Page 51 of The Dragon 2 (Tokyo Empire #2)

Chapter forty-seven

The Dragon's Turn

Nyomi

Kenji rose.

Slow at first.

With his face happily soaked in my release.

But he was no longer my good little Dragon.

My humble submissive was gone.

I saw it in the tense flex of his arms, the hard line of his chest rising. He was all golden-brown skin, muscled and inked with dragons and hydras. Art carved from menace.

The rose-shaped piercing glinted at the tip of his cock, slick, flushed, and standing thick between us like a weapon.

Fuck.

I couldn’t even move.

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. “ Your turn?”

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. I am 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. “ You are 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 the inside 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 I wanted to 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.

That big cock bobbed.

Oh damn. He’s going to ruin me.

My pussy clenched just looking at him.

His thighs were massive. Hulking. The kind that didn’t just promise power but proved it. Taut muscle wrapped in smooth golden skin covered in masterpieces of ink.

On his right thigh, another black-and-crimson dragon spiraled upward with its mouth open in a snarl. Flames licked around its body. Smoke curled toward his pelvis like it was kissing his soul.

Damn.

On the left thigh, to my utter surprise, a tiger crouched in wait, mid-strike, crouched in a bed of shaded bamboo and storm clouds. Its eyes had been inked in burning gold and trained toward the dragon.

I stared at the thigh. My voice grew shaky. “When did you get that tiger tattoo?”

Kenji’s gaze darkened. “A year ago, I had a dream about this huge tiger hunting me.”

My heart thudded.

“In the dream, the tiger never pounced. It just followed me. Eyes sharp. Silent. I could feel its breath on the back of my neck. The dream was so real. I woke up sweating.”

My stomach flipped.

“I called my artist over, had him come that morning and told him exactly what I saw.”

“But. . .why put that dream in ink?”

“I thought it was a warning that I should never forget. To stay alert. Keep my walls up. Never relax.” He stepped closer. His cock heavy between us. “But now I know that the dream wasn’t a warning. It was prophecy.”

Oh my God.

The air shifted around us, heavier now.

And then he came for me.

What?!

I let out a sharp shriek, more surprised than fear, as he surged forward like an unchained beast, biceps flexing. Pecs too.

He was so fast—so fucking fast—I didn’t even have time to run, move, or breathe. He reached over in half-a-second and his hands gripped my waist.

The world tilted.

Suddenly, I was airborne.

I gasped. “Kenji!”

My arms instinctively got on those huge shoulders, but it was my legs that locked tight around his waist.

His cock thick and hard between us, slick from my arousal, cradled right at the seam of my folds. It pulsed there—hungry, waiting—but he didn’t move to enter me.

Yet. . .

The pressure.

The wet friction.

The heat.

The thickness of him up against my pussy made my insides throb.

His large hands cupped my ass, gripping it so tantalizingly hard that I knew he would leave a mark in my dark brown skin.

Now we were face to face.

His chest pressed against my breasts. My nipples rubbing against his heated inked skin. His face hovered so close, I could feel his breath mingling with mine.

Hot.

Heavy.

Spiced with the taste of my release still lingering on his tongue.

Then he leaned in a little. His forehead brushed mine, and his nose grazed mine too.

“K-kenji. . .” I clung to him.

And for a moment, neither of us moved. We just breathed each other in. Fire meeting fire. His fingers kneaded my ass like he owned it. His cock flexed, dragging against my soaked heat with just enough pressure to make me moan. “Tora.”

Breathless, I whispered, “Yes.”

“You thought you were going to leave this room without getting dominated?”

I widened my eyes and before I could answer, he kissed me.

Slowly.

No tongue at first.

Just lips—full, hot, claiming mine, lathering it with a vow. My mouth opened under his, and then his tongue slid in—slick, confident, unhurried.

Moaning, I kissed him back.

Harder.

Grinding against the thick length of him, hips moving on instinct. My pussy was soaked, throbbing, aching to feel him inside. I brought my hands to the back of his head, loving the feel of his hair against my fingertips.

He kissed me deeper.

I whimpered.

His kiss slowed again.

Gentled.

How could a man so fast, so strong, so dangerous, also be so sensual?

His lips pulled from mine only to brush across my cheek, then lower—trailing heat down my neck, pausing over the hammering beat of my pulse.

He licked there.

Sucked lightly.

Marked me.

My fingers clenched in his hair. “Please.”

He pulled back just enough to look at me again, yet our foreheads still touched. He rolled his hips slightly, so his cock pressed right against my clit.

I gasped.

“Do you feel that, Tora?”

“Y-yes.”

“You’re already mine.”

“I know.”

“Mmmm.” He kept kissing me, devouring me, nipping, licking, groaning. “You’re not going to be able to walk tomorrow.”

“H-holy shit.”

He pressed me against the wall.

Only then did I realize—he’d carried me across the room without me even knowing. I’d been so lost in the drag of his mouth, the heat of his tongue, the weight of his kisses that the world had fallen away.

The wall met my spine with a sudden chill.

And then there was him.

His body surged into mine—solid, inked, dominant—caging me. His hands gripped my thighs, keeping me locked around his waist. His chest pressed to mine, chiseled pecs-to-soft breasts, and I could feel every ridge of muscle carved beneath his inked skin.

We weren’t erotically joined yet, but my body was already preparing to take him. Already trembling for his cock.

His breath hit my cheek, ragged and possessive.

“I’m finally going to have you.” He rolled his hips just slightly, and my back arched on instinct, spine bowing to his pressure.

“Ohhh.”

Then, with one hand, he lifted me higher while the other grabbed his cock. Soon the mushroomed tip of him slid lower, parting my pussy.

And god, I was ready, despite the orgasm he’d already given me with his mouth.

His cock jerked against my entrance. A twitch—subtle, desperate, barely restrained. But I felt it. Felt it like a pulse through the heart of my pussy, like a warning that something holy and unholy was about to split me open.

I could see it in his eyes too.

The crack in his composure. The raw unraveling of that precise, dominant control he wore like armor. His breath caught. His jaw tensed. His lashes dipped for half a second as if he were fighting himself.

He licked his lips. “Say it again.”

My heart thudded hard. “Say what?”

He pressed forward—not into me, not yet, but closer. His forehead nearly touched mine, our breaths tangled. I could feel the heat of his cock’s head resting against my entrance, thick and slick, the pierced crown teasing my folds like it was kissing me open.

“Say I’m your good little Dragon.”

Oh my fucking God.

The filthy sweetness of that sentence punched the air from my lungs. My pussy clenched so hard. I was so needy, trembling, aching to be filled. I swallowed. My voice shook as the words formed in my throat. “You’re my good little Dragon.”

A low, animalistic groan ripped from his chest, and then he pushed into me.

Just an inch.

Just the thick tip of him entering me.

And my world crumbled.