Page 18 of The Dragon 2

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The line went dead.

Silence swallowed the room. Only the whisper of the engines reminded me I was thousands of feet above ground, alone in a suite too quiet, too cold without her.

And my cock—still fucking hard.

I looked down again.

We’ll pay her back later.

My cock gleamed with pre-cum.

The rose piercing shimmered.

I want her so bad.

I wrapped my fist around the base.

Slow.

Tight.

The ache was divine.

Her voice still echoed through me. That moan. That laugh. That whisper of “good little Dragon.”

God.

My hips rolled into my fist, just once. Just enough to feel the tension ripple from the base of my spine down to my toes.

I imagined her in front of me now but we were in the center of the plane and my men were gone.

And I had her bent over the obsidian table I’d just used to plan war.

Her red dress bunched at her waist.

That perfect soft, fat ass arched for me.

Me—still in a suit—stroking my cock over her soaked panties, whispering cruel promises in her ear. She’d be my prisoner.

My goddess.

My ruin.

Finally, I pumped my cock and closed my eyes, thinking about her some more.

Now she was on her knees.

Worshipping my cock.

Tongue tracing my piercing. Fingers curling around my balls. Her eyes locked on mine, daring me to lose control.

And I did.

I fucked my hand like I was fucking her mouth.

Ragged.

Deep.

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