Page 242 of The Dragon 2
His tongue had drained me.
His presence now pinned me.
He wasn’t kneeling anymore.
He was hunting.
And I—trembling and breathless—was his prey.
He stood tall, towering above me, and I swear I forgot how to breathe again. Barely three feet of space ran between us. Me on the throne and him in front, baring that big cock.
His eyes bore into me.
I swallowed. “Yourturn?”
He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “My turn.”
I had to say something. Anything. Before I melted back into the throne like wax. So. . .I lifted my chin in defiance, though my thighs still quaked from the orgasm he dragged out of me. “There are no turns, Dragon.Iam the one who commands the throne.”
His smirk was all teeth and control. “Is that what you think?”
A delicious shiver ran through me. I gave him an innocent pout. “Youare the one who begged to taste me.”
“And I will beg again in the future.”
I blinked and almost got on my knees to suck him off. Instead, I cleared my throat. “Let’s not forget who had their tongue worshipping who.”
His eyes flared with amusement. “And you’re the one who nearly passed out from a single lick.”
“Perhaps, I was being dramatic.”
“Perhaps, You were unraveling.”
“No. . .” I swallowed and had to admit. “I was. . .burning.”
“Mmmm.” Kenji groaned. “Burning?”
“Yes.”
“It is true that when you play with fire, you get burned. But Tora. . .” Kenji stepped forward, closing the space between us until the heat of his body wrapped around mine. “When you play with a dragon, you don’t just burn—you get branded from theinside out. You ache in places no man has ever touched. You’re devoured until your soul forgets its name. . .and you’re left wet, wrecked, and mine.”
A sharp inhale caught in my throat.
His words moved through me—low in my belly, up my spine, curling around my throat like smoke. My nipples tightened. My thighs clenched.
What scared me most wasn’t what he had said.
It was that Iwantedto be branded. Wanted to be devoured. To forget my name and take his instead. To burn so completely that all that was left was ash, and his name written in the smoke.
I gripped the throne’s arms tighter, grounding myself, but it didn’t help. I tried to play those words off with a slow, sly curl of my lips. But even that betrayed me because I felt them tremble.
And I knew he saw it.
Fuck.
My body knew before my brain did that he was now in charge.
Then, suddenly, he shrugged off his pants and boxer briefs with the kind of swift, unapologetic power that made my breath catch. One sharp motion—shoulders rolling, hands gripping, waistband down, fabric dragged down too—and then those pants and briefs were just. . .on the fucking floor.
