"No." And surprisingly, it was true. There was no room for Eliam here, no space for that complicated warmth and deeper connection. This was something else entirely—raw and physical and empty of anything beyond the moment.
His laugh was dark, appreciative. "Good. I'd hate to be competing with a ghost."
He worked her with shocking skill, his thumb circling her clit while his fingers found a rhythm that had her gasping, each shift in temperature sending new shockwaves through her. When she got close to the edge, he'd slow down, pull back, leave her hanging until she was ready to scream.
"Karse—"
"Not yet." He bit down on her shoulder, not quite breaking skin. "You don't get to finish until you ask for what you really want."
"I want—"
"To feel something other than pain?" He pulled back to look at her, those reptilian eyes too knowing, his fingers still moving with torturous slowness. "
"Yes," she gasped. "God, yes, I want—I need—"
"Then take it."
She hooked her legs around his waist, digging her heels into his backside to pull him closer, while shifting forward on the railing. Her hands went to his belt, working it open with fingers that shook from more than just desire.
"Impatient," he murmured, but his breathing had roughened, and she could feel the tension in his body, muscles coiled tight beneath skin.
"You said to take what I want." She freed him, wrapping her hand around his length and finding it almost too hot to touch, with subtle ridges she hadn't expected. The texture was foreign, smooth in places, with raised patterns that felt deliberate, designed for sensation. "So I am."
She explored with curious fingers, learning where he was most sensitive, how the heat varied along his length, the way the ridges seemed to pulse slightly under her touch. He made that inhuman sound again when she stroked him base to tip, her thumb finding moisture that was hotter than it should be, almost burning against her skin.
"Careful," he warned, his voice dropping to something between human speech and dragon growl. "I'm not—"
"I know what you're not." She shifted forward on the railing, the danger making her reckless, and guided him to her entrance. The first press of him against her sensitive flesh made them both inhale sharply. The heat was intense, just shy of pain. "Stop talking."
He grunted, hands tightening around her waist, not guiding just keeping her steady as she lowered herself slowly, adjusting to the stretch and the strange texture, those subtle ridges creating friction she hadn't anticipated. He was bigger than she expected and the initial penetration burned in ways that had nothing to do with his temperature.
"Too much?" he asked, hands steadying her hips but letting her control the depth.
"No." She sank down another inch, gasping at the sensation. "Just... different."
"Different," he agreed, watching her face intently as she adjusted. "Take your time."
But she didn't want time. She wanted to stop thinking, to lose herself in sensation. She sank down further, feeling every ridge, every texture difference. The heat of him radiated outward, making her inner muscles clench and flutter around him.
"You're so tight," he groaned, his control visibly fraying. The scales on his chest seemed to shimmer more intensely, catching colors that shouldn't exist in moonlight.
She experimented with movement, lifting slightly then sinking back down, finding an angle that made them both gasp.
"That's it," he encouraged, his hands sliding up from her hips to her waist, then higher, finding the loosened laces of her dress. "Let me see you properly."
He pulled at the fabric, dragging the bodice down to pool at her waist. The night air hit her exposed skin, making her nipples immediately harden. His eyes tracked over her hungrily, taking in the marks Eliam had left—the thorned vine pattern that curved across her collarbones.
She found a rhythm that built slowly, savoring the strange new sensations. When she rolled her hips, the ridges hit different spots, creating friction that had her gripping his shoulders for stability. His hands came up to cup her breasts, thumbs brushing over sensitive peaks, the heat of his touch almost scorching against the cool night air.
His forked tongue traced the patterns on her throat, making her shiver—two points of wet heat drawing designs on her pulse point. Then he lowered his head, and she gasped when his mouth closed over her nipple. The forked tongue flicking against the sensitive peak was unlike anything she'd experienced—two distinct points of stimulation that had her arching into him.
"You're being quite vocal," he murmured against her skin, switching to the other breast. His teeth grazed carefully, followed by that maddening tongue. "Anyone walking the garden paths would hear you."
She bit her lip, trying to muffle the sounds as he shifted angles, hitting deeper.
"No, don't stop." His hand rose, his thumb gently coaxing her lip free from her teeth. "I think you want them to hear. Want them to know you're out here making your own choices." His tongue traced along her throat again. "Let the princeling hear what he's too gentle to give you. Let the huntsman know you're not waiting for dawn."
"Shut up," she gasped, but he was right, a small part of her did want them to know, wanted them to see she wasn't some fragile thing to be protected.
