21. Femme Fatale
Chapter twenty-one
Femme Fatale
Nyomi
An hour later, Hiroko smoothed the collar of my satin white blouse. “When you love a king who secretly craves submission, you must learn to weaponize every inch of yourself. Including your walk and especially what you decide to wear.”
“Got it.”
She stepped back, tilted her head, and gave me a wicked grin. “Stilettos on marble are a symphony of dominance. Each click says, ‘This is my world. You just crawl in it.’ Put a woman in six-inch heels and the whole room learns who’s prey and who’s predator.”
She circled me slowly, her own bare feet soundless against the tatami mat while mine, encased in red Christian Louboutin patent leather stilettos, stood rooted in quiet defiance.
“Stilettos elevate a woman. They make you taller, more commanding. For men who crave submission—whether they admit it or not—that small height difference is everything. It triggers something primal. Smallness. Obedience. Worship.”
She paused, tilting my chin slightly so I looked her dead in the eyes. “And then there’s the fetish involved with stilettos.”
Hmmm.
For a moment, I thought back to last night and Kenji kneeling before me. The way he kissed each heel like it was sacred, then stroked my arches with worship so intense I almost lost my balance.
He had a foot fetish, no doubt about it, and the man didn’t even try to hide it from his men.
I could still hear his voice in my head, low and unapologetic.
“Don’t thank me. I enjoyed every second of that.”
God help me—I had too.
A wicked smile spread across my face. “Hiroko. . .tell me more about the fetish with stilettos.”
“The arch of the foot. The dagger-thin heel. The echoing sound that makes their cocks twitch before you’ve even spoken a word. Stilettos don’t just turn men on. They undo them.”
I swallowed.
She smiled again, soft and cruel. “You ever watch a man lick the sole of your heel while calling you goddess?”
A nervous chuckle left me. “Not yet.”
“Not yet is a perfect answer, Nyomi.” Hiroko nodded. “Because some men want to be crushed. They fantasize about your heel pressing into their chest. Their thigh. Sometimes their throat. They want to be trampled with it. Marked. ”
My breath hitched, but not from fear.
A flash of Kenji surfaced in my mind—the Dragon, shirtless and golden-skinned, sprawled beneath me on the cool floor. His chest heaving. His muscles tense but offered. And my red heel, balanced on his chest.
Right over his heart.
He would stroke himself for me like that.
Slow.
Intentional.
Hand curled around that thick, gorgeous cock—pierced at the crown with that gold rose he never let anyone see but me.
I could almost hear his breath, the way it deepened just before he came, how his hips would lift as if trying to worship me with his release.
White semen spilling over the gold rose’s petals.
Him looking up at me—mouth parted, eyes blown wide with lust and devotion .
Hiroko stepped back, her gaze slicing over me and testing for softness. “You’re almost ready.”
“Not quite.” Zo got in front of me.
I eyed him. “What needs to be fixed?”
Zo moved in without a word. His eyes narrowed in full mission mode.
His fingers went straight to my blouse, tugging it down with a sharp snap that made the fabric settle tighter against my body.
The white satin was just sheer enough for the black lace of my bra to show through in the right light.
Anyone could see the fullness of my breasts beneath it, the way they shifted ever so slightly with every breath, every move.
“I’ve got it.” He unfastened the top three buttons. “This blouse is dangerous. That little peek of lace? Men will be thinking about it for weeks. Especially when the girls jiggle like that. Make them bounce like you do.”
I smiled. “Like I do?”
He gave me a wink. “You know what I’m talking about. That was one of the ways you got me long ago. Do not pretend that you didn’t.”
I laughed.
He stepped back and studied me with a tilted head and a satisfied smirk. “There. That’s it. Just enough skin to make them risk sin. Not too much to make it easy.”
The neckline now dipped lower, just past modesty and into temptation—cleavage sculpted, the shadows between my breasts teasing with every small, natural shift. My bra lifted them just right. The lace caught the light.
Zo whistled. “Your breasts are lethal.”
“I must agree.” Hiroko nodded. “Now look in the mirror, Nyomi.”
I turned and drank myself in.
Damn. I’m a femme fatale.
Zo had painted my lips a deep lush plum. The color made my dark brown skin look like velvet lit from beneath—molten, dangerous, alive.
Smoked shadow ringed my eyes. The liner pulled into a razor-fine wing. My lashes curled upward, thick and fluttering, while my cheekbones were contoured to perfection.
My 4C curls had been swept into a sculpted power bun, tight and regal at the crown. Not a single coil out of place.
The blood-red patent leather stilettos gleamed—slick as a fresh wound. The toe, vicious. The arch, obscene. The red sole—Christian Louboutin's wicked signature.
My black pencil skirt hugged my hips. The slit was high enough to hint at ruin. When I walked, it would show a flash of my thigh.
Above it, my white satin blouse clung sheer against my dark brown skin—soft, feminine, and dangerous .
The black lace bra underneath didn’t just show.
It performed .
My breasts shifted subtly as I moved, full and proud, commanding attention without apology.
I didn’t look like someone headed to a meeting.
I looked like the reason meetings were called.
Hiroko stepped behind me. “When you walk into that war room, they will not see Kenji’s woman. They will see their Queen entering.”
Their Queen?
Those two words echoed in my ears, settling in the darkest corner of my mind.
I stared at my reflection, suddenly seeing more than just my killer outfit and sexy heels. There was a spark in those smoky-ringed eyes, a glimmer of something I had not seen before.
I let out a shaky breath, tasting the sweet, heavy scent of wealth and power that clung to the space.
Zo gave one last approving nod, then spun on his heel with a wink, and headed off. “My work here is done. You two play nice.”
I quirked my brows. “Where are you going?”
He grabbed the doorknob. “I found a weed hookup on the island.”
I blinked. “You what?”
“Mm-hmm. One of the Scales' girlfriends grows her own secret batch. Said it’s a homegrown Japanese strain too. Very boutique. Very elite.” He raised a brow.
“Also, can we talk about how dramatic it is for someone to name their job Scale ? Like… are they measuring things? Do they hiss? Are they into reptiles or justice?”
I snorted.
“I don’t know what’s happening on this island, but I’m not surviving it sober.” Zo opened the door. “I need to smoke or I’m going to fully spiral into madness. This rich mafia energy has my anxiety in a chokehold.”
Next, he was gone.
The door clicked shut behind him.
Silence bloomed.
And then Hiroko stepped behind me again—closer this time. So close I could feel the whisper of her kimono sleeves drag softly across my arm. It was silk flirting with nerve endings.
She placed her palm flat on my lower back.
Firm.
Warm.
Grounding.
“Breathe,” She leaned in. “Let the power settle into your spine. Let it fill you.”
Her touch didn’t move, but it commanded .
I stood taller. My shoulders dropped back. My chest lifted.
She leaned in even more—not touching me, but close enough that her breath skimmed the shell of my ear. “Look at you.”
I shivered.
“If I were ten years younger. . .” Her pause came thick and heavy with everything unsaid. “Hmm. Or. . .maybe if I was just. . .less disciplined. . .”
She exhaled, long and slow, and it dragged heat down my neck like a tongue made of breath.
And. . .I shouldn’t have, but I had to know what was on her mind, so. . .I whispered, “What would you do?”
“I would teach you what real worship looks like.”
My breath caught.
The room tightened around us.
Or maybe it was my body doing that.
Clenching.
Wanting.
Her hand at my back slipped upward a half inch—not high enough to claim anything. But high enough to make it clear that she could.
Then, she met my eyes in the mirror. “By the way. . .this blouse isn’t dangerous because it’s sheer or revealing that lovely lace bra holding up your perfect full breasts.”
I quirked my brows.
She smiled, slow and wicked. “It’s dangerous because you are in it.”
I bit my lip.
For a second, the air didn’t belong to either of us. It just pulsed between our bodies like static before a storm.
And then my mind betrayed me.
I imagined her gliding that hand away from my back and over my hip, around the curve of my waist, then trailing it down.
I would see the movement in the mirror.
The smooth path of fingers trained in pleasure.
She would find the slit of my skirt. Slip through it like silk through a ring. Her hand would be cool at first, then hot—moving with that dangerous grace only women who’d been taught to please truly possessed. She’d press her palm right where the lace hugged my pussy tight.
And then. . .
My thighs clenched at the thought of her fingers brushing over my black panties, finding the heat beneath, rubbing my clit slow and precise—never looking away from my reflection.
She wouldn’t need to ask what I liked.
A woman like Hiroko would already know. I bet she could make me cum without a word. Right there in six-inch heels and a white satin blouse, with her lips an inch from my ear, and my face undone in the glass.
My moan would be quiet.
But my body wouldn’t lie.
I swallowed.
Hard.
A shiver crawled up my spine like a warning—or a dare.
And then I shut the thought away. Sealed it in some velvet box in the back of my head. Because that kind of fantasy didn’t belong to this moment.
And my heart already belonged to a man who would kneel before me in worship, and kill for me in the same breath.
Plus, Kenji didn’t just own my body.
He possessed my heart.
I was too far gone to ever come back or ever. . .stray.
As if hearing my thoughts, she cleared her throat.
“Anyway. . .” Hiroko’s hand lifted from my back. Then she stepped away, adjusted the jade ring on her finger, and let out the softest sigh. “I didn’t survive this long by trying to steal what monsters would burn the world to protect.”
We both let out a nervous laugh together, returning to our rightful places—dominatrix student and teacher.
“Nyomi, it is clear you look the part. A little too well. I nearly went off-mission just now. And that never happens.”
We both let out another nervous laugh together.
Hiroko took another step back. “We all have our jobs during this war.”
I eyed her. “What is yours?”
“This morning before the explosions. . .Kenji asked me to monitor the temperature outside this island. He wanted to know the underworld perception as well as chatter among allies and enemies. I’m honored. It tells me that he trusts me to catch signals even his other Ears might miss.”
She brushed the front of her kimono down. “Only a few of us on this island have phones. Fewer still have signal strength. Mine is connected through an encrypted relay—not perfect, but enough to hear when Tokyo’s criminal network flinches.”
That caught me off guard. “And has it been flinching?”
Hiroko’s smile faded, replaced by something cool and assessing. “Several of the Fox’s allies have already fled Japan. Disappeared less than two hours after the bombs went off. Private jets. Quiet, quick departures. No statements to their men.”
She held my gaze. “Those actions. . .it says that they think their friend, the Fox is going to lose this war. . .and they don’t want the Dragon coming for them when the smoke clears.”
My breath tightened.
She tilted her head. “That’s how power works. No one wants to be the last one standing when a monster falls. Everyone scrambles to prove they were never really that close.”
She let the words hang for a beat, then smoothed her sleeves. “Anyway. . . Back to your part in the war.”
I cleared my throat. “Okay.”
“Before you walk down that hall, there are a few things you need to remember.”
I straightened, heartbeat thudding.
“Number one, never walk fast. Fast is what prey does when it senses danger. You are not prey.”
I nodded.
“Walk slowly. Make them wait. Every step should click and echo with entitlement.”
She moved to my side but kept space between us. “Let your hips move, but never wiggle. This isn’t a playground—it’s a throne room. Your body must speak power, not playfulness.”
“Got it.”
“Three. When you enter the war room, never look for a seat or place to stand. Let the room rearrange itself around you.”
The words tightened deep in my chest. I could already feel it—that instinct to scan for a chair or chill in the shadows, to make myself small.
No more.
“Four. When you arrive at the war room, pause before the threshold. This lets them feel you before they see you. It makes the air shift before you enter and trigger all of them to inhale you.”
I swallowed.
“Five. Don’t smile unless you mean to kill.”
That one made my lip twitch.
“Men don’t deserve your warmth unless they’ve earned it. Let them wonder if they’re worthy.”
She circled me. “Six. Your silence should be louder than their voices. Don’t compete with their noise. Drown them in stillness.”
My breath deepened.
“Seven. Men talk too much when they’re nervous. Let them. They’ll reveal more than you ever need to ask.”
I closed my eyes for a second, feeling her words brand themselves beneath my skin.
“Eight. Always enter with the energy of a woman who knows her lover would die for her.”
My eyes fluttered open.
That one hit hard.
Because I did know.
Kenji would burn cities for me. Bleed countries. Slaughter his father. And that was a kind of power I hadn’t fully dared to hold.
Not until now.
“And nine. . .remember this. . .a room full of powerful men is just a room full of little boys who were never properly loved.”
My stomach flipped.
My blood surged.
“Are you ready, Nyomi?”
“Yes.”
“Then, it is time.”
Fuck. Am I going to pull this off?