Page 28 of The Dragon 2
Nervous, I cracked the door open an inch.
O-kay. . .
Standing there was a Japanese man dressed in black from neck to boots. Smooth tailored lines, not a wrinkle in sight. Black gloves. Round, dark glasses hiding his eyes.
In one hand, he held a sleek black-and-gold shopping bag. In the center of the bag was the word,Decadent, written in cursive.
He spoke. “Ms. Palmer?”
“Yes. . .that’s me.”
He bowed. “Mr. Sato would like you to place the white panties in this bag.”
My voice cracked slightly. “What?”
He didn’t flinch, but his cheeks went a little pink.
“There’s a Ziploc inside this one.” He lifted the bag slightly. “You’re to place the white panties in there. Then, I’m to deliver them to Paris. Same day.”
I stood there frozen, hand still gripping the door, staring at the man like I hadn’t just heard what I knew I had.
The panties.
Kenji wanted the fucking panties.
In aZiploc.
I blinked again, because my brain—God bless it—was trying to glitch out like it could blue-screen itself and escape the moment. But no. The man held the bag out with both hands now, like he was some kind of cursed delivery priest about to collect a sacred offering.
All I could think was,Am I dreaming again?
I cleared my throat. “I’m sorry, he wants me to—what—mail them?”
The guy adjusted his grip on the bag. “I’ll handle the delivery. There’s a secure, private cargo service currently waiting at the airfield right now. My orders are to get the panties there immediately.”
Oh my God.
Kenji hadn’t responded to my picture.
Hadn’t typed out a message or hit me with a slick emoji.
No teasing smirk.
No “You’re mine” voice note to make my thighs quake again.
Nope.
He’d just mobilized a team—delivery man, private cargo service, pilot, plane—like my soaked underwear was a goddamn operation.
I suddenly imagined this poor man having to speed down Tokyo’s Shuto Expressway, weaving through morning traffic like a demon in black leather gloves, theDecadentshopping bag buckled into the passenger seat and riding shotgun like it had its own passport and diplomatic immunity.
The city blurring around him.
In my mind, he hit the emergency lights, cut through lanes like the laws of physics were optional, and muttered into his headset, “Initiating Extraction: Panty Protocol.”
Of course he would then pull into Haneda Airport’s private terminal, tires screeching, not even bothering to park straight.
Would he even fully park the car before jumping out?
