No Ordinary Love (AmBw Standalone Japanese Mafia Romance) by Kenya Wright

Author:Kenya Wright [Wright, Kenya]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2021-05-04T23:00:00+00:00

Chapter 19

NYOMI

“S o how do you like Tokyo?” Mom asked.

I could still feel Kenji’s lips pressed against mine, taking my breath away. I touched my own mouth and traced the outline of it with my fingers. “It’s interesting.”

“That’s so good, honey.”

Stop thinking about him. That’s the whole reason you’re on the damn phone. Stop it.

I bit my bottom lip.

He made me come in a way that no one could ever get me to try. What should I do about that?

Scenes played out in my head, delicious ones—his hands squeezing the curve of my ass as he thrust hard into my wet center. Me dripping all over him, soaked, and thirsty for more. Kenji’s scent coated me. Even after showering at Zo’s place, I smelled him on me—that sweet fragrance of mimosas in a gentle breeze.

This shit wasn’t the norm. Guy’s colognes didn’t stick to me. I fucked them, left, washed them off, and went about my business. Not this one. I couldn’t get him out of my mind. When I closed my eyes, his face appeared, his full lips forming an O as he exploded inside of me. When I listened to my music, songs meant more, especially the love ones. I got excited and unconsciously began relating them to Kenji and me. When I rubbed my thighs against each other, sparks came and I craved Kenji’s fingers.

I cleared my throat and did my best to focus on Mom. “Yes, this trip has been very interesting.”

There was a thirteen hour time difference between Tokyo and New York. I’d called my mother in the middle of the night my time, which meant she sat on her balcony having afternoon tea.

I didn’t call much. My mother’s moods went up and down. Some days she giggled with excitement from cool crafts she’d learned about. She would even spend the whole phone call going into exhaustive detail about a food festival she’d visited. Other days she held a gloomy tone and wasted long minutes, updating me on her communications with my dad.

Back in the day, when Dad left us and had his young model chick, in the courtroom he sat on top of his bench as if it were a royal throne and needed nothing more. Once the bribes appeared in the news and he was jailed, the model dropped him within seconds, the judgeship was stripped from his shivering hands, and everyone he knew kept as much space between them and him as possible. He’d been labeled bad news. Toxic even. Besides a distant cousin or two, no one else wrote him in jail but my mom.

“How long will you be there?” Mom asked. “I’ve always wanted to go. Why didn’t you tell me you were visiting Tokyo?”

I stifled my annoyed groan. “This is work and my budget is pretty crappy. My whole focus was getting here, and I wasn’t entirely sure if I’d have the money to even stay in a hotel the whole trip. Luckily, Zo is here. I’ve been sleeping on his futon.

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