I reached for the hem of my tattered shirt, hissed when the movement pulled at my bandages.
His hands were there immediately. "Let me."
He worked carefully, easing the fabric up and over my head. His claws caught on the material but never on my skin. The shirt joined his leathers on the cave floor.
I sat before him in just my bandages and pants, half-naked and not caring. His gaze traveled over me, cataloging everyvisible inch. The intensity of it made my skin heat, made my nipples tighten beneath the wrappings.
"Magnificent," he said.
Before I could respond, his mouth found my collarbone. Lips and tongue and the careful scrape of fangs. I arched into the contact, my hands finding his shoulders for balance. The scales there were smaller, more flexible. I traced the patterns, felt the muscle beneath shift as he moved.
His hands mapped my sides, avoiding the bandages. Learning the shape of me through touch. Every place he touched felt too sensitive, nerve endings firing in rapid succession.
I found the piercings in his ears, tugged. He growled against my skin, the vibration traveling straight to my core. I did it again, harder, and his teeth closed on my shoulder. Not biting. Just pressure, a promise.
My hands kept exploring. Down his spine, counting vertebrae. The place where his wings attached to his back, all muscle and tendon and heat. He shuddered when I touched there, his tail tightening around my waist.
Sensitive spot. Noted.
I traced the base of one wing, felt the membrane flutter. His breath came faster, harsher. I did it again, fascinated by the response.
"Kyvara." A warning. A plea.
"What?" I found another sensitive spot, the junction where wing met shoulder blade. "Does this bother you?"
"Yes."
"Good."
His mouth found mine again. Harder this time, more demanding. I gave as good as I got, our tongues battling for dominance neither of us would surrender. His hands slid lower, found the waistband of my pants.
I lifted my hips in answer.
He worked the fastenings loose, eased the fabric down my legs. The movement was careful, mindful of my injuries. I wanted to tell him to hurry, to stop being so cautious, but the words died when his hand slid between my thighs.
One careful touch, and I was gasping. He found me wet, ready, proof of how much I wanted this. His fingers explored, learning what made me gasp and roll my hips.
"So soft," he said against my mouth. "So warm."
I couldn't form words. Could only feel. The pad of his finger was so careful with his claw at the end held back, the flesh circling, pressing, finding the rhythm that made my thighs shake. Pleasure built in waves, each one higher than the last.
Then he pulled away.
I made a sound of protest, reached for him. He caught my hands, brought them to the fastenings of his pants.
My hands shook as I worked the buckles loose. The anticipation was killing me, curiosity and need tangled together until I couldn't separate them. I'd wondered about this. About what Drakarn anatomy looked like, how it would feel, if the reality matched the dreams.
The fabric parted. His cock sprang free.
Holy shit.
Scales covered the base, dark and gray in patterns that matched the rest of him. But farther up, the scales gave way to flesh. Dark veins ran the length of him, thick enough to feel. And at the tip, something that looked almost like a small tongue, a fleshy appendage that moved independently.
I stared. I couldn't help it.
"Second thoughts?" His voice was tight, strained.
"Not a fucking chance." I reached out, wrapped my hand around him. Hot. Slick. The texture was different from human, ridged and smooth in alternating patterns.
