Page 112 of The Dragon 1

Silent, Kenji studied me.

My heart ached. “Black women being tied. Restrained. Silenced for centuries.”

His expression softened. “Your fear is sacred and your hesitation is holy. Even on a cellular level.”

I grinned. “Cellular level?”

“Our DNA knows more than our minds do. It keeps the score of all that was done to our ancestors. Their experiences. Their traumas.”

“You’re saying my DNA might carry the memory of shackles and struggle?”

“And definitely survival.”

“Yes,” I let out a long breath. “And definitely survival.”

Kenji nodded. “Which means. . .if the idea of being tied feels dangerous to your body and even your memory. Even if it’s not unsafe now. Your body doesn’t forget.”

I stared into my cup. The golden sake caught the moonlight like liquid fire.

Then he said something that made the world tilt again. “Tora. . .would you feel more comfortable tyingme?”

I looked up, completely startled. “What?”

His expression went neutral. “If the idea of surrendering feels like too much—maybeyoushould be the one holding the rope.”

My lips parted yet no words came out.

My brain tripped over itself.

Him tied up?

The Dragon?

A man that could probably order someone’s death like he was ordering a dinner course?

Him tied. . .by me.

I couldn’t help it. My mind immediately painted the image.

Kenji, kneeling. Muscular and tattooed. Naked. Ropes hugging the breadth of his rippling chest. Those thick arms roped behind him.

Hands bound.

Head tilted back—not in submission but in offering.

God.

My making him eat my pussy like a good little dragon.

Heat rose between my thighs so fast I thought I might shatter.

The idea wasn’t just erotic.

It was earth-shaking.

Because it meant this powerful, deadly man would let me have him.

Thathewould be the one vulnerable.