On this island, ravaged by fish-men for eight long years, hunger and malnutrition were the norm. It was a miracle anyone grew up healthy at all.
When Nojiko placed her hand in Darian's, he felt it immediately—the roughness of her palm, the calluses on her fingers.
It was normal. After Bellemere's death, Nojiko had supported herself and Nami by working the tangerine groves alone. Day after day of hard labor under the sun. If she weren't naturally resilient, her hands would be even rougher.
If Arlong were still alive, Darian thought, I'd kill him again. Making a beautiful woman toil like this? It's a crime against nature.
Darian didn't pull away. Instead, he tenderly caressed the back of her hand with his thumb.
Startled, Nojiko tried to pull back like a frightened rabbit. "Darian?"
She looked down, avoiding his gaze. She felt inferior. Touching his smooth, perfect skin made her painfully aware of her own flaws. Women love beauty, and realizing her hands were rougher than a man's stung her pride.
Darian saw the shame in her eyes. He understood women better now—perhaps another side effect of the fruit.
He tightened his grip, refusing to let her pull away. The crowd watched them, the hero and the village beauty, but Darian only saw her.
Then, he did something that made Nojiko's heart stop.
He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed the rough knuckles, gentle as a breeze.
"Sister," he whispered, his eyes warm and sincere. "Your hands are beautiful."
Nojiko froze. Her face flushed red.
He wasn't lying. To Darian, these rough hands weren't ugly. They were proof of her strength. Proof that she had survived hell and kept her family alive. They were badges of honor.
For a moment, the lust that usually simmered under Darian's skin vanished. His erection from the earlier crowd of girls softened. His gaze held no hunger, only pure admiration.
'A warrior of pure love,' Darian mused. 'At least for this minute.'
Sincere men are always the most attractive. Especially when they are handsome, powerful, and have just punched a tsunami into submission.
Nojiko stared at him, her heart pounding against her ribs. She looked at the man who belonged to her sister, and a dangerous pang of jealousy stirred in her gut.
'Why does Nami get all the luck?'
Seeing her lost in thought, Darian smiled and pulled her toward the bonfire.
The heat from the flames washed over them. Drums beat a heavy, primal rhythm. Villagers danced wildly, laughing and shouting, drunk on freedom and wine.
There were no rules here. Just joy.
Darian and Nojiko faced each other. He placed a hand on her waist; she rested hers on his shoulder. They began to move, swaying to the rhythm in a slow, improvised waltz.
"So," Nojiko said, recovering her composure. She gave him a teasing smile. "Our great hero. Tell me... how did you and Nami meet?"
Darian chuckled. "Talking about another girl while dancing with a beautiful woman? Isn't that a mood killer?"
Nojiko smirked. "Curiosity about a hero's past is a symptom of a girl in love, isn't it?"
She was flirting. Playful, confident, with the mature allure of an older sister that Nami lacked. But she didn't realize she was playing with fire.
"In love?" Darian stepped closer, closing the gap between their bodies.
He leaned down, his lips brushing her ear. "If you were in love... how would you explain it to Nami?"
His voice was low, vibrating through her. His masculine scent—enhanced by the Human Path pheromones—hit her like a drug.
Nojiko's breath hitched.
At first, Darian had been innocent. But now, with her body pressed against his, feeling the softness of her breasts—which were even larger and fuller than Nami's—his blood began to rush south again.
The beast woke up.
The aphrodisiac scent intensified. Nojiko felt her knees go weak. Her skin, slick with sweat from the fire and the dance, glowed in the orange light.
She looked up at him, dazed. Her mind began to wander back to the morning. To the bedroom. To the sight of Nami naked, gripping his massive, throbbing cock.
She remembered the wet, musky smell of the room. She remembered thinking: 'Could I take that?'
Darian saw the change in her eyes. He saw the lust fogging her judgment.
He smirked beneath his mask. Time to push her over the edge.
"Sister," he whispered, his hot breath ghosting over her sensitive neck. "Weren't you the one peeping through the window this morning?"
Nojiko stiffened. Her eyes went wide.
"Peeping isn't good, you know," Darian teased, his voice dripping with wicked intent.
He blew gently into her ear.
That was the final straw. Nojiko's legs gave out. She slumped against him, breathless and burning, caught in his trap.
Darian held her up, a devilish grin hidden behind his mask.
'Gotcha.'
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