Page 210 of The Dragon 2
But the seat. . .
Oh Tora… Yes.
The seat had a discreet open center padded around the rim in black leather. An actual hole for something where a cushion should be.
Directly beneath that seat’s opening was a pillowed cushion as if someone—some man—was expected to slide beneath the throne, place his head on that pillow, and stay there waiting for the person to sit on the throne.
Sit on their face.
I could see myself laying on that pillow, with my face looking up at the hole, ready to worship and serve her pussy.
Tora, if you want to sit on my face. . .just say please. . .
There were even hooks on each of the throne’s legs. Those must have been there to hold down the wrists and tether the person in place.
I knew in that moment whatever was about to happen would be unlike anything I’d ever experienced.
My cock throbbed against my pants. My chest felt hollow and full at once. For the first time in my entire fucking life, I questioned if I wanted anyone else to see me like this.
Even Arata and Itsuki.
My Eyes.
Because the truth was, I still had no idea who I would be in a moment like that.
Surely not the Dragon.
Not the man who controlled Tokyo.
I would probably be. . .Kenji.
And not even my Eyes got to see him. That version of me had remained hidden within my chest the moment my mother and Jobon died.
I put my view on Nyomi.
She had been silently watching me.
Swallowing, I shut the door gently and took a breath. Then and only then did I turn back to Reo.
He raised an eyebrow. “Well?”
I used to believe my Eyes could watch everything. They had seen me naked in more ways than one. They’d stood in corners like shadows while I fucked women into sobbing confessions. They watched my hands twist nipples until they begged for my mouth, watched my fingers curl deep inside slick heat while I talked dirty.
They’d seen my mouth devour clits, seen me drag my tongue over trembling inner thighs just to make women scream my name loud enough to echo through hotel floors.
They’d seen my cock disappear into tight, willing holes—wet mouths, hungry cunts, the sweet, trembling grip of a woman’s ass while I pulled her hair.
And when I came?
They’d seen that too.
My orgasm wasn’t quiet.
It was always violent.
Sometimes it ended with me growling into a neck or slapping my cum across a woman’s cheek just because I could.
My Eyes probably had that moment memorized—that twisted, pleasure-drunk expression I made right before I emptied my cock.
