Page 65 of The Dragon 2
I imagined it.
Her bent over the grand piano in the suite’s salon. That tight little dress she’d worn on our first date hiked around her waist. Her thighs trembling as my fingers dug into them.
She’d whimper, bite her lip, try to pretend she could take all of me without falling apart.
And I’d give her the first thrust like a warning.
Don’t forget who made you scream.
She’d shudder. Her fingers would curl against the keys, playing nothing, creating everything.
Then the second thrust—deep and ruthless—like a line being drawn down the spine of a war map. My cock would sink in her fully, her pussy already soaked from the way I’d whispered her name in the dark hours before this.
Tora.
Not Nyomi.
Not the name the world knew.
Tora.
My naughty Tiger.
She’d snarl for my cock because she was wild. She'd take it like a woman who was always meant to ride the edge of danger and beauty. Her ass would bounce from the impact of my hips, her back arching, her mouth opening in shock as I fucked her again—and again—and again.
No teasing.
No games.
Just a man reclaiming every part of her she thought she could control.
“You want me on my knees?” I would growl into her ear, slamming her harder against the lacquered wood as her cries echoed off the ceiling. “You’ll have to learn what it means to kneel first. You’ll have to feel what I feel when I hold back.”
She’d nod, dazed and bliss drunk.
But I wouldn’t stop.
Because she needed to understand the kind of man I was when Ilet go.
I’d flip her onto her back, fuck her on the piano’s top like she was made for music, made for madness, made for me. Her moans would be arias, operatic and wild. I wouldn’t stop until she was limp, her thighs shaking, her body trembling with too much pleasure to speak.
Only then—when her mascara ran, and her body bore the memory of every ruthless thrust—would I whisper the truth into the space between us.
“Now you know. If I ever give you the power to bring me to my knees, you’ll understand what it means to carry it.”
Becausethatwas what the Dragon demanded of a Queen.
Then, and only then, would I fall to my knees for her.
And I wouldn’t rise until she told me to.
My body trembled.
The door opened with a soft sound.
My personal Scales entered—three women dressed in deep garnet uniforms belted at the waist. No jewelry. No perfume. No voices unless invited.
In this world, anyone who served beneath me without holding blood, blade, or command were considered the Dragon’s Scales.
