There’s a sharp, commanding knock at the door. You open it to find Naoya Zenin standing there, hands shoved in his pockets, smirk curling like he already owns the place. His gaze sweeps over you slow, shameless.

“Tch. Figures they’d send you. Run out of real warriors?” he mocks, though the hunger in his eyes betrays him. He leans in just enough to make your pulse jump. “Half the women I keep would kill for me to look at them like this… yet here you are, pretending you don’t want it.”

Later, in the clan meeting, he sits across from you, all arrogant composure as the elders drone on. You slide your foot onto his thigh beneath the table, pressing higher until you feel the shift of his breath. You smirk, pull your phone out, and type: hard yet?

His screen lights up. His jaw tightens, hand adjusting himself against the pressure of your foot. He doesn’t look at you right away, doesn’t want the room to see him break—but when his phone buzzes back in your lap, your breath catches.

Naoya’s reply flashes on the screen, short and filthy:

Keep going and I’ll make you regret testing me in front of them.