Total pages in book: 111
Estimated words: 115388 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 577(@200wpm)___ 462(@250wpm)___ 385(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115388 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 577(@200wpm)___ 462(@250wpm)___ 385(@300wpm)
“And then,” she said like it was the climax of a symphony. “Five-cheese mac and cheese. Cheddar. Gouda. Mozzarella. Jack. Cream cheese.”
I stared at the tray.
It was a fucking painting. Burnished golds—glistening, bubbly, and textured with crisped edges. “This is what Reo needed to check for poison. Isn’t it?”
She chuckled. “Yes. He had to get a second helping just to make sure the poison wasn’t in there.”
“I bet he did.” I frowned.
The jazz hummed.
I forked a portion of the mac and cheese onto my plate, the cheesy strands pulling apart in an intoxicating display of decadence. My mouth watered with anticipation.
Nyomi watched me, and for a moment, I forgot everything I was.
The heir.
The predator.
The Dragon.
All that fell away, one molten layer at a time.
Groaning, I took a spoonful of the macaroni and cheese and the moment it hit my tongue. Creamy didn’t even begin to describe it. Cheddar hit first. Sharp. Then smoky gouda. Then mellow cream cheese. The top? Crisped like it’d been kissed by fire.
I closed my eyes and let it melt on my tongue, chewing slowly, savoring every bite. “Tora. . .I don’t know whether to thank you or propose.”
“Saying thank you is enough.”
“I am not sure it is.”
“Well. . .then keeping on being a good little Dragon.”
That possessive fire roared inside me.
I sat there stunned, fork still in hand, the taste of the five cheeses coating my tongue like a benediction.
Good, little Dragon. . .
The words pulsed in my chest.
I licked my lips. "Say that again."
“I will only say it when you’ve earned it.”
My cock twitched. My throat went dry. I set my fork down. "What do I have to do to keep being your good little Dragon?"
"Stay over there. Keep your hands to yourself. Finish your plate. Compliment the chef and don’t growl unless I tell you to."
"And if I do all that?"
"Maybe, I’ll give you a reward."
"What kind of reward?"
"A surprise."
"What kind of surprise?"
"The kind you’ve been dreaming about since I licked my lips."
A low groan escaped me again—uncontrollable, filthy, and raw. I gripped the edge of the table so hard the wood creaked.
Tora. Tora. Tora.
I sank deeper into the chair, chewing all but stopped, breath heavier than it should’ve been.
A faint laugh broke through the jazz behind us—someone in the band must have missed a note, the sax player chuckled it off like an inside joke.
Still, the room had no idea what was happening at our table. No idea that a man like me was falling—hard—with a fork in one hand and his soul in the other.
I blinked and looked back at her.
And she lowered her view to where I was gripping the table. “We should discuss something.”
“What?”
“We need a safe word.”
Shock rocked me to my core.
A fucking safe word?! Tora. . .what are you doing to me?
Chapter thirty-eight
The Safe Word
Kenji
The macaroni still coated my tongue, heavy and warm. But that one sentence Nyomi had said—We need a safe word—had cracked something open in me I didn’t even know I’d sealed.
A safe word.
That meant exactly what I thought it meant. She wasn’t teasing anymore. This wasn’t a kiss. Or even the taste of her pussy. This was surrender and reckoning.
This would be deeper.
Bigger.
I stared at her across the table, the golden glow of candlelight flickering over her collarbones. Her red leather gown clung to her like it’d been poured on, and her curls framed her face like a halo.
She was not only the fucking end of me but the beginning too.
She was ready to wear the crown and sit beside me on the throne.
She just had no fucking idea.
My cock throbbed again—more exhausted than hard—but still pulsing like it needed her to understand. Like it had one last prayer.
My body had already been humming from the meal, from the scent of her skin—black amber and ripe plum—and from the way her voice dipped every time she teased me.
But now there was something else curling behind my ribs.
Fear.
I’d fantasized about BDSM before. Plenty of times. Ever since I walked in on my father choking his mistress in his study while she came all over his hand. She’d looked like she was flying, shaking, and sobbing with bliss.
And my father—so cold, so cruel—had looked proud. Like he owned every sound in that room.
Years later, there was Lya in that villa in Spain. Older than me. Sexually merciless. Silk in her hands, rope around my throat, riding me like I was hers to break. She straddled me and rode me slowly with the rope around my neck, pressing just slightly more with every movement.
I hadn’t cum from the friction of her pussy. I came because she thoroughly owned me.
Lya left a mark, not on my skin, but on the part of me I’d kept sealed—soft, hidden, and starving.
I’d buried that part of myself for years. I became the Dragon. I learned to dominate, to control.