Page 46 of The Dragon 2 (Tokyo Empire #2)
Chapter forty-two
Face the Queen
Nyomi
The door opened.
And just like that, the air changed.
My breath hitched.
Kenji stepped inside and the temperature of the room dropped and spiked all at once.
Every candle, every red light, every velvet shadow bent around him like he’d been summoned—not invited.
Like this space recognized him as something it was built to contain but never fully control.
The door shut behind him and he remained there, taking me and the space in.
The first thing I noted was his silence.
The second was his size.
At the dinner table, it had been easier to forget. Between dishes, slow glances, and playful banter, I could tuck away the truth of him—how big he really was, how much danger pulsed beneath all that stillness.
But now, standing in the center of this sacred room, half-dressed in sex and power, I felt it.
The Dragon.
Six-foot-two.
Framed in muscle that moved in a threatening rhythm beneath that black designer suit.
His shoulders were too broad for the shadows to cover. His chest strained the fabric. The line of his jaw was hard enough to cut, and his hair—black, too pretty for someone so merciless—framed a face carved by gods who clearly preferred sinners.
There was ink peeking above his collar, reminding me of his connection to the Yakuza and that he ruled Japan’s criminal underworld.
My thighs clenched.
My breath stuttered.
Still. . .I didn’t move.
Oh shit. What am I doing? Am I crazy?
But then our eyes met. . .his alpha expression broke.
Just a little.
Just enough.
Of course, it didn’t fully fall apart—Kenji would never let it—but that alpha expression fractured .
Like heat splitting marble.
Like a stone face cracking at the corners.
The muscle in his jaw ticked.
His lips parted, just barely, like he was about to say something and forgot how.
His nostrils flared, and a single breath escaped, slow and heavy.
His eyes devoured me. Dark and low-lidded, heavy with want. Hunger lived in them—not the kind that rushed but the kind that waited .
Stalked.
Prayed.
There was a flash of heat, yes. But there was awe too. As if he couldn’t believe I was real. As if he’d found something he didn’t know he was starving for until just now. And it wrecked him—quietly, exquisitely, behind the eyes.
My nipples tightened.
His gaze dropped to my exposed thigh, lingered on the garter strap kissing my skin, and then to my heels.
When his eyes came back to mine, they weren’t wide with shock. They were narrowed —like he was trying not to lose control.
Like he wanted to sin, kneel, disappear between my thighs, and forget the world ever asked him to be a king.
The air sparked with erotic electricity.
I stayed exactly where I was and kept my cape over me. “These are the rules.”
His head tilted, just a little. A flicker of interest—or submission—sparked in his eyes.Still, he said nothing.
I slowly licked my lips.
He sneered watching my tongue.
I gave him a wicked smirk. “You don’t touch unless I say you can.”
A muscle in his jaw twitched.
His fists clenched once, then relaxed.
Good.
My body vibrated with lust. “You don’t lick unless you beg.”
A low sound rolled out of his chest.
Dark.
Dangerous.
Hungry.
My nipples tightened beneath the bodysuit.
I didn’t move. Couldn’t let it show how that sound had shattered me.
I pointed to the floor in front of me. “You will come over but you will stop three feet away.”
He inhaled, slow and tight, his control visibly fraying at the edges. “And if I do not follow these rules.”
I didn’t blink or flinch. “Then you’ll never taste what’s already dripping for you.”
His jaw ticked again.
“And you won’t be invited back to play.”
A pause.
A beat.
His pupils had dilated fully now. His breath came in slow drags as if he were forcing himself not to growl.
I slowly adjusted my cape, parting it just enough to bare more of my thigh.
His gaze snapped to it and I savored the rising hunger in his eyes as they traveled—along my thigh, next, down to the curve of my calf, and then lingered at the slope of my ankle where the stiletto shimmered.
And just like that. . .I knew what he was imagining.
What he was aching for.
What he was dying to see.
The heat between my thighs.
The bare, wicked surprise hidden beneath all this black.
My thighs pulsed. Not from nerves—but from how wet I’d made myself, just standing there, being watched like this.
Craved like this.
“Obey or leave.” I tilted my chin and dragged the cape forward, covering my entire leg.
Closing the curtain on the act he hadn’t earned.
His jaw clenched.
I glanced down at his pants.
His cock was raging against the fabric—thick, desperate, aching. He was hard enough to tear the suit off himself. Hard enough to break rules. But he didn’t move.
And that made me even wetter.
For a moment, the only sound that filled the room was of our ragged breaths.
I watched through my lashes as his gaze flickered between my eyes and my mouth, the tension in the room heightening with each fleeting look.
Then finally he spoke. “I will follow your rules, Tora.”
“That’s my good little Dragon.”
His fists clenched and I knew he was holding himself back from rushing over and fucking the shit out of me.
The heat within me rose and spread like wildfire, flushing my skin.
“However. . .you will not call me Tora in here.”
He quirked his brows.
“On the outside, I am your Tiger.”
“And on the inside?”
“I am your queen.”
Another dark groan left. “Yes, queen.”
I almost came right there. It was so lathered in divine lust and absolute submission.
Holy fuck this feels so good.
I swallowed. “Come here.”
He didn’t walk over. He prowled. Slow like a beast who already knew his prey would never ever escape him. Each step clicked softly on the marble floor.
And I stood still with my heart thundering.
The lines of him—sharp, brutal, elegant—stalked closer until he stopped exactly three feet away.
Right where I told him to.
Yet. . .he owned the space even as he obeyed and the way he looked at me made it feel like I had been the one summoned, not him.
Never him.
And standing there he said nothing, just stared at me with that unreadable expression.
That dragon mask.
That heat-cracked marble.
God, this man is so fine.
My breath caught. For a moment, I didn’t feel like Nyomi the author or even Nyomi the Queen.
I felt like Sol, the dark-skinned powerhouse from When the Dragon Swallowed the Moon , standing in a clearing with Korin above her—wings flared, claws buried in earth, breath steaming against her cheek.
A creature ancient and untamable, brought low to the Earth by desire, but still dangerous enough to burn the world and her down.
That’s what Kenji was now.
Beautiful and terrifying.
Restrained only by choice.
Hiroko’s voice echoed in my head.
“When a dragon kneels, he owns the floor.”
He hadn’t knelt yet.
Which meant I hadn’t truly won anything.
His fists flexed once more, those hands looking big enough to snap bone and tender enough to cradle me too.
He hadn’t touched me but I already felt claimed.
Worshipped.
Marked.
That made my nipples ache even more, made the slit in my bodysuit feel like a live wire brushing my wet heat.
He was obeying.
But he hadn’t submitted.
My voice came out low, “remove your jacket.”
His nostrils flared but he obeyed.
He slipped it off slowly, eyes never leaving mine, the stretch of fabric over muscle so erotic I almost gasped. He folded it once and then let it fall to the floor.
I took him in.
The stretch of white fabric over muscle was so erotic I almost gasped. The broad roll of his shoulders, the flex of his arms beneath that white shirt. . .it made my mouth water.
I could see now that even though I was in the dominant position, I would be battling with restraint too. . .because I wanted him naked.
Now.
I wanted to rip that shirt off with my teeth. Claw through it with my nails. Mount him like the filthy beast he was and make him beg through every tremble.
Mmmm.
I stepped forward, lips parting, tongue flicking out instinctively.
His hands began to rise to touch me.
No, Kenji.
I stopped a foot in front of him.
You cannot touch.
He sneered as if he heard me but then he lowered his hands.
And that simple act was everything.
Good job.
I closed the distance slowly, keeping eye contact the whole way, letting him see what I was about to do.
Towering over me, he looked down.
His chest rose in slow drags.
Then he inhaled me and groaned.
I raised my hands between us and reached for the silk of his tie. He tensed beneath my fingers, his breath catching the way mine had earlier. Slow and sensual, I slid the silk free. Each inch uncoiled.
His jaw flexed.
His eyes remained dark and hungry.
But I wasn’t done.
Instead of pulling the tie off, I leaned in and looped the tie around his neck—twice.
His chest stopped moving.
I pulled gently.
Tightening the knot.
His lips parted in stunned silence and I leaned in, letting my breath fan over the hollow of his throat.
Then I pulled again.
Not hard.
Just enough.
Just a little choke for a few seconds.
Just enough to remind him who held the leash now.
His eyes slammed shut. A soft, hoarse sound escaped his lips—half pain, half pleasure.
And then I let the tie open and unravel.
He gasped for breath.
Sharp.
Broken.
Lust-sick.
He panted. “I want you so fucking bad.”
My pussy throbbed.
I cocked my head like I had all the time in the world. “Only good little Dragons get to lick.”
He groaned like he’d been stabbed in the chest with want. His entire body trembled, just once.
But he didn’t touch.
Didn’t move.
He just looked down at me—ravaged, restrained, worshipful.
And waiting.
Exactly how I liked him.
I slid the tie away and dropped it to the floor. “Where are your Eyes? They should be here because I’m most definitely going to fuck you.”
“My Eyes don’t need to see this.”
“See you beg?”
“No,” a wicked smirk spread across his face. “See you cum.”
Mmmm.
“Little Dragon, you’re going to make me cum?”
“Fuck yes, I am. . . queen .”
He didn’t move.
Didn’t touch.
Just stood there, breathing harder now, his fists trembling at his sides as if every part of him wanted to lunge forward and fuck me until the floor cracked and shattered under us.
That made me wetter than anything else.
I whispered. “Say it again.”
His gaze locked to mine. “I’m going to make you cum, queen.”
“Good, little Dragon.”
His lids hung heavy.
I tilted my head. “But you’re going to earn it.”
“I will.”
“I know you will, and you don’t get to cum until I say so.”
He growled under his breath.
I smiled because this Dragon—this killer, this king, this dark fucking legend—was unraveling at my feet.
My fingers moved to the top button of his shirt.
Slowly, I undid it. Then the next and next. Each pop of the button sounded with a snap of tension between us and revealed more of his chest and then. . .
Oh. . .my. . .God. . .