her ear. Her cheeks flush, her eyes widen, and her mouth with those oh-so-fuckable lips makes an O-shape.

Her body stiffens, and when she pulls sharply away, there it is: the look that might either be disgusted shock or that of a woman whose panties have just grown much, much wetter.

That’s where my head’s at after she whirls and marches indignantly away. The party continues, but my thoughts are firmly elsewhere.

Busily contemplating the dampness level of Hana Mori’s panties.

They’re not solely focused on that. I mean, seventy percent, easy. The balance is focused on the rest of the woman whose sharp tongue and defiance have left an irritating mark.

Plain and simple, Hana Mori is an uptight, stubborn witch. Yet I can’t shake the images of her from that night: bound, vulnerable, with fire in her eyes.

Her mouth so willingly wrapping around my dick with a soft little moan.

She’s both a challenge and a frustration, and no matter how much I should dismiss her as a nuisance, she’s gotten under my skin. And she infuriatingly seems to be firmly staying there. Which is a problem.

Two men approach with scowls on their faces, and I glare at them as they make the world’s shittiest attempt at “bumping into me”, like we’re a bunch of fucking Cold War spies.

“Mr. Nikolayev,” Hinata Turo grunts under his breath. “You’ve been avoiding our calls.”

It’s not a lie. I have been avoiding his calls. Mostly because I don’t give a shit about him or his organization, and I’m not even the littlest bit intimidated by him. But also, I’ve had other things on my mind lately.

Like how Hana’s tongue felt against the underside of my cock as I emptied my balls down her throat.

But I digress.

Hinata—I have no idea who his little friend is—is a high-ranking waka gashira for the Shoichi-kai Yakuza, a mid-level Kyoto organization that mostly just picks up the scraps that the Mori-kai leave them.

But what can I say, I’m a businessman. When my uncle allied us with the Mori-kai, and I started coming to Kyoto more often, it became clear that there was opportunity here. Money laundering is a small side hustle I run in New York. Here in Japan, though, the demand was much, much higher.

Or it was, until she started fucking undercutting me as The Kitsune.

Hinata and his boss, though, are customers that stuck with me instead of jumping ship to The Kitsune—whether out of some sort of loyalty, or maybe an anti-woman thing against The Kitsune, or just plain laziness, I don’t know.

But I do know what he wants to talk to me about tonight. Because while I’ve not been bothering to respond to his ridiculous number of text messages, I’ve read at least some of them. So I know that the Shoichi-kai are…less than pleased with the returns on their washed, dried, and neatly folded money recently.

“We very much would like to speak with you⁠—”

“Not here,” I mutter through clenched teeth. “Outside.”

The gardens are dimly lit and much quieter, a welcome change from the crowds and all the jazz inside.

Hinata doesn’t waste any time.

“Mr. Nikolayev, we’re not impressed,” he growls. “Maybe you’re the top player in New York. But here in Kyoto, we expect better returns. We’re considering a new partner.” He glances at his buddy, then looks at me with a smug grin. “Perhaps you’ve heard of The Kitsune.”

I clench my fists, holding back my irritation. Their words cut deeper than I choose to admit.

“You know she’s a woman, yes?”

Hinata shrugs.

“And your Oyabun is still the same wildly misogynistic fuck that he always was?”

The guy with Hinata swears viciously in Japanese and lunges for me, but Hinata holds him back.

“Money talks, Mr. Nikolayev,” Hinata mutters. “And The Kitsune can offer better returns, faster.”

My gaze slices into him. “What if I were to tell you that The Kitsune is better at choking on my fucking cock than she is at getting you fast returns?”

Hinata smiles coldly. “Who’s the misogynistic fuck now, Mr. Nikolayev?”

My jaw grinds.

“Our next exchange will be your final test. If you can match her results, we’ll stay with you. If not…” He shrugs eloquently.

“You’re making a big mistake,” I warn tersely.

Hinata shrugs again. “Enjoy your party, Mr. Nikolayev.” He smirks. “And… Congratulations on your engagement.”

I stay where I am after they slink off, grinding my teeth so hard I can hear it. Then I hear something else—a quiet, infuriatingly self-satisfied chuckle. I turn, and there she fucking is, her lips curled gleefully.

“Rough night?” Hana asks, her voice dripping with mock sympathy.

“Enjoying yourself?” I reply, sarcasm lacing my voice and my voice raised an octave, mimicking hers. She just smirks, clearly relishing the moment.

“You know,” she drawls, her tone unhurried and maddeningly superior, “if you knew half as much about laundering as you think you do, you wouldn’t be getting complaints.” She tilts her head, watching me with icy confidence. “Want a few pro tips? I’m always happy to help the little guy.”

I level a murderous glare at her.

“Let me guess,” she sighs. “You’re trying to push cash through imports and exports, because you think you can hide more money that way.”

I roll my eyes. “You can hide more⁠—”

“Except you’re getting fucked on Japanese import tariffs. Which you’d have been able to plan for if you had any idea what you were doing and weren’t just some superior, trust-fund brat, wannabe Bratva thug.”

She gasps as I reach out and grab her arm. I can feel her pulse humming under her skin as I yank her closer, and I hear her breath hitch.

“The problem, Kitsune,” I growl, “is that when you talk to me like that…” I lean in, letting my lips brush against her ear. “It makes me want to tie you up and do very bad things to you.”

She gasps sharply as I yank her over to the edge of the garden terrace, but I see the spark of excitement she tries to hide.

Her breath catches again as I pin her hard against the corner of the railing with the view of Kyoto far below.

Hana glares up at me, defiance flickering like fire in her eyes even as I see something else warring there behind them. She’s pissed off, but there’s a thrill beneath her anger as I lean close, refusing to back down, let her go, or give her an inch.

“Let me go,” she chokes, a nervous waver in her voice.

I just smile maniacally as I lean down close, my eyes locking on hers.

“No,” I growl quietly.

I grip her tighter, pinning her even harder against the corner of the railing. Her pulse jumps again in a far too thrilling way that instantly makes my dick twitch.

“You like when I take your control away,” I murmur, watching as her face flushes. “You like to be tied up.”

“No.”

Her response actually takes me by surprise. It’s not just the word, it’s the way she says it—with brutal authority and unflinching resolve. It’s not a flirtatious “no”. It’s not coy. That was a solid fucking answer.

“No,” she says again, her tone raw, almost vulnerable, giving me a momentary glimpse of something unguarded. “I don’t.”

She means it, I can tell. The truth of it is etched in her voice, clear and sharp. But something doesn’t quite add up. I remember vividly the way she all but moaned when I had her under my control in that warehouse that first night, all tied up.

This side of her, this honesty, puzzles me.

I pull back slightly, watching her, wondering what it is about being tied up or pinned that’s gotten under her skin.

“Let me the hell go⁠—”

“Take off your panties.”

She scoffs, her expression indignant. “Excuse me?”

“Now,” I growl.

Hana’s throat bobs. “Fuck you. That’s not happening.”

I smile. “I could always go tell⁠—”

“I already told you,” she sneers, “I took that pawn off the board.”

“Oh, it’s chess we’re playing, then?” I taunt, grinning darkly.

She squints at me, her tone cold. “I’m not playing anything with you.”

“No, you don’t like to play at all,” I muse. “That’s why you’re in charge of the legitimate financial aspects of your family’s business. Why, even when you dabble in the exciting world of money laundering…” I snicker mockingly. “You wear a mask. Because you’re in this family, but on the outside. Your father ran things. Now Kenzo does. Your psycho brother Tak is a mad dog, and your cousin…well, he’s another mad dog too, isn’t he?” I smile darkly at her. “And that leaves you, hiding behind your color-coded spreadsheets.”

She glares at me, her tone icy. “I know what you’re doing, you know. You’re trying to bait me,” she replies, her chin lifting.

“This reeks of deflection,” I murmur, my gaze fixed on her as I let my hand drift to the hem of her dress. “Take them off.”

She stands her ground, her voice defiant. “Your manipulation tactics are not going to work on me,” she snaps, fire sparking in her eyes.

“Good to know. Thanks for saving me the time.”

In a flash I yank her dress up, reach under it, and slip my fingers into the waist of her lacy panties. She gasps sharply, too stunned even to react as I strip her underwear off, her skin warm under my fingers.

“Are you fucking—Damian!” she squeals as I shove them down her legs, dropping to my haunches and tugging them off first one foot and then the other before standing in front of her again, caging her against the railing. She stiffens but doesn’t pull away, her gaze locked on mine.

Without breaking eye contact, I grab her hands and shove them behind her back. I loop the delicate lace around her wrists, binding them to the railing.

Her breath comes faster as I lift her dress, my hands tracing the curve of her hips, my fingers exploring her skin, firm yet teasing. I drink in her vulnerability, the unsteady breaths that escape her, the way she struggles to keep her composure even now.

“Damian…”

“You could tell me to stop,” I growl, my fingers delicately tracing the line of her hip down between her thighs, already feeling heat.

Want.

Wetness.

“Would you?” she chokes.

Hana yelps loudly as I lean down and bite the lobe of her ear sharply, causing her body to arch and writhe against me.

“Probably not.”

A shaky breath tumbles from her lips as my hand slides between her legs. I groan, my dick throbbing and rock-hard when my fingertips roll over the slick, messy wetness of her pussy.

Christ, she’s soaked.

Not turned on. Not wet.

Drenched.

“My my,” I growl, cupping her pussy with my hand. Hana shakes and trembles against me, her breath coming fast and ragged. “What have we found here?”

“Please,” she breathes.

“Please what?” I murmur. “Be specific.”

Hana whimpers, shaking against me as I drag a thick finger through her lips, parting them. I let the pad of my finger roll over her throbbing clit, and her entire body trembles and spasms.

“Please don’t…” she chokes.

My lips curl dangerously. “Again, specifics, Kitsune. Don’t what? Stop? It’s all right, I don’t plan to. But the begging is a nice touch…”

I plunge my finger into her. Hana moans deeply, her body writhing against me. Her arms tense, her muscles straining against the panties bound tight around her wrists. My finger curls in and out, stroking against her g-spot as I grind my palm against her clit.

“Damian…” she whimpers.

“Use your words…” I purr, grinning darkly. I add a second finger, and she moans as her back arches, her tits pushing delectably against my chest.

“You can’t…”

“Can’t what,” I growl. “Make this messy little cunt come all over my fingers? And if that’s a challenge, what are we wagering?”

She opens her mouth, but no words come out, only unintelligible animal noises. She’s shaking against me, her legs quivering against my thighs, her pussy squeezing tight around my fingers as she coats them with her slick need.

“No answer?” I murmur. “Well, allow me to suggest one, then. When I make you come on my fingers, Kitsune—and that’s when, not if—you’ll swallow my cock again, and then you’ll take my cum anywhere I say.”

My fingers ram into her, drawing a haggard moan from her lips.

“Maybe I’ll spray it all over your tits,” I murmur thoughtfully.

I curl my fingers into her again, lewd, wet squelching sounds echoing in the darkness around us.

“Or all over your ass. Maybe I’ll make a mess of this pretty pussy and watch my cum drip down your lips.”

I start to plunge into her faster, my fingers curling against her g-spot again as my palm grinds on her throbbing, swollen clit. Hana bites down hard on her lip, whining and moaning as she bucks against me.

Christ. She keeps grinding against my erection like that, and it’s the inside of my pants that’ll be getting my cum.

“Or…” I growl, my lips dragging up her neck. I bite down, making her cry out as my teeth rake over her skin. “What if I paint your pretty face with my cum, and then leave it there while I fuck you like a good little cock slut.”

It’s so obvious when she comes that I’m sure you’d see it from the International Space Station. Hana bites down on her lip as she screams into my shoulder. Her entire body spasms, and her pussy clenches like a velvety wet vice around my fingers as the orgasm surges through her.

I keep her pinned against the railing as her body shudders and shakes. I stroke my fingers in and out, watching her squirm and writhe until it looks like she’s going to have a stroke.

It’s only then that I slowly drag my fingers out. My hand slips from under her dress, and I lift it in front of my face. Hana stares at my glistening fingers wide-eyed as I bring them to my mouth and wrap my lips around them.

And suck.

Her face goes crimson as she watches me slowly lick my fingers clean.

“What the fuck is going on out here?”

We both freeze at the voice behind me. Not just any voice, either.

Goddammit. It’s her fucking brother, Takeshi.

A split second later Hana jolts, as if the reality of the situation has just hit her. She tugs frantically at her bound wrists. I curse quietly, reluctantly reaching around and yanking the lace panties off her wrists.

“I’m keeping these,” I murmur into her ear as I stuff them into my jacket pocket.

She glares, her expression venomous. But then she takes a steadying breath before pushing me away from her. She clears her throat as she smiles innocently at her brother.

“All good, Tak,” she says, her voice steady, a mask of composure slipping over her face. “Just talking business.”

I smile lazily at Takeshi as I turn to him, letting my gaze drift between the two of them. “Your sister was just walking me through a…messy situation.”

She bristles beside me.

“Yes, thanks for clarifying all that, Damian.” She turns to me, her look pure poison. “Great strategy for Tokyo.” She clears her throat as she turns to her brother. “I’m going to grab another drink and listen to some more jazz. Coming?”

“Be right in,” Takeshi says, his gaze never leaving me.

When she’s out of sight, Takeshi drops all pretense. He marches over to me, shoving me hard against the railing before getting right in my face.

“Let me explain something to you, fucker,” he snarls, his voice filled with a quiet menace. “You’re a tourist in Crazy-town. I’ve lived there my whole life. I know the bars that stay open late just for the locals. The coffee shop remembers my order, and the burger joint makes mine just the way I like it with extra caramelized onions every single time.”

I sigh, rolling my eyes. “Is there a point to this?”

“The point, shithead,” he snarls, “is that you have no idea what I’m capable of. Your little scary-boy routine doesn’t frighten me. And if you hurt, touch, look at, or even think about my sister?” He leans in, his voice dropping to a whisper. “I’ll flay you alive. Literally. Understood?”

I meet his glare with a smirk, letting my silence speak volumes. I’m not intimidated—not by him, not by anyone—but I recognize the threat in his words, the raw protectiveness that runs through this family.

“Understood,” I reply steadily. He releases his grip, his expression still hard, then gives me a final, withering look before turning and disappearing back into the party, leaving me alone in the garden, the faint echo of Hana’s breathless gasps hanging in the cool night air.

I can still fucking taste her on my tongue.