Tearing through the leather restraints like paper. Ripping them off my wrists and ankles, launching off the slab, and bursting through the tea house door with my cock still hard, still leaking, still straining through what was left of the torn shorts.
I'd sprint across the compound in the moonlight, if necessary.
Barefoot.
Bare-chested.
My cock swinging like a war flag.
The Fangs outside the tea house would see me first. Grown men, trained killers, loyal soldiers who had watched me execute rivals without blinking—and they would freeze.
Mouths open.
Eyes wide.
Guns lowering because what exactly do you do when the Dragon runs past you at full speed with an erection that could cut glass?
Reo would hear about it within minutes. Someone would wake him. He'd sit up in bed, broken ribs and all, drugged and groggy, and one of the Fangs would radio in:"Sir, the Dragon is. . .running."
"Running where?"
"Everywhere, sir and he is. . .partially clothed?"
Reo would wish the painkillers would put him under faster so he would have the excuse to not deal with me.
Word would spread across the island by morning. The kitchen staff would whisper about it over breakfast. The gardeners would pretend they didn't see anything. By noon, every person on the island would know that the Dragon had lost his mind chasing his Tiger through the dark with his cock out.
And still. . .
I would do it.
That was theterrifyingpart.
I would absolutely do it.
I looked at her and frowned. "I'll behave."
“Good.” Her hands moved to her hips. To the leather panties that hugged her curves. She hooked her thumbs under the waistband and started to slide them down. “Good dragons get pussy.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yes.”
Inch by inch, she revealed the smooth skin of her lower belly, the curve of her hips, and that sexy pussy.
I almost stopped breathing.
There it was making me crazy like I hadn’t seen it before.
Bare.
Glistening.
Wet.
She was dripping for me.
I could see the slick shine of her arousal coating her inner thighs.
