Let Me Read You In — Terms of Devotion

Welcome to Let Me Read You In, where you can hear a chapter of my novels before choosing which world you want to enter.

This is Terms of Devotion, a Lady Chatterly's Lover retelling, by me, Tierra Cox.

If this chapter catches you, you can find the full book on Amazon or Noir Pages. (starting July 10)

Now, let me read you in.

Check out my previous chapters

The Yakuza's Jewel

Jopok Romance

Transcript

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Welcome to Let Me Read You In, where you can hear a chapter of one of my novels before choosing which world you want to enter. This is Terms of Devotion, a Lady Chatterley's lover retelling about what it means to be in love and to be loved. By me, Tiara Cox. If this chapter catches you, you can find the full book on Amazon or Noir Pages. If you're on my website right now, click the button down below. Now, let me read you in. The takoyaki is too hot and I burn my tongue on the first bite. Lean laughs at me while Kuro hands me a bottle of water. The cap is already loosened. He watches me drink and I feel the way his eyes travel, not greedy, but attentive. Present. They're bickering about the best way to cook the octopus balls, with Lean insisting his way is the Osakin way, and Kuro muttering that he's never been to Osaka in his life. How long have you two known each other? I ask, settling on the bench between them. Seven years, Lean replies with a grin, licking the sauce from his fingers. Kuro's my best friend, the one person I trust most at the club. That piques curiosity in me. Isn't there a lot of competition? I asks. Fighting, guys getting pushed out? Nia leans in, brows lifted. Especially with newer or younger hosts, right? I mean cutthroat is the word. No? Kuro and Leen exchange a look, a quiet one. I can almost hear the gears turning. Lean answers first, serious now. Time in the game gives you leverage. If your face, your presence, is what brings in the big spenders, then you've got pull. You get perks, and protection. Kuro adds, but the guys at the top, the real power players, they can make your life hell for anyone they see as a threat. Lean makes a slicing gesture across his neck. Just like that, you're done. I turn to Kuro. What about you? You've been on the bottom before. Do you treat new guys like that? Kuro shakes his head, but it's Lean who answers. They call him Papa Kuro. He looks after the kids. Kuro rolls his eyes. And they call you Ojisan, which means uncle. Don't forget that part. I laugh. So you pay it forward. One person was kind to me, Kuro says, his voice dipping a little lower. Lucian, an OG host, legend, married a Japanese actress and left the game. But before that, he taught me everything. How to dress, how to speak, how to read a room without saying a word, paid for my makeup kits, made me go to the gym, taught me how to be wanted, but not desperate. Lean nudges Nia with a toothpick. This is art, knowing when to flirt, when to listen, when to be silent, when to stroke egos. It's balance. Seduction and restraint. Curl nods. It's a game, but also a dance. You learn how to lead, but more importantly, how to follow the rhythm of the person in front of you. Lucian gave me that, so I try to give it to. I don't bully. I don't break people. I lick a bit of sauce from the corner of my lips, and without thinking, Kuro reaches out with a napkin, dabbing the spot gently. It's casual, tender, like he knows he's done it a hundred times for a woman he knows intimately. I hate to admit that I feel a pang of jealousy from that thought. Everything is so casual about him. He does it effortlessly, no thoughts, just action. I meet his eyes. Do you want to get out of the game one day? What would it take? Lean answers first. For me? A real woman. Someone who's in it with me. I've saved up, made good investments. I want to open my own place one day, be a mentor, not just eye candy. Curl chews another takoyaki thoughtfully. For love? Maybe, if it's real. But I don't know if it's in the cards for me. He glances at me and smirks. Unless you're trying to tell me you're falling for me. I roll my eyes and swat at him. He laughs, but his gaze lingers. I do have a passion, though. Something outside the club. I think I'll know when it's time. We finish the food, and the boys pack up our spot, tossing wrappers in a nearby bin. The night is far from over. We walk through tight alleyways and glowing shops that never seem to close. A little oasis in the concrete maze. We drink from vending machines, snack on crispy chicken, and take blurry pictures of each other mid laugh. Curl never leaves my side. His presence is consistent, quiet, but unmistakable. He walks on the outside of the sidewalk, holds my hand when we cross the street. When I start to limp slightly, he disappears into a combini and returns with plastic sandals, handing them to me like it's the most natural thing in the world. He carries my heels in his other hand. His fingers brush my lower back, my neck, my hand, little touches that say, I see you, I'm here. And a soft hum starts in my belly. A low buzz I try to ignore, but it deepens every time he looks at me like that. Like I'm not just something he wants, but something he chooses to want. We pass a glowing row of claw machines, and Curl's hand brushes mine again. I glance at him, and this time really look. He's tall, his shoulders broad like a swimmer's, the kind that pull attention just by existing. His arms are cut but not bulky, forearms corded with muscle and threaded with veins that make me bite my lip before I realize I'm doing it. His hands are beautiful, long fingers, clean nails, every motion precise without trying. His skin is a smooth, deep tan, unblemished, golden in the neon light. The blood red curtain of his hair falls over his face, parted and slightly feathered on either side, framing a jawline so finely sculpted it feels almost unfair. His eyebrows are manicured, his lips soft but full, and there's something about the combination of his prettiness and power that makes my breath catch. He's stunning, ridiculously so. I catch myself wondering what he looks like shirtless again, even though I've already imagined it too many times tonight. And somehow, despite all of that, it's his eyes I can't seem to forget. Brown, bright, and warm when they look at me, like I'm not just beautiful but fascinating. A Purikura booth glows down the block. Nia and Lean run toward it like children. Curl sits on the curb reaching a hand up to me. I hesitate. He pulls me into his lap anyway, cradling my legs over his thighs. It's intimate. When was the last time I sat like this? College? My birthday? Maybe that hotel room in Santa Monica. Desmond behind me with his arms wrapped around my middle. The memory stings. I bury it. Kuro is warm, steady. His hand finds the back of my neck, massaging gently. My chest loosens. I feel my form unfurling into him like it's the most natural thing. Like he's been waiting for me to settle into this shape. You tired? he murmurs, lips brushing my temple. My skin feels like it's on fire. No, I just I wipe out a tear I didn't know was there. He tilts my head. Hey, you okay? I'm fine. I hate how small my voice sounds, how shaky I feel. I didn't mean to ruin anything. Look at me, apologizing for intimacy. I've been without it so long I don't know how to act when it's being given to me freely. I've been begging for it, screaming into the void for years, and now that it's here, I'm a mess. You didn't ruin anything, he says, wrapping me tighter. It's been a while, hasn't it? Am I that obvious? Since someone held you like this? I stare at him. He smiles, soft. His brown eyes are like melted chocolate warm and smooth. You're touch starved, Zyra. It happens. Come here. I do. I melt into him. He smells like amber and skin and warmth, and when he whispers, relax, baby. I'll touch you anytime. I feel my breath catch. Our turn for the booth comes. He selects the frame, I pick the stickers. We pose, laugh, touch foreheads. One lets you draw, and I notice his clouds. The tiny birds, he adds, with practiced ease. You're an artist? I ask, surprised. He stiffens slightly, shrugs. Maybe. One more? In the next shot he kisses my cheek. It's soft, barely there, but it lingers, like heat from sunlight even after you stepped into the shade. My breath catches. I turn toward him, slow, uncertain, like the air between us is too thick to move through. His hand comes up, brushing my jaw, then gently tilting my chin. I meet his gaze and I forget the camera. Forget Nia and Lean waiting outside. Forget Desmond's voice echoing in the back of my mind. His thumb strokes the curve of my cheek, and I feel my whole body lean toward that touch greedy and aching. My lips part just slightly. There's a moment, a split second, where it could go either way, where the ache inside of me presses right up against the edge of something real, something irreversibly alive. Our mouths brush. The contact is barely a whisper, just a grazing of lips, not even a kiss, but it sends a shudder through me, alive wires snapping under skin too long untouched. My eyes flutter closed and my fingers curl into the edge of the seat. I feel it in my throat, in the pit of my stomach, in the soles of my feet. A hunger, a pulse, a memory of something I've been starving for and need greedily. The camera flashes, I blink, caught in the burst of light and heat in him. Curl pulls back just a breath away, and his voice is a low tease. That's gonna be a nice one. But I can't answer, not yet. I'm still trying to ground myself to remind my body that this is real, that I felt it, that I wanted it, that I still do. God, I wanted that. My heart stutters. Just as I'm about to say something, anything, he tugs my hand and leads us out. It's nearly four AM when we say our goodbyes. Nia hugs me tight, whispering, let him take you. I'll meet you at the hotel tomorrow. Kuro and I catch a taxi. The silence is warm. He's massaging my foot, thumb pressing into the arch. You come alone? He acts quietly. I look away. No? He nods once. Do you want to go back to your hotel? I should I say, but it sounds too much like I don't want to. If I don't come back, how can I explain myself? Desmond would never believe that I stayed with Nia. I have to get up early. He can see my location. It's too messy. I had a great time tonight, I add. Thank you, Curl. I mean it. I'm looking forward to tomorrow, he says. You ask the best questions. His eyes are hot, his gaze on my lips. You intrigue me, Zyra. Is Curl your real name? I ask, teasing. I need him to stop looking at me like that, like he wants to fuck me in the back of this taxi. He grins, pressing deeper into the arch of my foot. Why? Want to know my real name? Maybe. He watches the way my back arches from the pressure. That's a nice sight. Wonder how you'd look doing that under me. Curl, I push at him laughing, a little breathless. How would I look? Naked under this man, legs spread, body racking with pleasure I haven't had in years. Now the images won't stop replaying in my mind. I already know what he looks like under that shirt. He leans closer. Say my name again. Curl, I whisper. His hand skates up my thigh. Again. I hesitate, pulse fluttering. Curl Good girl, Zyra, he murmurs, thumb grazing the front of my panties. A sound escapes me, half moan, half breath. We can still go to my place, he whispers. Let's find out how pretty you sound. I my body is tense. His thumb is pressing on my clit. If he rubs any faster, I'll come. Do I want to? I need to. God, I want to. The cab stops. He draws back slowly, kisses my throat, and licks his thumb while staring into my eyes. You're wet, baby. Curl smiles and turns to open the door. He steps out and helps me out gently, places my heels back in my hands. Go on in, he says. I'll watch it till you're safe. I nod, shaky, core pulsing with need. I'll see you tomorrow. Maybe in your dreams too, he winks. Good night, Zyra. Good night, curl. You've just heard a chapter of Terms of Devotion by me, Tierra Cox. If you want to read the rest of the story, you can find the full book on Amazon or Noir Pages. Follow the link below for Terms of Devotion or explore the full Crimson Tie series. Thank you for listening. I'll see you in the next story.