I blinked. “Yes.”
“Taming a dragon is not done with pajamas." She checked her watch. "Zo. I need you in that closet. Find something that says. . .dominatrix meets business casual. And don’t get too outrageous. We don’t want her entire body on display and Kenji killing his men, but we do want the pressure in the space to shiftwhen she enters. Everyone in this house must know who she is today and why they must bow to her."
“Got it.” Zo jumped to his feet and gave a perfect salute. "I already know what she needs."
“Perfect.” Hiroko put her view on me. “Now we will go over what you will do and you will follow it to a T.”
“Alright. Give it to me.”
Chapter twenty-one
Femme Fatale
Nyomi
An hour later, Hiroko smoothed the collar of my satin white blouse. “When you love a king who secretly craves submission, you must learn to weaponize every inch of yourself. Including your walk and especially what you decide to wear.”
“Got it.”
She stepped back, tilted her head, and gave me a wicked grin. “Stilettos on marble are a symphony of dominance. Each click says,‘This is my world. You just crawl in it.’Put a woman in six-inch heels and the whole room learns who’s prey and who’s predator.”
She circled me slowly, her own bare feet soundless against the tatami mat while mine, encased in red Christian Louboutin patent leather stilettos, stood rooted in quiet defiance. “Stilettoselevate a woman. They make you taller, more commanding. For men who crave submission—whether they admit it or not—that small height difference is everything. It triggers something primal. Smallness. Obedience. Worship.”
She paused, tilting my chin slightly so I looked her dead in the eyes. “And then there’s the fetish involved with stilettos.”
Hmmm.
For a moment, I thought back to last night and Kenji kneeling before me. The way he kissed each heel like it was sacred, then stroked my arches with worship so intense I almost lost my balance.
He had a foot fetish, no doubt about it, and the man didn’t even try to hide it from his men.
I could still hear his voice in my head, low and unapologetic.
“Don’t thank me. I enjoyed every second of that.”
God help me—I had too.
A wicked smile spread across my face. “Hiroko. . .tell me more about the fetish with stilettos.”
“The arch of the foot. The dagger-thin heel. The echoing sound that makes their cocks twitch before you’ve even spoken a word. Stilettos don’t just turn men on. Theyundothem.”
I swallowed.
She smiled again, soft and cruel. “You ever watch a man lick the sole of your heel while calling you goddess?”
A nervous chuckle left me. “Not yet.”
“Not yet is a perfect answer, Nyomi.” Hiroko nodded. “Because some men want to be crushed. They fantasize about your heel pressing into their chest. Their thigh. Sometimes their throat. They want to be trampled with it.Marked.”
My breath hitched, but not from fear.
A flash of Kenji surfaced in my mind—the Dragon, shirtless and golden-skinned, sprawled beneath me on the cool floor. Hischest heaving. His muscles tense but offered. And my red heel, balanced on his chest.
Right over his heart.
He would stroke himself for me like that.
Slow.
