I angled the pillow and shook it.
A vibrator fell out of it.
“Oh.” I blinked.
Hiro smirked.
We both checked it out.
The vibrator was obsidian black with veins of gold that caught the light like liquid fire. Its dragon shape curved with a predatory elegance. The shaft was adorned with scale-like ridges that promised both pain and pleasure.
The tail—long and sinuous—coiled into a handle worn smooth from probably nights of desperate, solitary worship.
I could almost feel the heat of it, imagining how it would look glistening wet in the dim light of this shrine-like bedroom. "Of course it's a dragon."
I stared at it, and before I could stop it, my imagination painted the scene.
Yuki in this bed.
Alone.
The gray duvet pushed aside, her body bare against those cool sheets. Her dark hair fanned across those pristine pillows she kept so perfectly arranged.
I imagined her reaching for this dragon, and her thighs would part slowly, knees falling open as her breath quickened. One hand would drift to her breast first—squeezing, pinching, rolling her hungry nipple between trembling fingers until it peaked hard and aching.
She'd be thinking of him.
Kenji.
His sexy mouth.
His towering tattooed-muscled body.
His thick, pierced cock.
Then, her eyes would close, and behind those lids she'd conjure him—those cold eyes finally warming for her, that cruel mouth softening as he watched her touch herself.
In her fantasy, he'd be here.
Commanding her.
Telling her she was a good girl.
Telling her she washis.
The dragon would press against her pussy’s entrance first—teasing, circling, letting those scale-like ridges drag across slick, swollen flesh.
She'd already be wet. Had probably been wet since the moment she'd thought of him that day, that hour, that minute.
Then she'd push it inside her pussy.
Slow.
Inch by torturous inch.
Those golden-veined ridges catching on her inner walls, each one sending sparks through her nervous system. Her hips would lift off the mattress, chasing the sensation, her free hand still working her nipple—twisting now, punishing herself with pleasure she didn't think she deserved.
Kenji’s name would be her moans, and that dragon would slide deeper, and she'd start to move it—pulling back, pushing forward, fucking herself with the fantasy of him until her back arched.
