I rise on my toes. Kiss him like I’ve wanted to since the command center. Since the battle. Since he looked at me and chose me over duty and grief.
His mouth opens. His tongue slides against mine. And holy shit, the man can kiss.
His hands cup my face, thumbs stroking my cheekbones with a gentleness that contradicts the heat building between us.
I pull back just enough to breathe. “You’ve been holding out on me.”
“I have waited centuries for this.” His voice is gravel and want. “I will not rush.”
“Centuries is long enough.” My hands fist in his shirt. Tugging. “Off. This needs to be off.”
He pulls it over his head in one smooth motion. Tosses it somewhere behind him.
And I just… stare.
I’ve seen him shirtless before. In the stream. In the cabin. But this is different. This ismine to touch.
Golden skin stretched over muscle that belongs in a classical painting. Scales shimmer just beneath the surface—remnants from the battle, probably. They catch the lamplight. Make him look otherworldly.
Which, fair enough, he kind of is.
“You’re staring,” he says.
“You’re hot. Literally and figuratively.” I press my palm against his chest. His skin is fever-warm. “How are you not spontaneously combusting?”
“Dragon physiology.”
“Right. Because that’s a normal thing to say.” I trace the line of his collarbone. The curve of his shoulder. Learning the architecture of him. My fingers trail down to his sternum, feeling his heartbeat thundering beneath my touch.
His breath hitches. “Mara.”
God, I love how he says my name. Like it matters. LikeImatter.
Not Lyria. Not some ghost from his past.
Me.
I lean in, press my lips to his chest. Right over his heart. Feel the heat radiating from him. My tongue traces a path upward, tasting salt and smoke.
He makes a sound—low and wanting—that goes straight through me.
I explore him. Follow the ridges of muscle. The places where scales surface and recede. When I graze my teeth over his collarbone, his hands flex at his sides. Like he’s fighting not to touch me.
“Touch me,” I murmur against his skin. “I want you to.”
His hands move to my waist. Hesitant at first. Then firmer as I press into him.
I reach for the hem of my shirt. Pull it off. Let it drop.
His eyes darken. Track from my face down to my chest. Linger.
The intensity of his gaze makes my skin flush. Makes everything hyper-aware. But he doesn’t move. Just looks. Like he’s memorizing every detail.
“You are exquisite.”
“Flattery will get you everywhere, Dragon King.”
“It is not flattery. It is observation.” His voice drops lower. “I have seen countless treasures in my lifetime. None compare.”
