Page 243 of The Dragon 2
That big cock bobbed.
Oh damn. He’s going to ruin me.
My pussy clenched just looking at him.
His thighs were massive. Hulking. The kind that didn’t just promise power butprovedit. Taut muscle wrapped in smooth golden skin covered in masterpieces of ink.
On his right thigh, another black-and-crimson dragon spiraled upward with its mouth open in a snarl. Flames licked around its body. Smoke curled toward his pelvis like it was kissing his soul.
Damn.
On the left thigh, to my utter surprise, a tiger crouched in wait, mid-strike, crouched in a bed of shaded bamboo and storm clouds. Its eyes had been inked in burning gold and trained toward the dragon.
I stared at the thigh. My voice grew shaky. “When did you get that tiger tattoo?”
Kenji’s gaze darkened. “A year ago, I had a dream about this huge tiger hunting me.”
My heart thudded.
“In the dream, the tiger never pounced. It just followed me. Eyes sharp. Silent. I could feel its breath on the back of my neck. The dream was so real. I woke up sweating.”
My stomach flipped.
“I called my artist over, had him come that morning and told him exactly what I saw.”
“But. . .why putthatdream in ink?”
“I thought it was a warning that I should never forget. To stay alert. Keep my walls up. Never relax.” He stepped closer. His cock heavy between us. “But now I know that the dream wasn’t a warning. It was prophecy.”
Oh my God.
The air shifted around us, heavier now.
And then he came for me.
What?!
I let out a sharp shriek, more surprised than fear, as he surged forward like an unchained beast, biceps flexing. Pecs too.
He was so fast—so fucking fast—I didn’t even have time to run, move, or breathe. He reached over in half-a-second and his hands gripped my waist.
The world tilted.
Suddenly, I was airborne.
I gasped. “Kenji!”
My arms instinctively got on those huge shoulders, but it was my legs that locked tight around his waist.
His cock thick and hard between us, slick from my arousal, cradled right at the seam of my folds. It pulsed there—hungry, waiting—but he didn’t move to enter me.
Yet. . .
The pressure.
The wet friction.
The heat.
