Page 81 of The Dragon 1
You’re mine.
Swallowing, I sat down slowly and as I settled in, my gaze swept the grove. The stage. The petals. The empty seat across from mine.
Because somewhere in this moonlit garden—even if I couldn’t see him yet—the Dragon was watching.
I was no longer just his guest.
I was beingkept.
Possessed.
Cherished in that terrifyingly, beautiful way that only a man withrealpower can do.
The sort that didn’t beg.
Or chase.
The kind that built a kingdom for you and waited for you to step inside—then quietly locked the door behind you.
What the fuck did I just get myself into?
I wasn’t used to that at all.
As a Black woman, I was used toearningevery ounce of affection.
To proving I was worthy.
To being the one who poured out softness without always getting it back.
To being loved in fragments, conditionally, or not at all.
So sitting here—surrounded by impossible beauty, with two lethal men guarding me like I was gold—it twisted strange sensations into my chest. Because for once. . .I wasn’t chasing safety or negotiating my worth or even being asked to shrink, serve, orwait.
I was being kept.
Deliberately.
That realization didn’t just hit me.
Itwreckedme.
My throat tightened. My eyes stung—not with tears, but withshock.
It was all overwhelming.
And. . .a little addictive.
Where are you, Mr. Dragon?
A shiver ran down my spine.
I scanned the space some more.
Surely, you’ve left your lair by now. Or maybe. . .
I pursed my lips together.
Maybe, you’re just waiting for me to realize I never left it at all.
