The bluntness of his words sends heat flooding through me, memories of our first night together flashing vividly—his hands exploring my body, my gasps muffled against his shoulder, the building pleasure. I hadn't expected him to reference it so directly, especially not with that teasing note in his tone.
"Have you been thinking about us too, Ashira?" His question is barely above a whisper, the endearment sending a shiver down my spine.
"Yes," I admit, my own voice unsteady. There's no point denying it; he can likely sense my reaction through our bond; the quickening of my pulse, the heat rising across my skin.
He glides around to face me, and I'm struck anew by the transformation in him. The amber of his eyes has deepened to molten gold, glowing with an inner fire that seems to flicker and dance with each shift of emotion. Through our bond, I feel an answering heat kindle within me, my body responding to his proximity with an awareness that bypasses thought entirely.
His hand rises to my face, the touch unexpectedly gentle for one so powerful. A single claw traces the line of my cheek with exquisite care then moves to my lower lip, the pad of his thumb pressing lightly against the sensitive flesh. I tremble beneath his touch, not from fear but from the restraint it takes not to lean into it, to chase the pressure with my own mouth.
Your skin flushes so beautifully," he rasps, each word vibrating with barely contained hunger. "Like dawn breaking across the sky.”
The garden's ambient sounds recede from my awareness. The waterfall becoming distant music, the gentle rustle of bioluminescent plants fading to background noise. All that remains sharp and immediate is Varok. The heat of his body, the slight rasp of his scales against my bare calves, the intensity of his gaze fixed on my face as though memorizing every detail.
My world narrows to the sensations he evokes: the cool mist of the waterfall against my heated skin, the contrasting warmth of his breath when he leans closer, the subtle tremor in his hand that tells me his control isn't as absolute as it appears. Each breath draws his scent deeper into my lungs, dark and spicy.
"Leira," he murmurs, my name transformed into something sacred. The sound of it breaks some final barrier within me.
I reach for him, my hands finding the smooth, warm scales at his shoulders, feeling the strength coiled beneath. His arms encircle my waist in response, drawing me closer until our bodies press together, his chest against mine, the rapid beat of his heart palpable through the thin fabric of my tunic.
When his mouth claims mine, the contact ignites like a slow-burning flame rather than a consuming blaze. His lips press against mine with deliberate tenderness, tasting, exploring, each subtle movement an intimate question my body answers with a shiver. Our breaths mingle as the kiss transforms from tentative to certain, our pulses synchronizing through the bond between us. His lips are hot against mine, firm yet yielding, moving with such deliberate patience that each shift of pressure feels like a new discovery, a language being born between us.
I taste heat and sweetness, remnants of the elder petal tea transformed by his mouth into something headier, more intoxicating. My hands slide up to tangle in his auburn hair, the strands like liquid fire between my fingers. He makes a sound low in his throat, not quite a growl, deeper than a hum, that vibrates through every point of contact between us.
The kiss turns hungry, overcoming restraint. His forked tongue traces the seam of my lips before slipping inside to taste me more deeply. The taboo nature of it, the reminder that he is other than human, sends a thrill of excitement down my spine rather than fear. I welcome the difference, the newness, my own tongue meeting his in a dance that speaks more clearly than words ever could.
His arms tighten around me, lifting me off my feet to bring our bodies into perfect alignment. Through the bond, I feel his desire like a living flame, the heat of it spreading through my veins until I'm certain I must glow from within, incandescent with wanting.
When he finally breaks the kiss, his forehead rests against mine, our breaths mingling in the narrow space between us. "I have ached for your taste since I first saw you in the bonding chamber," he confesses, voice rough with need. "Even as I fought against our bond.”
I smile against his lips, remembering the hungry, predatory stare that first held me. "You hid it well.”
A rumble vibrates through his chest where it presses against mine. "Centuries of practice," he murmurs, his claws now sliding through my hair, grazing my scalp with exquisite tenderness. "I no longer wish to hide from you.”
The simple honesty in his words touches something deep within me. I pull back just enough to see his face, to witness the openness there that feels like the rarest gift. "Then don't," I whisper, reaching up to trace the strong line of his jaw. "Show me instead."
His eyes flare brighter at my words, the gold flashing. "I intend to," he promises, and the hunger in his voice sends a spike of anticipation through me.
His hand rises to cup my cheek, and I turn my face into the touch, pressing my lips to his palm in a gesture that makes his breath catch audibly. When I meet his gaze again, the last vestiges of restraint are gone from his expression, replaced by raw, undisguised hunger.
"I plan to worship you properly, Ashira," he says, his voice dropping to a register that sends heat pooling low in my core. "Let me show you what it means to be claimed by fire."
His lips brush my ear, sending a cascade of sensation down my spine. "Do you know what I have been craving, Ashira?" Varok's voice is barely above a whisper, but it resonates through me like thunder. "The taste of you. I want to eat you up. Devour you completely until you beg for my shafts to fill you.”
The bluntness of his words should shock me, but instead, its ignite something primal within me, a hunger that matches his own. My body responds instantly, a liquid heat pooling between my thighs.
"Yes," I breathe, the word more air than sound. I hardly recognize my own voice, transformed by desire into something husky and urgent.
With deliberate slowness, he traces the outer curve of my ear with his tongue, the forked tip creating dual points of exquisite sensation.
"The scent of your arousal is driving me mad," he murmurs against my skin. "I can smell how ripe you are, how ready." His words should embarrass me, but in this moment, with the heat of his body enveloping me and the evidence of his desire pressed against my hip, I find only affirmation in his raw honesty.
His hands grip my waist with sudden urgency, and I feel myself being lifted effortlessly. For a breathless moment I'm suspended in the air, weightless in his powerful grip, before he sets me down on a stone ledge near the waterfall. The stone is smooth and cool beneath my thighs. Mist from the falls dampens my skin, a counterpoint to the burning heat wherever Varok touches me.
The new position places my face slightly above his, but only for a moment. He sinks lower, his serpentine body coiling beneath him in a hypnotic ripple of muscle. His hands slide from my waist to my thighs, leaving trails of fire across my skin. His thumbs press into the sensitive hollows where my legs meet my pelvis, circling with deliberate pressure that makes my breath catch. When his fingers finally gather the hem of my tunic, I'm already trembling. He lifts the fabric with agonizing slowness, his heated gaze devouring each newly exposed inch of flesh as if committing it to memory. The cool air of the garden kisses my bare skin, hardening my nipples beneath the remaining fabric and drawing a soft moan from my lips.
"It's a good thing I'm not wearing panties," I say, finding my voice again, surprising myself with this moment of boldness. “Easier access.”
"Panties?" he repeats, the unfamiliar word awkward on his tongue.
