THE PRICE FOR HIS NAME
His head snapped to the side.
Across the deck, barely obscured by shadows and starlight, Ichiro had Nune pinned against a beam, her legs locked around his waist, her dress bunched high, her laugh spilling out like smoke. Ichiro’s shirt was gone, his tattoos gleaming under the moon, and the look on his face was pure, savage pleasure.
“You wanted a show?” Ichiro called, voice low and wicked, catching Aziel’s eye with an infuriating grin.
“God, shut up and keep going,” Nune gasped, clawing at his back like she wanted him inside her deeper.
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