Okay.That’snot fair.
I step closer. Close enough that my breasts brush his chest. “K… Touch me.”
His hands move to my waist. Slide up slowly. Deliberately. Thumbs brushing the underside of my breasts.
I arch into the contact. “God! Yes. Like that.”
He cups them, palms warm and calloused. His thumbs circle my nipples through my bra, and I gasp at the contact.
“More,” I manage.
He reaches around, unhooks my bra with surprising dexterity for a man who might never have seen one before. He slides the straps down my arms.
The air hits my skin, but it’s nothing compared to the heat of his gaze.
He dips his head. Grazes his lips down my throat, stubble rasping the sensitive skin. It raises gooseflesh on my arms. My chest. Everywhere.
His mouth trails lower. Across my collarbone. Down the valley between my breasts.
“You’re killing me,” I breathe.
“Good.” His lips curve against my skin. “I intend to take my time.”
When his mouth finally closes around my nipple, I make a strangled sound. My fingers tangle in his hair. Holding him there.
His tongue circles. Teases. Then he nips the sensitive peak, and I nearly come apart.
He switches to the other breast, giving it the same attention. His hand kneads the one he left, thumb stroking over the wet peak.
My knees go weak. I grip his shoulders for support.
He lifts me without breaking contact, his strength casual and devastating. My legs wrap around his waist automatically.
“Bed,” I manage. “We need… bed.”
He carries me the few steps. Sets me down carefully on the edge of the mattress.
I push him backward. He goes willingly. Sits, then lies back when I press on his shoulder.
“What are you doing?” he asks.
“Taking charge,” I say, because if I’m going to do this, I’m doing it my way. All in.
I work at his belt. Get it open. But before I shove his pants down, I pause. Run my hand over the bulge straining against the fabric.
He groans. Low and guttural.
I stroke him through his pants. Learn the shape of him. The size.
“Mara.” My name is a plea.
“Patience,” I tell him, throwing his words back at him. “You said you wouldn’t rush.”
I unbutton his pants. Lower the zipper slowly. He lifts his hips, and I pull them down along with his boxer briefs.
And… yeah. Dragon shifters are apparently proportional.
I wrap my hand around his shaft. Hot. Hard. Silky skin over steel.
