Page 27 of The Dragon 1
Suddenly, I was no longer the dragon perched on the cliff. I was the sky tearing itself open to make room for her fire.
I was the predator watching the skilled hunter.
And everything inside me—the control, the legend, the coldness—shifted like plates beneath the sea.
She disrupted everything.
Not because she tried.
But because she existed.
Because the moment I looked into her eyes, I realized that nothing in my empire—no man, no god, no blade—had ever dared to challenge my hunger quite likeher.
I’d been right to name her Tiger.
There was this sharp fire in her bones.
And that smell. . .
That was what undid me.
I tilted my head back and inhaled, still able to trace her scent like it clung to my skin.
Black amber and ripe plum.
I’d only ever smelled it once before—in my father’s study when I was eight years old. A woman had been pinned to his desk, her moan the sound that followed surrender. That scent. . .it lingered through the air as a spell would.
Then my little tigress walks in with that scent wrapped around her like prophecy.
And now here I was—gasping through the throb in my groin and clutching my cock like I might die from wanting her.
She had touched something ancient in me.
Something monstrous.
Something divine.
I thought back some more to Nyomi—my naughty Tora.
Her body was one of a sleek beast that longed to be stroked—harmonious and muscled where most women would be soft and firm.
If I had to write a haiku on her frame alone, it wouldn’t be one compared to flowers or delicate things. Those three poetic lines would have claws and heat, deadly eyes, and the promise of passion with the bite of scorching flames.
Instantly, I thought of one.
Claws beneath her skin.
Fire licks the curve of grace.
Even a dragon would kneel.
I smiled and considered her beauty some more.
Her lips had snared my attention.
Those curves made my cock sit up in my pants.
She had curls for days, long, slinky black ones that bobbed when she moved her head too quickly to make a point.
