Page 55 of Brutal Unionn
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 yourshirt.”
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.
He doesn’t waste any time as I push up my hips, and his fingertips curl around the waistband of my underwear. He begins to peel the underwear down my hips. His thumbs pressinto the curve of my pelvis as he slides them lower, dragging the heat of his hands along every inch of skin he reveals. My thighs tense around his wrists, and he doesn’t flinch—just looks up at me through heavy lashes.
Once I am exposed to him, the cold air only making me more aware of how turned on I am, watching a man— this powerful, murderous man—between my thighs like it's an altar to a goddess.
“Shit, Hime…” he groans, voice raw, breath shaking. “Please let me taste you.”
A slow smile curves across my lips as I watch him, helpless in his desire, worshipful in his need. I tilt my hips slightly, teasing him with just the barest movement, letting my wetness glisten under the low light.
“Mmmm…” I moan, dragging the sound out, savoring his restraint. “You can beg better than that.”
His hands clench on my thighs, not enough to bruise—but close. He leans in, lips a breath from my skin, voice lower than sin.
“Please, Nadia,” he whispers. “Let me worship you. Let me ruin my mouth on you. Please Nadia, Ineedto taste you.”
I lean forward slowly, savoring the way his body tenses beneath my touch. My fingers slide into his thick, wavy black hair, and I grip the roots tight, jerking his head back until his eyes meet mine. There’s no fight in them—only surrender.
“Aww,” I purr, my voice dripping with condescension and heat. “Since you asked me so nicely…”
I guide his face toward the wet heat between my legs, dragging him down with control and purpose. His lips brush my innerthigh first, soft and trembling with restraint, before he shifts and finally presses his mouth where I’m aching for him.
The first touch is electric.
I gasp, the shock of it racing up my spine like a live wire. His mouth is hot, reverent, hungry, but still tentative—like he’s savoring the taste of me before devouring it. I tighten my grip in his hair, yanking him closer, wordlessly demanding more.
His tongue flicks out, slow and teasing, dragging along my slick folds with the kind of focus that makes it feel like a prayer. I bite my lip hard, swallowing the moan rising in my throat, determined not to give him the satisfaction—yet.
“Awe,,” I purr, my other hand moving to his face, my thumb tracing his jawline. “I know you can do better than that.”
