Page 54 of Brutal Union
The laugh that leaves his chest is so dangerously low, I feel like I can’t breathe.
It slithers between my ribs like smoke and poison, dark and thick and heavy enough to make my lungs forget how to work. Sho steps closer, every step so sure of itself it feels like a storm that knows it’s inevitable.
“Oh, Hime” he murmurs, and the pet name sounds filthy on his tongue. “You think this is a negotiation?”
My spine straightens, chin lifting even as my heart punches against my ribs.
“I think you’ve forgotten who you’re talking to.”
His smile twists—beautiful and cruel.
“No,” he says softly. “I remember exactly who you are, Nadia.”
“What do you need to know that you’re mine?” he whispers against my collarbone, each word slicing through my composure.“Who do I need to kill? What do I need to do?”
I suck in a breath through my nose, sharp and shaky, and I hate that he hears it. Hates itandloves it. His lips move to the side of my neck, pressing lightly against the rapid, erratic beat of my pulse
“What if there is nothing for you to do? What if I don’t want you?”
His mouth doesn’t move, but his teeth do—grazing against that pulse point like a threat wrapped in silk. He doesn't bite, not yet. He just lets the tension hum there, unbearable and exquisite.
“I don’t like liars, Hime,” he growls, his voice low and animal. “Be honest with me.”
His hand slides up my side at a crawling pace, until his palm is over the place my heart is pounding like it’s trying to break free. His thumb strokes just under my breast, barely touching skin, but it sends a lightning bolt through every nerve in my body.
He doesn’t kiss me, but his body presses against me until every inch of me is consumed with him, and I stop myself from breathing him in any deeper.
Because I do want him. Desperately. In a way that terrifies me. In a way that makes me feel like I’m falling through the floor of my own control. It’s not just lust—it’s something deeper, messier. A craving that coils inside me like a sickness, like an addiction I’ve fed for too long without admitting it was there.
But I can’t be his. That’s the part he doesn’t understand. I wasn’t made to be anyone’s. I’ve had to be sharp in every room, deadly in every silence. I’ve had to kill parts of myself just to survive.
To belong to him—even someone like Sho—would mean unraveling all of that. It would mean trusting someone else with pieces of me I’ve never let anyone touch. And I can’t trust anyone anymore. Not even him, especially when he shouldn’t trust me. Any day now I have to give him over to the Yakuza. Any day now they will see I am dragging my feet and demand me to choose war with the Yakuza, or give up the man who makes me feel like I can breathe for the first time. If he’s mine then the deal is off. I am no longer Queen. I will give up my revenge for Boris, because I can’t have him and do what it takes to take the crown. My vengeance only softens around him, and a weak queen can’t live in this world.
I move to push him away, but he inhales. He breathesmein carefully, and I do the worst thing I could have possibly done. I close my eyes for half a second too long, and that’s all it takes. He feels it—the weakness, the tremor beneath my skin. He knows I amsobroken for him.
“On your knees,” I whisper.
Sho doesn’t hesitate. His hands slide down my thighs as he lowers himself to the floor, his eyes locked on mine, dark and hungry. The coffee table is cold against my back, but the heat radiating from him is enough to make me forget everything else. His breath is warm against my inner thigh, and I shiver, my fingers tangling in his hair.
“You’re going to do exactly what I say,” I murmur, my voice low and commanding. “And if you can follow instructions well, then I willconsiderbeing your girlfriend.”
Sho nods, his eyes locked on my boy shorts. The wetness from my pussy spreading with each second. “What do you want me to do, Hime?”
“Take off your shirt.”
His hands move instantly, reaching behind his neck as he pulls the dark fabric over his head in one smooth motion. The muscles in his shoulders flex with the movement, the deep grooves of his torso catching the dim light like something sculpted and sinful.
Tattoos cover him—ink in rich blacks and soft grays crawling across his chest and wrapping around his ribs. Mythology, violence, devotion. Dragons coiled in mid-battle, kanji script across his heart, a snake curled around a katana. It’s not just body art—it’s a language of survival etched in skin, and I find myself reading every stroke like it’s meant for me.
I spread my thighs slowly, letting him see what he’s done to me—what his presence alone does to me. The thin fabric of my boy shorts is soaked, clinging to my folds like a secret I’m daring him to uncover.
His mouth parts, but he doesn’t speak. Doesn’t move. He juststares—like he’s found the fountain of youth and is too memorized to look away.
I lean back, keeping my eyes locked on his, and run my fingertips down my own chest, stopping at the waistband of my shorts. “Do you like looking at your meal?”
Sho groans, his mouth parting as he leans forward. My arousal slicks the air, and a moan rolls over my lips. Sho, my soon to be man, looks at me like he is starving, and the darkening of his eyes to that sickly moss does enough to make my clit quiver with need.
“Take off my panties,” I whisper.
