Chapter 4

The air in the private dining nook was thick, heavy with the residual scent of aged sake and the sharp, clean tang of wasabi that had lingered there long after the last piece of uni was gone. It was nearly midnight, the city outside the floor-to-ceiling windows of the Omakase sanctuary reduced to a blurred tapestry of neon and rain-slicked asphalt, but inside, the world had narrowed down to the six of us at the low, lacquered table. The rest of the guests had trickled out an hour ago, bowing politely to the chef, leaving us in a silence that felt less like solitude and more like a held breath. I shifted on the plush tatami mat, the silk of my emerald slip dress whispering against my skin. The fabric clung to the curve of my hips, a second skin that felt too tight, too revealing, yet I didn’t dare adjust it. I wanted him to look. I wanted him to see exactly how the fabric pooled around my thighs as I crossed my legs, exposing the smooth, pale expanse of my knee. Across from me, he sat with a stillness that was almost predatory. He had removed his suit