"Make me," he challenged, increasing his pace until her world narrowed to pure sensation—the drag of those ridges against her inner walls, the furnace heat of him spreading through her core, the rough texture of scales against the soft skin of her inner thighs.
She pulled him down for a kiss to stop his commentary, and his forked tongue slid against hers—alien and strange, the dual tips exploring her mouth in ways that made her shiver. It was like being kissed twice at once, overwhelming and intense.
When she moaned, Briar felt more than heard his satisfied rumble, the vibration traveling through his chest into hers where they pressed together.
Without warning, his hands gripped her waist and lifted—her body suddenly weightless, empty, clenching on nothing. The loss made her whimper before she could stop herself. “Needy,” he murmured before he spun her like she weighed nothing, and then she was facing the drop, her palms hitting stone that felt frigid against her overheated skin. The rough texture of the railing bit into her hipbones as he pressed her forward, and her heart lurched at the sight of the ground so far below.
"Better view," he said, his boot nudging her feet apart, forcing her stance wider. The position made her back arch, changing the angle completely. "And better access."
When he entered her again from behind, the penetration was devastatingly deep and the cry that tore from her throat was embarrassingly loud, echoing off the garden wallsbelow. His fingers tangled in her hair, not cruel but insistent, pulling until her neck arched back, changing the angle again so each thrust ground against something that made her legs shake.
"Look down," he commanded, his other hand firm on her hip, controlling the pace now. "Do you think you’d fall if your hands slipped?"
The vertigo hit immediately—the garden path a ribbon of silver thirty feet below, the carefully manicured hedges looking like children's toys. If she fell... Her fingers went white-knuckled on the stone, arms trembling from more than exertion.
The danger of it, the complete recklessness, somehow made everything more intense. Each thrust pushed her forward slightly, the stone railing pressing hard into her thighs, her breasts swaying over the drop. The cool night air kissed her heated skin, making her hyperaware of every exposed inch. She could feel his scales catching against her inner thighs with each movement, leaving what would probably be faint scratches. The contrast of textures, of rough scales and smooth skin, the burning heat and cold stone, overwhelmed her senses.
"Someone's coming," he said casually, and she could hear dark amusement in his voice. "Guard patrol. Lower garden path."
Her entire body went rigid. She could hear it too, the measured footsteps on gravel, the quiet murmur of conversation drifting up. If they looked up, if they saw... The shame should have cooled her ardor, but instead it made everything sharper, more urgent.
He leaned over her, his chest pressing against her back, scales rough. His breath was hot against her ear when he whispered, "Should we stop?" But he didn't slow his pace—if anything, he went deeper, grinding against her in a way that made her bite her lip hard enough to taste blood.
"No," she gasped, beyond caring about consequences, about tomorrow, about anything but this moment of choosing chaos. "Don't stop."
"Such a rebel tonight." His hand slipped around her hip, fingers finding where they were joined. She could feel him touching himself as he entered her, then his fingers moved higher, finding her swollen clit. The heat of his touch there was almost too much, that controlled dragon-fire temperature that bordered on pain. "Let them look, let them see you choosing the monster over the prince."
The footsteps grew closer, boots on gravel clear in the night air. She could make out words now. The guards were discussing shift changes and patrol routes. Her bodytensed, caught between paralyzing fear of discovery and the building pressure his fingers created. Every nerve felt exposed, raw. She was so close and he knew it. His fingers worked faster, circling with devastating precision while his thrusts became deliberately harder, forcing her to grip the railing tighter while fighting to keep from crying out. The stone bit into her palms, probably leaving marks she'd see tomorrow. She could feel her climax building, inevitable as gravity.
"Sir Fyren said Prince Arion wants increased patrols," one guard said, voice carrying clearly through the darkness. They must be directly below now, she didn’t dare look down.
"After that attack earlier? No surprise," the other responded.
Karse chose that moment to thrust particularly deep, snapping his hips forward while pressing hard on her clit, and the combination nearly undid her. She bit down on her own hand, tasting blood, to muffle the cry that wanted to escape. Her whole body shook with the effort of staying silent. Against her back, she felt his chest vibrate with silent laughter,the absolute bastard.
"Did you hear something?" The first guard stopped, gravel crunching as he turned.
Briar's heart hammered so hard she was sure they must hear it. One sound, one whimper, and they'd be discovered. The Prince's rescued human bent over a railing being thoroughly debauched by a Drak…
"Probably just wind," the second guard said.
They moved on, their footsteps and voices fading down the garden path, but the close call combined with Karse's relentless fingers had pushed her past the point of return. She crested, the orgasm crashing over her with unexpected force. Her inner walls clenched around him in waves, her legs trembling so badly that only his grip and the railing kept her upright. She buried her face in her arm to muffle the cry that escaped. Every nerve felt raw, oversensitized, the pleasure almost painful in its intensity.
“Such pretty sounds for just wind,” Karse thrusted through her climax, drawing it out until she was whimpering from overstimulation. Then his rhythm faltered, becoming erratic. His hands gripped her hips hard enough that she'd have fingerprint bruises tomorrow, pulling her back against him as he buried himself deep and followed her over the edge. The growl that rumbled from his chest vibrated through her back—inhuman, primal, purely dragon.
For a moment, they stayed frozen like that, both breathing hard. Then the reality of what she'd just done crashed over her like cold water.
"Get off me," she said, voice rough.
He pulled back immediately, no comment, no mockery. She felt him withdraw, heard the rustle of clothing being adjusted. Her own hands shook as she pushed herself up from the railing, trying to fix her ruined dress into something resembling decent. The fabric was torn in places, wrinkled beyond repair, and she could feel the wetness of his release beginning to slide down her inner thigh.
Chapter eight
Briar's room was dark when she finally made it back, having avoided the main corridors and anyone who might ask questions about her torn dress or wild hair. She closed the door and leaned against it, finally alone.
The silence was deafening.
She moved mechanically to the bathing chamber, fingers fumbling with what remained of the dress's fastenings. The fabric pooled at her feet, ruined beyond repair. In the mirror, she caught sight of herself and immediately looked away. She didn't want to see what she'd become—or what she'd always been.
