Her Tokyo Valentine Conquest: An Erotic Short Story by Samantha Egret

Her
Tokyo Valentine Conquest: An Erotic Short Story
    by
    Samantha Egret
     
     
    Published by Chances Press, LLC
     
    Copyright 2015 by Samantha Egret
     
    All rights reserved. Without limiting the
rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication
may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system,
or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic,
mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the
prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above
publisher of this book.

    This is a work of fiction.
Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either
the product of the author's imagination or are used
fictitiously. No reference to any real
persons is intended or should be inferred. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark
owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction,
which have been used without permission. The publication/use of
these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored
by the trademark owners.

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    ***
     
     
    Fuck Valentine’s
Day.
    That’s the thought that kept going
through Akie’s mind the minute the red and pink hearts vomited all
over Walgreens. All she wanted was some fucking cold medicine to
head off this quasi-bird flu shit she had to deal with, and it hit
her right between her eyes. Right where the throbbing was.
Cupid…The heart doilies…The smell of cheap, shitty chocolate candy.
It just made it all worse.
    She supposed she should feel excited
about it this year. After all, she’d just started dating a pretty
cool guy, though she wasn’t really sure if he was an end so much as
a means. A means of forgetting. And of maybe inflicting just a
little bit of jealousy.
    Danny hadn’t wasted any time making
his move the first night she’d asked him out for drinks. She had
just grabbed up his highest profile account at Unchained Records,
where they both worked in marketing under Ned Amara—an account for
a band called Androgynous Punk. Danny was pretty pissed, she could
tell, but she knew that she either had to start making her place in
the Unchained hierarchy known, or she’d be at Ned’s mercy. And she
didn’t want to be at Ned’s mercy—she knew he’d salvage her job out
of some douchy sense of obligation, even if the budget was in the
tank. No, she didn’t want to keep her job because Ned felt like he
owed it to her. She wanted to keep it because she was the best,
even despite him. And if Danny had to lose, so be it.
    This was business, not
personal.
    But then when Ned passed
her that look over Danny’s shoulder—that look that said, Now prove it , his brown
eyes piercing at her through those thick-rimmed glasses he liked to
wear—she knew she wanted to prove it and then some. She wanted to
throw that shit right in his asshole face, so that it settled from
the top of his black pomaded head to the point of his manicured
goatee. So she asked Danny out for drinks, under the pretense of
transitioning the account. He’d dug right in, too. His finger went
up her cunt within minutes of their sloppy kissing. Probably for
the better. Break the ice.
    But then she’d resolved to let it
plateau there for a while. She knew the result of going all-in from
the start, and she wouldn’t set herself at that sort of
disadvantage ever again.
    Her mind returned to Walgreens and the
cold medicine. She made her selection and cut through another
aisle, avoiding the barrage of manufactured