Page 4 of The Dragon 2 (Tokyo Empire #2)

Chapter three

A Weapon of Mass Seduction

Nyomi

The sound of running water and a faint hum drifted through the paper-thin walls.

Zo was in the shower. Singing something old-school and soft—Al Green maybe, or Donny Hathaway. One of those soul-soaked, voice crooners that always made the morning feel like honey on warm bread.

He wasn’t mad.

Thank God.

That man had the right to be annoyed; hell, I deserved a lecture after waking him up at damn near five a.m. with a phone call so loud and intense I probably radiated heat through the walls.

But Zo was humming, not stomping.

No passive-aggressive door slams.

No throat-clearing behind his bedroom door.

Just humming and steam.

I’ll have to be quieter when I talk to Kenji next time.

I let my head fall back against the futon mattress, exhaling the tension I hadn’t realized was still clinging to my shoulders.

The white ceiling fan whirred above.

My thighs were still slick, my pulse still skittering in places it had no business doing gymnastics.

That dream.

That voice.

That man.

Mmmm.

Kenji wasn’t just under my skin—he was stitched into it.

And I hated how much I liked it.

My phone buzzed on the mattress beside me.

Who’s that?

Blinking, I reached for it and then brushed my thumb across the screen.

A notification stared up at me.

One New Image from the Dragon?

I quirked my brows and tapped the screen.

What did he send me?

A loading image popped up, and it took its sweet time loading.

One slow, teasing swirl of buffering light, spinning like it had all the time in the world while I lay there… aching for Kenji and too damned curious for my own good. My thumb hovered near the edge of the screen, ready to swipe back, to close it, to not look—but my body didn’t get the memo.

What is it? A photo of his face? Of Paris at sunrise? No way.

Kenji wasn’t the “look at the city’s skyline” type of guy.

My heart tapped against my ribs, bracing for impact.

Another pause.

The loading bar ticked one more notch.

God, what are you doing to me, Dragon?

I tilted the phone, like that might make it go faster, even though I knew damn well it wouldn’t.

Then, I saw the image and screeched.

OH SHIT!!

My phone slipped from my hand like it had shocked me, landing face-up on the futon beside my thigh.

“Jesus!” I grabbed the sheet and covered my face, even though no one was in the room to witness my breakdown. “This man is insane!”

But even as I scolded him in my head, I was already reaching for the phone again, my fingers greedy with curiosity and heat.

But damn!

I picked it up slowly like it was holy.

And Lord, it was.

Because there on the screen—centered, framed like a damn art piece—was Kenji’s cock.

Very fucking big.

Super thick.

Smooth.

Beautiful.

And exquisitely pierced.

At the tip of his swollen cock’s head, right where soft pinkish-tan skin turned into a flushed crown, was a delicate gold rose.

Not gaudy.

Not crude.

Just absolutely elegant.

The petals were sculpted—refined, almost too beautiful to be real. Not a cheap barbell or edgy punk ring, but a piece of luxury art on his cock.

The contrast made my breath hitch.

I stared at the picture, and my heart fluttered in my chest.

Every inch of that cock screamed powerful.

I thought back to our phone conversation. I could still hear his voice in my head—low, sinful, and smug as hell.

"Tell me, Tora. . .when you imagined my cock in your dream, did you happen to envision a piercing?"

“A piercing?”

And he—God help me—had purred. “Yes.”

I’d laughed. “No. . .do you. . .have one on your cock?”

“I do. And you’ll find your G-spot will like it very much.”

“I want to see it.”

Then he’d groaned. “Careful, Tora. You’ll have a hundred pictures of my cock sent to your phone before we even hang up.”

I’d laughed again.

And now, lying there with my phone still buzzing in my hand, I chuckled for real —one of those belly-deep, oh-girl-you-asked-for-this laughs. Because damn it, I really had to be careful with Kenji from now on.

The man didn’t bluff.

He didn’t tease.

The Dragon delivered.

He hadn’t even sent a thirsty bathroom pic.

No cluttered background.

No shadowed angles.

He had taken this photo intentionally. Like a man who knew the image of his cock would take root in my mind and live there rent-free until I saw him again.

Fuck. This man is no joke.

The lighting glinted off the gold rose. A bead of pre-cum glistened at the tip—caught between the petals like dew on a flower just after rain.

Oh my God.

I dragged my fingers across the screen.

Not to zoom.

Just to touch .

I whispered, “Nyomi, you’ve officially lost your mind.”

But I didn’t stop.

My eyes dropped lower, tracing the thick shaft, the veins that pulsed with restrained hunger, the way his skin was flushed with arousal but not desperate. Even in this rawness, he was in control.

Almost .

And somehow, that was worse.

Or better?

I wasn’t sure anymore.

I imagined kneeling in front of him, reaching out with one trembling hand, pressing my thumb to that gold rose and whispering. “Does it hurt?”

He’d probably growl, low and rough. “Not if you’re gentle, Tora.”

Gentle?

I’d be anything but .

My thighs clenched involuntarily, and I let out a shaky exhale.

This man is not safe.

I grinned.

He was a weapon of mass seduction and he had sent me the proof wrapped in gold and temptation. But beyond the shock and lust. . .was something deeper. Something that made my fingers pause on the screen.

Because only a man who had suffered would mark himself this way. Would adorn pain with beauty. Would carry a rose at the tip of his cock—not for vanity, but as a symbol of emotion buried in shadow.

I studied that piercing with less lust and more thought.

Perhaps, that rose wasn’t just about sex or power. That little gold bloom forged through the most sensitive part of a man’s body—pierced into flesh, where pain wasn’t just possible, it was guaranteed.

There was no way it was about shock value nor attention.

That rose was intimate.

Hidden.

Meant for someone worthy enough to see it.

To feel it.

And I realized something I hadn’t dared to wonder until now.

Wait a minute.

Maybe Kenji didn’t just want to dominate me. Perhaps, somewhere under all that power and fire and sharp-jawed ruthlessness. . .he wanted to be undone too.

On his knees.

In rope.

With my fingers curled in his hair and my voice telling him to beg.

He got hard from my dream. From the idea of me sitting on a throne, of him kneeling, mouth open and desperate. I didn’t think that was just regular arousal. It could be his desire for a kind of surrender. Not weakness—but a craving to trust someone enough to fall apart.

And that someone. . .might be me.

But can I do that?

I’d never been the one to lead like that. Not in bed. Not with men. I was the soft one. The sweet one. The one who gave and gave until I broke into pieces in my own damn hands.

But Kenji wasn’t asking for my softness.

I thought back to his note in the fantasy book he’d given me.

To the one who made me lose my breath.

—K

Call me crazy, but I was suddenly realizing that Kenji wanted heat, hunger, and someone who could scorch him back.

And God help me. . .I yearned to see what it felt like to take a man like that—to really take him.

Not just lie beneath his body.

But command him.

Direct him.

Break him open and make his cock sing for me.

And I had the feeling. . .he might beg me for that, too. And maybe, just maybe, he needed someone who could understand that.

My thumb hovered over the screen again. I wanted to send something back—something that said, I see you. That I wasn’t just shocked or aroused.

I was moved.

And that scared me most of all.

Because lust is easy.

Temporary.

Fleeting.

But this?

This was something else.

My pulse fluttered at my throat as I stared at the image again, and imagined all the ways that piercing could feel.

Against my clit.

Rubbing slow and deliberate as he pushed into my pussy.

Deep.

Smooth.

Patient.

Then rough.

Unforgiving.

Grinding that smooth metal right where I needed him most.

Oh fuck.

I squeezed my thighs tighter, biting my lip.

This was unfair.

He wasn’t even in the country, and I was already wrecked.

From a picture.

What would happen when it was real?

When that cock—pierced and proud—slid into my pussy and pressed into my softness with that brutal gentleness only he seemed to master?

Would I sob?

Would I come undone the way I had in the dream?

Would I even survive it?

“Holy shit,” I stared at the screen like it held my fate.

From the bathroom, Zo’s humming turned to singing. "Love and happiness. . ."

I laughed softly to myself and clutched the phone to my chest like it could stop my heart from pounding so hard.

Kenji Sato had ruined me.

Even from thousands of miles away.

Even through glass and pixels and forbidden timing.

And I hadn’t even touched him yet.

What would happen when I finally did?

When his cock was inside me and his hands were on my waist and his voice was growling in my ear. “Now you’re mine, Tora.”

That thought?

That thought made everything inside me clench with heat even more.

This man was dangerous.

To my heart.

My sanity.

My control.

But the worst part?

I wanted to lose.

To hand it all over.

To kneel before him like he had knelt for me in that dream and whisper, “ Break me open. Make me bloom. ”

Because he wasn’t just a dragon.

He was my Dragon.

And once I did that. . .I would fucking make him kneel for me.

Now all I had to think about was. . .how would I respond.