She whimpered and arched into his mouth and clamped around his fingers below. And suddenly, it didn’t matter that he couldn’t bury himself inside of her as he wanted. He couldn’t stop. All he wanted was to see her come.
He released her breasts to command her in Cantonese, “Ride my hand.” He was so far gone, he forgot the English he’d worked so hard to acquire over the last ten years. “Show me how good you’d ride me if we were at home with a whole box of condoms.”
Then he took her mouth, fucking it with his tongue the way he wished he could take her below.
And she must have understood what he wanted. She ground the back of her pussy into the concrete underneath his zipper as she rode his hand, moaning against his lips.
One minute of this, maybe two, and she was falling apart, just as uncaring as him of Yaron in the front seat.
Han pulled away from the kiss, just to watch her in the moments before the fall.
The look that came over her face as she climaxed for him…it was even better than he expected. Full of shock and awe as if these moments were the most glorious thing that had ever happened to her.
Did she know what that did to him? How powerful she made him feel when she looked at him like that?
The urge to tell her itched at the back of his throat. But then, just like that night in the Champagne room, an encroaching shame shadowed over her glory.
She blinked, then glanced at Yaron in the front seat, and just like that, her awe disappeared.
She pushed at his shoulders and scrambled off his lap. In a millisecond, she’d escaped to her own seat, and she pulled the seatbelt across her chest like a shield against him.
Her timing was ironic. They arrived at the apartment building just a few moments later.
“We’re here,” Han informed her, reaching across to unfasten the seatbelt she’d so firmly clicked into place.
She glanced at Yaron, then opened her mouth to say, “I’m—”
“Don’t you dare apologize to him,” Han commanded, his voice cutting through the air between them like lightning in the blackest night.
There was a hierarchy to The Silent Triad, and everyone knew Dragons did not apologize. But that wasn’t the reason Han snapped.
He wanted her to fall apart for him without apology.
He wanted that…and so many other things he hadn’t wanted before. This woman…what was she doing to him?
Whatever it was, it became clear in the next moment that she wasn’t similarly affected. “Is that an order?” she asked, her eyes blazing with defiance.
Han nodded.
“Copy that,” she replied, her voice tight and bitter. Then she started to open her car door—only to stop when she saw the ruined front of her dress.
He needed her to obey. Needed her to comply. But guilt racked through him as he took off his jacket and placed it around her shoulders to cover up her torn dress.
He was still hard and pulsing, but “the vibe,” as Jasmine would have called it, had disappeared.
“Thank you,” she said. She didn’t put her arms through the jacket, just pulled at the lapels as if it was a blanket she needed to soothe her.
To call the ride up to the top floor uncomfortable would be a vast understatement. Jasmine headed straight for her room as soon as they got inside. She couldn’t get away from him fast enough.
“Jasmine…” he said.
Only to trail off when she turned back around to face him.
“Yes,” she prodded. It was only eleven p.m., early for him. But her gaze was weary as if he’d asked her to run a marathon at the end of a long day.
Whatever he was going to say faded into the ether. Abandoning him, just like his good sense had after one mere song of touching her out on that dance floor.
So in the end, he said nothing, and the quiet settled over them like ash from a bomb.
“I hope you got what you wanted out of tonight,” she said into all that quiet.
“Jasmine…” he said again, this time reaching for her. He always got it wrong when he tried to talk to her. Maybe if he took her to bed, he could force these feelings swirling around his chest into some semblance of sense.
But she backed away from him like he was poison. And instead of accompanying him to his room, she ran to hers.
18
JAZZ
For the sake of my sanity, I had to decide to feel proud of myself the next morning. I mean, sure, I’d let Han finger fuck me in the car with that creepy silent driver of his probably watching in the rearview. And sure, I’d only just narrowly caught myself before letting the guy who’d cut up all my t-shirts fuck me again, no questions asked.
And sure, my body felt weird and sensitive when I woke up the following day. My core throbbed with the ghost of his fingers inside of me, and there was a slickness between my thighs that I never felt before—one that became worse when I touched my breasts, which instantly pebbled with memories of him taking them in his mouth.
Also, there was the realization that I’d have to go ask him for my own rash guard and surf shorts after my morning shower. He was right about me not wanting to spend the money to replace everything he’d taken, and good rash guards with the right amount of UV were expensive to replace in Hawaii, where everything had to be shipped in from the mainland.
But on the upside, I had stopped myself last night. And I hopped into a very cold shower before I could go too far with investigating that slick feeling between my legs. Even better, it was like 8 am. He’d probably just fell asleep. So this gave me the perfect excuse to wake him up.
With that in mind, I pounded loudly on his door. And it was a little hard to keep the wicked glee out of my voice as I yelled, “Hey, wake up! I need something to wear for my swim class.”
However, my shout was met with a calm, “One moment” from behind the door. And to my disappointment, the voice didn’t sound sleepy at all.
A few seconds later, he opened the door with one of my rash guards, and a pair of my surfing shorts gathered in one hand…and just a pair of boxer briefs on his long, lean body.
His hair had gotten a lot longer on top since he moved to Hawaii. He wore it tied up in a sloppy knot that morning, and he even had some stubble action going on. I guess his facial hair was also super committed to making sure this guy looked stupid hot in the morning.
The defined veins in his arm rippled as he held the clothes out to me.
I moved to take them, but he lifted them above his head at the last moment, using his superior height to hold them out of my reach.
That didn’t stop me from trying to get to them. I reached and jumped for the clothes, only to realize what a bad idea that was in a towel when it immediately threatened to come apart.
“I’m waiting for a request,” he said with raised eyebrows when I backed down.
This okole puka…
I gritted my teeth and said, “Please, can I have the clothes you stole so that I can go teach my class?”
“It has been a long time since my last English class, but I think you’re supposed to say may.”
Reminding myself that I’d never get my rash guard back if I punched him in the throat, I tried again. “May I have my clothes.”
He lowered his arm. But only a little bit. “Did I forget to mention yesterday that I expect all requests to be delivered on your knees?”
My eyes widened. “You can’t be serious.”
“Oh, I am very serious,” he answered, that evil wolf grin spreading even wider across his face.
At that point, we had to take a full minute break from the discussion as I called him every name under the sky that I could think of in English, Tagalog, and Hawaiian.
But it didn’t help me feel any better. And when I finally finished, nothing had changed.
He still held my clothes in his hand. And he was still expecting me to beg. And now I only had 20 minutes before I had to be out the door.
But then a new idea occurred to me, as wicked as it was petty
.
He was trying to shame me into complying with his rules, and I was letting him. Well, not anymore.
Without any warning, I whipped the towel off and let it fall to the floor. Then I held his eyes as I sank to my knees and asked again, “Oh great Han, master of all you survey, may your lowly servant have back her clothes?”
Only then did I drop my eyes to the package that was now right in my eye line, and yep, sure enough, it was tented. So close to my mouth, I could almost taste it.
But of course, I didn’t. I simply raised my eyes back to him and smirked as I asked, “May I stand up now?”
Han nodded wordlessly. His eyes were glued to my mouth, hovering so close to his package.
Instead of standing up directly, I made sure to run my breasts up the entirety of his torso. And would you look at that…by the time I came to my feet, he’d lowered his arm, and the clothes were within easy reach.
I took them from him without any resistance whatsoever.
And then I made my voice ultra-sincere to tell him, “Have fun jerking off.”
HAN
Have fun jerking off…
It might as well have been a declaration of war. Over the next few weeks, Han was awoken by a knock on his door and a completely naked Jasmine waiting on her knees outside of it every morning.
At one point, he told her kneeling was no longer a requirement. But instead of taking his reprieve, she’d asked, “Is that an order, oh great Master?” her tone mocking and triumphant.
“No,” he’d gritted, refusing to concede.
He learned to wear jeans to answer the door after that. It was the only way to hide her effect on him—he could no longer stand the triumphant gleam in her eyes when she beheld his hard-on. But that didn’t keep the Have fun jerking off from ringing in his ears.
Mainly because he was most definitely not having any fun jerking off nearly every morning after he saw her. Yes, he’d managed not to concede, but fisting his cock and humping the bed as he imagined her underneath him did not feel like a win.
This was him six days of the week, and the one day she didn’t have classes was even worse. She dutifully went to visit her parents and tend to her father every Sunday. Chen had told him they’d come up with a system where he dropped her off down the block, and she walked in, leaving him to do his job from across the street.
You’d think all that duty would make her less evil, but no. She seemed to take great glee at swapping out the proper t-shirt she wore to attend to her father for one of the cut-off ones he’d made.
He’d been so pleased with his handiwork at the beginning of this Cold War, but he came to regret it bitterly. Sundays were his day off too, and he had too much pride to hide out in his room. So he had to live with the sight of her prancing around the living room in the cut-off tee.
Those rounded globes tempting him like forbidden fruit every time she pulled a glass down from the cupboard or reached for the remote control or did a stretching routine in the middle of the front room because she was obviously trying to drive him crazy. And it was working. On Sundays, he found himself having to cram his cock into his fist three or four times a day.
No, it definitely did not feel like Han was winning this war.
So he was almost grateful one Monday in June when he woke up of his own accord without a knock on the door.
And instantly suspicious.
He didn’t make the same mistake as last time. When he didn’t find her in the penthouse’s main room, he went to her bedroom to see if she was there.
Her door stood open, and he found her bed made with military precision just like the last time.
He pulled out his phone and texted Chen and Yaron. One word and a question mark:
Jasmine?
CHEN: Got her. She started that new camp job today and wanted to get there early.
Han hesitated but had to ask…
What is she wearing?
CHEN: Camp t-shirt. She got a whole bunch of them at orientation yesterday.
Han went over to the closet, and sure enough, there were a bunch of t-shirts with PACIFIC OAHU SURF CAMP printed across the front. There were short-sleeved surf suits as well, folded in a neat stack and placed on one of the wired shelves. Han thought about taking these too but then decided against it.
He didn’t know how much more of Jasmine’s purposefully erotic begging he could take without throwing her down on the floor, and this was the only way to make it stop without letting Jasmine think that she’d won their small-scale war.
Besides, he had bigger concerns than the surfer girl. The next part of his plan to replace the 24K in Oahu would need to be executed soon, and it required his full attention.
So he’d let Jasmine have her new wardrobe. For now.
The Fourth of July holiday found him and his men not partying like most others on the island but down at a warehouse next to the Honolulu Harbor docks, checking and weighing the first shipment of product for the Golden Circle.
Everything went according to plan. And Kukui, the main mahi’ai or farmer who had been chosen to represent all the growers in the Golden Circle deal, congratulated him on the efficiency of his operation.
“K Diamond never showed up until right before the buyer, so we had to do all the quality checks at the same time. And if something was off, we couldn’t just quietly correct it. K Diamond yelled at us because he always wanted to look like the big man in front of the buyers.”
Kukui shook his head with not so fond memories of the snakehead he’d happily parted with back in April when Han proposed cutting him out of the Golden Circle deal. “I appreciate you doing this right and respectfully.”
However, Kukui’s happiness over Han’s much earlier quality check had faded by the time the sun set over the docks.
“Are you sure your guy is coming?” the mahi’ai asked as they stood waiting outside the cargo container with a confirmed half-ton of marijuana to ship underneath his collective’s usual crops to Taiwan.
Kukui had the same laidback attitude that Hawaiians were renowned for, but he looked worried. And with good reason. Han had convinced the local growers to cut all ties with the 24K, using this deal as a starting point for what he’d assured him would become a very lucrative relationship.
However, Lam Yibo was over twenty minutes late for the cash money hand-off part of the million-dollar deal. Han pulled out his phone to text a few question marks.
Lam’s answer came back immediately.
LAM: “Sorry, last-minute replacement. Just found out myself.”
Han frowned at the message. Of course, it was necessary to be vague when they risked using text messages to communicate about deals. But what the hell did he mean?
The answer to that question pulled up in a Lamborghini in front of the warehouse just a few minutes later.
Han blanked his face, throwing on a mask of neutrality as soon as the car’s driver and passenger stepped out. But the farmer beside him stiffened.
“What’s K Diamond doing here? I thought we cut him out of this deal,” he whispered to Han as the two men approached. “And who’s that guy he’s with…you know, he kind of looks like you.”
Han didn’t answer. He was too shocked to respond. The ghost of his father was walking toward him.
So it was left to that ghost to introduce himself to the grower.
“Hello,” he said, flashing a smile at Han before bowing to the grower. “I’m Delun Han, Zhiwei Han’s brother.”
19
JAZZ
However great I thought working at the Pacific Oahu Surf Camp would be, it was even better in reality. I made good, steady money, and I got to teach the same kids to surf from dawn until sunset, three days a week.
That might not have seemed like a big deal to surf teachers outside of Hawaii, but it was such a nice change for me. Most of my jobs involved teaching tourists to surf, and sure, many of them were kids. But how much could you really learn in one session while on vacation with your famil
y? The answer to that question was not a lot.
The closest I’d come to spending the kind of time I really wanted to teach a kid to surf was with Albie. So getting to teach the young people from all over the world at the sleepaway surf camp and guide them over the weeks as they improved was a dream come true—even if I knew both the camp and the school would be taken over by whatever corporation bought it from Bill next year.
Even better, I’d been able to snag one of the scholarship spots for Albie after Mika was asked to come back to Oahu for a surprise second summer of working for the Broken Billionaire. So he was able to attend the camp too.
We were both having a blast…even if I had to avoid all his questions about seeing my new apartment—you know, the Gold Coast penthouse condo that I’d never be able to explain to my sweet but super nosy nephew. Or my sister. She was still asking me questions about the Chinese mafia guy who’d shown up out of the blue last year. And she’d given me some super suspicious side-eye when she found out I’d moved out of our parents’ house.
If I dared to answer any of her or Albie’s questions, there was no way she wouldn’t freak out.
But the camp’s Fourth of July celebration found me feeling happy and carefree. Bill managed to get a permit for a beach bonfire, so the campers and staff got to celebrate Independence Day with a cookout and S’Mores by the ocean.
"Just as the founding fathers intended, I’m sure,” I told Albie as I took him to the office so that he could call his mom on my phone to say hi without the possibly homesick other overnight campers seeing.
HAN: Her Ruthless Mistake: 50 Loving States, Delaware (Ruthless Triad Book 4) Page 13
