Page 213 of The Dragon 2
I swallowed. “Got it.”
But Hiroko wasn’t finished.
Her gaze pinned me like a blade. “And when he finally lowers himself, do not flinch. Do not shrink. Do not smile. That moment isn’t abouthispower softening. It’s aboutyoursbeing recognized. Remember that.”
My heart thudded.
She came closer, placed her manicured hand over the red slit in my cape, just above the gartered thigh.
“And this,” she said softly. “This moment tonight is not just sex. This is strategy. A man on his knees doesn’t just want to fuck you. He wants forgiveness. He wants to crawl inside the heat and the hurt andaskto be let in.”
She met my eyes again. “And you—my darling Tiger—will decide if he’s worthy of theyes.Remember. You never have to give your body to him. . .you can simply walk away.”
I had widened my eyes.
Then she had turned, as if she hadn’t just deprogrammed all my internalized misogyny in a single breath.
As if she hadn’t untangled decades of warnings, sermons, side-eyes, and lessons passed down from my mother and every other well-meaning woman who’d survived long enough to teach me how to shrink.
Be small.
Be polite.
Be desirable.
Be strong, not weak.
But don’t ask.
Don’t take.
Don’t argue too much.
Don’t be loud.
Don’t be seen wanting.
I’d sat in pews with my knees clenched and my dress pulled down too far, trying to be holy enough to earn love.
I’d swallowed my moans. I’d smiled when I wanted to scream. I’d whispered apologies when I should’ve roared.
I’d gone to church so many times in my life but today—wrapped in leather and satin, collared and bare underneath—thiswas the first time I’d heard thetruegospel.
And it didn’t come from a pulpit.
It came from a Japanese dominatrix in pearls.
And it wasn’t about sacrifice.
It was about the raw holy power of women who no longer beg to be seen butdareto be worshipped.
And all I could think was. . .
Damn. I’m never going back to old Nyomi again. This is me now. . .this is who I am. . .
So as I stood there now, in the room lit with danger and red shadows, leg exposed, desire glistening between my thighs—I didn’t just feel beautiful.
I felt royal and armed.
