My nails found purchase on his scales, scratching, marking, claiming him the way he was claiming me.
Pressure built low in my belly, winding tighter with each stroke. The fullness pressed against something inside me, relentless pressure that made my thighs shake. My inner muscles contracted around him, gripping, trying to pull him deeper even though there was nowhere left to go.
Sensation overload. Fullness and pressure and the skilled movement of his tail, circling and pressing and driving me toward the edge.
My climax built, cresting, everything in me drawing tight.
His pace increased until I couldn’t take it anymore. The wall behind me provided leverage as I braced against it, meeting him with equal force.
The moment before I came apart completely held me suspended.
I jerked awake.
My quarters materialized around me. The carved stone ceiling. The heat crystal pulsing its low orange glow. The narrow sleeping platform with its tangled silky sheets.
My heart hammered against my ribs. Sweat cooled on my skin. Between my legs was the slick evidence of arousal.
Fuck.
I sat up, shoving hair out of my face with shaking hands. My breath came too fast, ragged in the silence of my quarters.
Where was I? What was real?
The dream clung to me, lingering. I could still feel the phantom press of his body, the stretch and burn and fullness. Could still taste him on my tongue.
This was the fifth dream this week. Maybe the sixth. I was losing count.
They were getting worse. Hotter. Harder to shake when I woke.
I pressed the heels of my hands against my eyes, but that just made the afterimages sharper. His face. Those silver eyes. The careful way his claws had traced my skin.
My quarters felt too cold after the dream-heat. I grabbed the thin blanket pooled at my feet and wrapped it around my shoulders. It didn't help.
I could still smell him.
Was it real, or just some strange dream-residue? My brain couldn't tell the difference anymore. Smoke and stone and that sharp scent seemed to saturate the air around me.
No. That was impossible. I was alone in my quarters. The door was closed. The smell was just my imagination, my subconscious refusing to let go.
I stood, legs unsteady, and crossed to the small basin in the corner. Cold water from the underground river, piped through Scalvaris's ingenious system. I splashed it on my face, my neck, my wrists. The shock of it helped a little.
It had been one month since the Skalanth, Scalvaris’s sick excuse for a holiday celebration. Of course it involved warriors and violence. One month since Nyx had dropped from the shadows and intercepted me and Terra. One month since I'd put myself between them, ready to sacrifice everything so she could finish.
One month since I'd seen him.
I'd been avoiding him. Careful. Scalvaris was big enough, carved deep into the mountain, endless tunnels and chambers. It wasn't hard to stay away from someone if you tried.
I'd tried.
But my subconscious had other ideas.
The dreams had started a week after the Skalanth. Innocent at first. Just flashes of the fight, my brain processing the ordeal. Normal enough.
Then they'd shifted. The fight would last longer, become more intense. I'd notice details I'd missed in the moment. The way he moved, all violence and precision. The silver of his eyes. The breadth of his shoulders.
Then the dreams had changed again. The fight would blur into something else. A touch that lingered. Eye contact that meant more than it should.
Now this. Full-on explicit fantasies that left me aching and confused and angry at myself when I woke.
