Page 47 of The Dragon 2 (Tokyo Empire #2)

Chapter forty-three

To Serve, To Kneel, To Burn

Nyomi

His body. . .it was about to ruin my whole calm position.

The more I undid his shirt the more skin, the more muscle, the more ink. Deep black lines. Dark red. Fascinated; I kept on unbuttoning that shirt just to see it all. The fabric parted wider.

Dragons coiled across his chest—massive, vicious, royal. Their scales shimmered with dark red detail, so lifelike they looked wet.

Alive.

Hungry.

Their claws dug into flesh that stretched over solid muscle and their mouths opened in eternal snarls.

The red ink bled into the black, bold and visceral like it had been drawn straight from the veins of his enemies.

There were more than dragons. A hydra was wrapped around his ribs. A full-bodied oni demon writhed on one shoulder. A katana inked into the side of his abs, positioned so that it pointed downward to his groin like a secret threat.

Each told a story of what it took to earn the title of Dragon.

Goddamn.

I didn’t know if I should run screaming out of that room or just start fucking him.

I swallowed hard.

Yeah. I’m not going back to New York.

Not in a week.

Not in a month.

Probably not ever.

The realization didn’t strike like lightning—it dripped in slow, molten certainty, thickening the air in my lungs until I could barely breathe around it.

It wasn’t fear exactly.

But it wasn’t comfort either.

It was surrender that I hadn’t agreed to out loud but my body already had.

My pussy already had.

My pride already had.

And the worst part?

I’d been the last to know.

Zo had hinted at it in his anxious, chaotic, way.

Hiroko hadn’t even bothered pretending. She’d just laughed. Full-throated. All-knowing. Like I was the wide-eyed lamb showing up to a dragon’s den with nothing but attitude and lip gloss, thinking I’d get out with my soul intact.

And Kenji?

He’d told me.

Over and over.

With gifts.

With stolen caresses.

With obsession thinly disguised as strategy.

He’d told me when he’d called me his. When he sent for my panties halfway across the world. When he placed his chef in my kitchen and his name in my mouth.

He told me in every rule he followed and every one he planned to break.

Holy shit.

Even if I made him kneel.

Even if I made him beg.

Even if tonight ended with his sweat on my thighs and his mouth wrecked from obedience.

It wouldn’t matter.

Because Kenji Sato wasn’t the kind of man you topped and left . He wasn’t a weekend experiment. He wasn’t a neat chapter I could close and file away. He was the kind of man who studied you down to your scent. Memorized the ache in your voice. Paid assassins to track your enemies and called it love.

He was the Dragon.

And Dragons did not release what they claimed.

A cold shiver of fear and lust rushed through me.

I took his shirt off, revealing even more.

I thought his arms had muscle but I had no idea how truly big they were.

My eyes widened.

My gaze traced the curve of his bicep—massive, inked with a screaming samurai entangled in thorned vines. There were waves crashing along his other bicep and Sakura blossoms falling down to his wrist.

My lips parted in awe.

I couldn’t even form a sentence. I just stared. How could someone be this beautiful? This terrifying? I let his shirt fall to the floor. Thank God I didn’t show the stress storming through me, but I damn sure was losing it on the inside.

What the fuck? I need Hiroko. I am going to make HIM beg? I don’t know about that.

Hiroko’s voice cut through me like a whispered gospel.

“Remember. Don’t let his presence knock you off your throne. A dragon’s fire is only as strong as the woman who dares to breathe through the smoke.”

I took a breath, reached out and touched his chest. The moment my fingertips made contact with that warm stretch of tattooed muscle; he inhaled like I’d just branded him.

Goddamn. Mmmhmm.

His skin felt like it had been trained to seduce. Satin over stone. Heat pulsing beneath the surface in violent restraint. I slid my hand across the dragon’s ink—over the fierce curve of a wing, down the rippling rise of his pec.

He is. . .everything and more.

His chest moved with each breath but it was barely controlled.

When my palm skimmed the length of his bicep, he growled low and deep. It was a sound caged in his throat that refused to stay silent.

Vibrating with lust, I dragged my nails lightly across his abs making him shudder. “Every inch of you belongs to me right now. Do you understand?”

“Yes, queen.”

I dragged my nails across his abs again but this time digging a little bit deeper so he could feel pleasure and pain.

He shivered. “Fuckkk.”

Doing exactly what Hiroko told me to; I stepped back just a few inches then flared my cape with a flick of my wrist. The fabric caught the air like smoke and flowed behind me in a train of shadow and power.

He didn’t move but his eyes ravenously tracked the motion.

Next, I slowly circled him.

The cape swirled around my legs.

As I moved around him, I dragged my nails across his body—over his chest, his shoulders, the curve of his biceps.

Every inch I touched tensed beneath me.

He didn’t flinch but he breathed harder like each graze of my nail etched a new vow into his skin. His throat bobbed. His fists tightened.

When I reached his back, I let my fingertips trail down his spine and I swore —his entire body shuddered .

Power lived in every inch of him. Not just in the muscles but in how still he could be. How he didn’t snatch me up even as his cock visibly throbbed through his pants.

I moved back to his front and reached for his belt. Black leather. Gold buckle. I flicked it open with one smooth pull.

He grunted.

Good. He’s dangerous, but he’s mine too.

I didn’t meet his eyes. Just slid the belt out of the loops and let it drop.

The clang when it hit the marble made my heart jump.

It made him jump too.

Just a little.

A twitch of his thigh.

I stepped back, needing air. Because fuck, he was so much . His presence. His heat. The weight of being worshipped this hard by a creature born of violence and crowned by blood.

He was still standing.

Still looming.

Still watching me like I was the storm he wanted to get struck by.

For a flicker of a moment—I almost backed down.

Almost.

But I'd gone too damned far to retreat.

Okay. Let’s see.

I looked up at him with a hard gaze and no smile or softness. “Kneel.”

His eyes didn’t flare.

He didn’t hesitate.

He just dropped down to the floor like he’d trained for it. And sure. . .his legs were folded in but they were also positioned in a way that gave him the ability to leap forward and tear a man’s throat out if I whispered attack .

His spine stayed straight, chest out, head high, but his hands. . .those rough, beautiful hands rested on his thighs with terrifying calm.

The silence between us swelled.

The Dragon had bowed.

And not just bowed. . .he obeyed.

And yet. . .

It wasn’t a kneel of submission.

It was a warrior’s rest.

Like he could still kill for me.

Like he still might .

Like he would get up off this floor if he damn well pleased and fuck me into submission.

But that was the beauty of it.

The danger of it.

The ecstasy of it.

Because he’d chosen to drop for me. Not out of fear. Not out of weakness. But because his hunger demanded it.

Yeah. I’m staying in Tokyo.

I kept my expression neutral and whispered, “Good, little Dragon.”

His moan was guttural and laced with ache. Deep enough to quake the floor.

Still, he didn’t move.

Didn’t break.

Didn’t speak.

He just. . .burned.

I love this. It feels so fucking good.

But Hiroko hadn’t warned me about this specific addictive part.

She’d prepped me on how to dominate. How to hold my power with grace.

How to make a dragon kneel. But she hadn’t told me what it would do to me when he actually did it.

When a man like Kenji—six-foot-two of stone, blood, and violent legend—chose the floor.

Standing there, I realized something that rattled me more than any moan or growl could.

He still had the real power, not because he commanded it but because he gave it. And that made it all the more dangerous. All the more addicting.

He had made himself the gift and then placed it at my feet, wrapped in muscle and ink .

God help me; I wanted that gift. I wanted to unwrap every dark, snarling inch of him until I found the softest, most sacred part he never let anyone touch—and then I craved touching it so gently he forgot his own name.

Hiroko had taught me how to command yet she hadn’t warned me that this —his silence, his restraint, his obedience—would tame me too. Would turn my dominance into devotion. Would make me want to earn his submission like a prize I never knew I needed.

Because here was the truth; The Dom may direct the scene but the sub defines its power.

And Kenji Sato?

He was defining the fuck out of this moment—without saying a single word.

My hands trembled at my sides but I didn’t let it show.

He watched me.

I stepped back and then slowly, I opened the cape.

His gaze lifted. He watched the black fabric slither down my shoulders, across my back, grazing my thighs, and then dropping to the floor.

I stood there, bared to him. Bodysuit clinging to my curves. Garter straps hugging my thighs. Skin glowing with heat.

His pupils dilated until there was no brown left—just black, blown wide and hungry.

His mouth parted.

Then. . .his body wavered .

Just a tremble.

Just a twitch of his arms.

And then he started to rise from the marble floor.

Oh fuck.

I frowned.

He caught my disapproval, then slowly lowered again, and bowed his head.

“Good Dragon.”

The dark growl that left him was so loud it made the walls vibrate.

I blinked.

His gaze went to my breasts and how they poked out of the cut outs. My nipples jutted through the air, stiff with arousal and chilled by desire.

I saw the moment he noticed.

The moment he locked on.

Kenji's lips parted. He licked them—once, then again. That greedy tongue flicked out like it could already taste me, like he didn’t know whether to worship or devour.

His breath faltered.

I just stood there, letting him take in the full weight of what he wanted but couldn’t have.

Not yet.

Alright. It’s time.

I turned around.

That low growl hit me square in the spine.

He was looking at my ass, I didn’t even need to glance back to confirm it. His hunger pulsed behind me like heat waves, staring at the high arc of my ass, the way the bodysuit vanished between my cheeks and exposed just enough to make a king forget his crown.

I walked toward the throne and swayed my hips.

When I finally reached the throne, I turned.

Oh wow.

Kenji appeared absolutely helpless.

Utterly undone.

Like if I told him to bark, he would.

Keeping my gaze on him, I lowered myself onto the queening throne.

Fuck. It’s really about to go down. I’m finally going to feel him.

The seat carved perfectly for a goddess. Velvet red and trimmed in gold, the arms flared outward with leather loops, attached restraints. Elegant ones. Designed for wrists or thighs, depending on how filthy the game would get.

The back arched up but the real star was the opening between my thighs.

My pussy hovered right over it.

No protection.

No modesty.

Just my pussy—wet, exposed, and in command.

The slit in the bodysuit had already parted from the motion of sitting and now I could feel the air kiss the lips of my pussy.

It pulsed.

Hungry.

Slick.

I peeked down.

There was a plush black cushion set right beneath the throne’s opening. Perfect for a kneeling man to come over, lay on his back, rest his head directly under my pussy, and beg for release with his tongue.

God. I already know I’m going to be addicted to this.

I looked up.

Kenji was staring at the throne like it was a fucking altar. And my pussy? Like it was the Holy Grail.

I let him take it in.

Let him suffer.

Let him imagine the taste.

Then, I gave him my voice.

Low.

Regal.

Deadly sweet.

“Do you see my throne?”

His voice was wrecked, “yes. . .queen.”

I dragged one manicured nail over and pointed between my open thighs. “Your head is going to go right there.”

He groaned—hoarse and ruined. “Yes. . .queen.”

“Right under my pussy.”

“God, yes, queen.”

I gave him a wicked smile. “And I’ll be sitting on your face.”

He trembled.

“You will thank me for that with your tongue.”

His eyes fluttered. “I will.”

“And when and only when I cum,” my voice dripped with sin. “Then and only then. . .will I consider letting you cum.”

“Fuck.” His whole body shivered. “Yes, queen.”

I watched him. Watched the way power and lust battled in his body, like two dragons warring inside a temple of muscled flesh. I knew for damn sure there had been a few times when he’d almost gotten up and taken me.

Thank God he didn’t because I wouldn’t have been able to stop him. I was too wet and needy.

I licked my lips. “Are you ready?”

He didn’t blink. “Yes, queen.”

My breath hitched in satisfaction.

I spread my knees just slightly on the throne, the slit opening wider. My wetness glistened beneath the lights. My scent was filling the air now—ripe plum, black-amber, and slick heat.

“Crawl to me, little Dragon.”