Page 93 of The Dragon 2
“Because that’s where I want you.”
“Naughty Dragon.”
I smiled, but there was no humor in it. Just hunger. “I think about you there right now. In that bed. Alone. Naked. The silk slipping along your body. The scent of your pussy singing in the sheets. . .”
She exhaled like she felt it too. “That’s not fair.”
“I’m not fair. I’m territorial. And I’m trying—very hard—not to fly back tonight and put you exactly where I need you.”
“And where’s that?”
“Underneath me. Begging me to stop. While clawing at my back so I never do.”
Her breath caught.
And in the silence, the statue behind me seemed to lean closer, like it was listening.
I got closer to the lovers. “I had the suite prepared just for you. Sheets pressed. Silk steamed. Curtains drawn. Music curated. The staff was instructed to spoil you.”
“That is so sweet. Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me with words, Tora. Move into the suite.”
“I am comfortable here, Kenji.”
“Yet, you’re mine.”
“Am I?”
“Yes, and that means, you sleep where I say. You wear what I send. You come when I command.”
She let out a low laugh—throaty and beautiful.
My jaw clenched, even as my cock twitched. “Is something funny?”
“I’m not yours.”
“You are. You just haven’t admitted it yet.”
She didn’t respond.
And that silence?
It wasn’t rejection.
It was consideration.
A pause filled with slow-burning temptation.
She was playing with fire—and loving the heat.
And I was the fool lighting the match.
How had I just outmaneuvered the Butcher of France, secured three planes’ worth of firepower, and walked away without a scratch—only to find myself in the hallway desperate and completely unarmed against a woman half a world away.
The Butcher didn’t rattle me.
The Corsicans didn’t shake me.
