Orian POV
My arms wrapped around her in a deadlock. No chance of escaping. But that doesn't stop her from trying. Always fighting. Always resisting. Something I deeply admire...but now it's pissing me off.
On our way back to the yacht, I left Torin behind; the motherfucker left her alone and now he's ghosting me. Despite his shit, I still left him a car and one of my boys to get him back safely. Along the way, Hadassah passes out. I let her go, her head resting on my lap. Hesitantly, I stroke away a few stray locks. Her skin a honeyed mocha-brown and as smooth as a moonstone, sweeping eyelashes long and thick. I watch my finger trace over her features. But those lips. Puffy and blossom soft... leaving me to wonder how they would taste against my own.
When we arrive at the marina, I carry her out bridal style. A squad of my men following me aboard.
"Phone call."
I suppress a groan. "Take her to my room." We make a trade. I take the satellite phone from him and I deposit her in his arms. "Be careful with her."
He nods and walks away with her.
I stare after them, answering, "Orian."
"Boss, you got a tail."
I crack into a small smile. "The feds again?"
"Sangre y Huesos"
My lips thin into a tight line.
"Gaza's not holding back on this one. He's coming out at full force. I don't know what's in that book, but he even deployed his men in Amagasaki. I didn't even know he had ties on this side. But he clarified that he has no beef with you. He just wants what's his. And the girl."
My tongue skims across my teeth, the corner of my lips curling. "The girl is mine, so that means he's going after what belongs to me. And if he tries, I'll go to his base and bathe it in blood."
I end the call. I walk away, tossing the phone to Akio on my out.
I make my way to the suite, fiddling with my signet ring. When I arrive, I creep inside, expecting to see a sleeping form. But instead. Nothing. Making further inroads, I smile at the whispering footsteps behind me, ducking beneath a sluggish strike. I swivel away, watching a stumbling Sakura face me with teary eyes, clouded by incoherency, but clearly overflowing with hatred.
"You should lay down. And rest," I say, trying to sound as kind as I can.
But she glares at me as if I had just threatened her mother. "Or what?" she screams in a slur. "You'll burn me alive, too?"
"No," I say calmly.
"You'll just kill me," she raves on in a drunken fit. "Like you—almost did."
My eyes drop to the floor. A revolting feeling, alien, one I'm unaccustomed to, clings to me. Encroaching on me and eroding my composure. In my lifetime, with all I have done. I have no regrets...only when it comes to her.
"I will never hurt you," I promise.
"But you did!" she screeches, looking like she wants to try and throttle me again. "You have."
I say nothing.
She starts pacing. Feverishly. She tugs at the straps of the dress like it's suddenly too hot in the room. She starts unpeeling her dress...fuck me.
"Sakura, what you doing?" I ask, hurrying to the walk-in wardrobe.
"I'm hot!"
I go to the left side. Her side. Rummaging through the clothes I bought that are specifically tailored to her. I pull out a random satin nightgown. I walk back out, stopping slowly, my eyes transfixed by the empty drawstring dress that has been dumped on the floor.
Throbbing with raw, primal want. I look up, glimpsing a half-naked Sakura, only wearing lace white panties. Yanked by a violent tug of desire, I look away. Every part of me hardening.
"Sakura, you need to get some sleep."
She moves to me, seducing my gaze to steal another look. Determined defiance flowing with her seamless movements, looking at me from beneath those sweeping lashes. My heart slams against its cage.
"What if I want to do...other things," she murmurs suggestively, giggling playfully. Then she cuts herself off. "I've always wanted to tame a beast." She reaches for me, her fingers winnowing through my hair.
My eyes fall close, relishing in her touch. I seize her wrist—denying myself. "No," I say sternly.
She smiles back at me dazedly. "Don't act like you don't want to."
Hunger gnaws at me. "Want to? I need to. But I want all of you. Not a piece." I take a hold of her jaw, tipping her head back slightly. "I want you to remember the pain... and the pleasure."
She looks into my eyes absently, challenging myself to never look below her neck. I open the nightgown. Grabbing her as gently as I can, I draw it over hear head, pulling it down. And fixing her arms through without seeing anything that would put me into overdrive.
The door opens. "—Orian."
Torin breezes inside and stops to stare like he's witnessing a crime.
I turn my back on him, taking her into my arms, walking over to the side of the bed. And I lay her on it.
"Stay."
Her head lolls, eyes drooping close. I turn around, blazing forward, snatching a fistful of his hair and heaving him out of the room, closing the door behind him. I shove him away with more force than I intended, but he quickly regains his footing.
I stab a finger at him. "Where the fuck were you?"
He slaps my finger out of his face. "Cleaning your mess as fucking usual." He brings himself to my face, meeting me eye for eye, trading glares.
The only man on this fucking planet that can do that and still live.
"You left her alone. You were supposed to watch her—"
"You have more important things to deal with—"
I push him away, his back colliding with the wall of the corridor.
Pointing at him warningly, I take a few breaths to cool down. "There is nothing more important."
Torin lashes out. His strike jerks my shoulder aside. "This thing with you and Gaza is bad for business," he exclaims, getting straight to the point. "Emir. The Turkish arms dealer pulled out, suddenly he wants to keep the plutonium all to himself."
I step back, sobering up, anger receding.
"You two go to war, and your clientele becomes collateral. They don't want to side with Gaza in fear of incurring the wrath of the almighty Orian Moon, and they don't want side with you because vice versa. You have to make peace with Gaza. We have enough heat on us already, cause of the ordeal with Lionel, we have a microscopic lens on our operations."
Rage grips me. "And what do you want me to do, give her up? With the real book destroyed. She's the only key."
"I don't care what you do so long as it keeps other players from entering the game. We're not the only ones who know of and are keen to know the secrets inside those books."
I wipe my mouth with my hand. "Any leads on the link?"
He studies me briefly, overlooking the subject change. "All roads lead home."
I'm one breakdown away from wringing his neck. I take a few breaths before I respond. "Daku."
"He wants to meet. Heard you were in Japan and wants a face-to-face."
"Heard?"
He rolls his eyes. "You know he has spies everywhere. No one of interest docks here without him knowing."
Irritation prickling at me. I nod. "Set it up."
I turn away, but he calls me back.
"Is she okay?"
I barely look back at him. "Set it up."
I head back to the suite, locking the door behind me. My eyes dart to the empty bed, then it flies to the sleeping figure on the long couch in front of it. I stroll over. She's not asleep, just staring blankly out into the private deck. I lower myself, sitting on the ground, my back resting against the seat, facing the view.
For a long time, we sit in a depthless silence. Hollow yet uncontainable at the same time. I glance back at her. Tears spill from her eyes, one after the other, then a deluge follows. I shift closer to be in range, pivoting; I wipe her tears away with my fingers.
"I want to go home," she whimpers.
I say nothing.
"You're worse than him," she whispers fearfully.
"Who?"
She shakes her head, nuzzling her face into the couch before she rests the side of her head on her hand again.
"Tell me," I urge.
"I can't," she says so helplessly. "You'll think I'm weak."
I nearly laugh. "You are many things. But never weak," I admit. "You are." Good. Pure. True. "Everything I'm not."
"And you're a monster—," she snivels.
I've heard that countless times. But this time feels different. I don't like it coming from her.
"—worse than...Sidorov. I didn't think...that was...possible."
I look back at her. Her eyes closed. Finally knocked out. I claim this moment to marvel at her silently. My eyes venturing all over her like a precious jewel I can't touch but can only fantasise about having. Even though all my life I took what I wanted, and nothing could stop me. With her, I'm overpowered by the need to earn her. Even though a part of me knows. I'll never deserve such a treasure.
My gaze exploring her body, the nightgown mid-length, her thighs painted with ferocious streaks, tiger stripes rippling across her skin wildly, echoes of a borne warrior. Which is who she is. A fighter. Pulled from the reverie, I stand up. Slipping out my personal phone, I input one word. Sidorov. Placing it back in my pocket, I lean over, gathering her in my arms, going back to the bed once again. I lay her down. I move away—fingers latch onto my wrist. A feeble grip, but still holding, not willing to let go.
She tugs at me, her eyes still closed. I allow myself to follow, conceding to her half-conscious instruction. She grips my hand and pulls my arm across herself like she's drawing a blanket over her. She holds my hand to her chest, my forearm pressed against her perky breast.
I try to pull away again, but she won't let me.
"Stay," she mumbles.
"....Always."