The curve of her stomach led down to the perfect, upside-down triangle trimmed close and neat between her thighs, the dark hair catching tiny drops of water until they glittered like they’d been jeweled for me.
Her legs—long, smooth, strong—set slightly apart in a stance that wasn’t shy. The angle gave me the faintest glimpse of the darker, secret flesh between, a sight that had my cock swelling so fast it ached.
Oh, Tora.
The steam rolled upward again, curling over her. It knew she was a goddess worth worshipping.
And I did too.
Every inch of me.
My eyes moved slow over her, mapping that body, deciding exactly where I’d put my hands first, where I’d bite, where I’d bruise, where I’d make her tremble and cry my name.
She didn’t flinch. Didn’t hide. She stood there and let me take her in, the Queen granting her Dragon the view of the kingdom he’d burn the whole world to protect.
“Are you going to be my good little Dragon?”
Everything in me vibrated. The monster in my ribs rolled over on his back and offered his throat. I exhaled a curse that might have been a prayer. My head was too fogged to know the difference.
What was it about a specific woman that made men like me so weak?
She eyed me. “Are you?”
My voice sounded hoarse. “What do you want, my Queen?”
“Take off your clothes.” She tilted her chin. “You’re dirty. It’s time for a bath.”
“I want you.”
“I will be your reward. . .later. . .”
My fingers went to my belt. Metal clicked. The sound was small and obscene here, trapped between black stone, water, and petals. Next, I undid the pants, stepped out, and then slid the briefs down. The ritual of shedding them in front of her made me feel both ridiculous and holy—like a king who’d decided the crown was too heavy and set it aside because a woman told him to.
When I was completely naked, she let out a soft moan that I knew she hadn’t intended me to hear.
Her gaze moved over me slowly, and I could feel every inch of it. The heat from the bath might have been nothing compared to the heat in her eyes.
She didn’t rush. She drank me in like she had all day.
Her eyes lingered on the ink—black and gold dragons that coiled across my chest, slashed down my ribs, curled along my hip before disappearing into more shadow. She traced the edges of them without moving her hands, and I swear I could feel it anyway—phantom fingertips running over muscles and scars.
Her breathing slowed, and I knew she was reading me the way I’d read her in the war room—measuring what I was, deciding how far she could push me before the fire came out.
When her gaze dropped lower, something in my stomach tightened hard.
She stopped at my pierced cock.
The gold rose-shaped apadravya gleamed in the candlelight.
Right in that moment, a bead of precum spilled from the tip.
I groaned.
She did too.
The drop landed on the floor.
Her lips parted and she let out the smallest exhale.
