Him. Ours. Mate. Now.
He holds still for maybe half a second. I feel his attempt at discipline, the way his hands stay carefully at his sides, the way he’s trying to maintain the iron control that defines him.
Then something breaks.
He kisses me back with matching ferocity. His hands come up to grip my hips and pull me flush against him. I can feel how hard he is through the thin fabric of his workout pants. Can feel the heat radiating from his skin—dragonfire barely contained beneath the surface, making him burn hotter than any human could.
My hands explore his bare chest. Sweat makes him slick beneath my palms. I explore the thick muscle, the hard planes of his pectorals, the defined ridges of his belly, the slight hollow at the base of his throat where his pulse flickers visibly. When Idrag my nails down his sides, I feel them lengthening into claws, scratching, marking him with thin red lines.
He groans into my mouth. The sound is inhuman. Dragon rumble from deep in his chest that I feel more than hear.
His hands move from my hips to my ass, gripping hard, lifting me. My legs wrap around his waist instinctively. He turns and starts walking, carrying me toward the back of the facility where equipment storage rooms offer privacy.
We’re kissing the entire way. Hard, desperate, teeth and tongue, and neither of us is gentle. His mouth moves from my lips to my jaw to my throat. When his teeth graze my pulse point, I gasp because they’re sharper than they should be. Not fully dragon fangs, but changed, elongated, dangerous.
My hands find his shoulders. Grip hard enough that my claws dig in. I feel him shudder against me. Feel the way his fingers tighten on my ass, almost bruising.
We reach the equipment room. He pushes the door open with his shoulder, carries me inside, kicks it closed behind us. The space is small. Dark. Private. Lined with mats, weights, and resistance bands hanging from hooks.
He sets me down, but we don’t separate. His hands are already pulling at my tank top. I help, yanking it over my head. Sports bra next. He doesn’t wait for permission, just reaches behind me and unhooks it. It falls away, and then his mouth is on my breast, his tongue circling my nipple, his teeth grazing just enough to make my back bow.
I pull at his workout pants. Get them down his hips enough to free his cock. He’s thick and hard, and when I wrap my hand around it, he makes that dragon sound again—rumbling and possessive and barely human.
His hands find the waistband of my pants. He doesn’t bother with careful removal. Just grips the fabric and yanks them down around my knees, and then his hands are on my bare skin—hips,thighs, everywhere. His palm slides between my thighs, cupping my mound, a thick finger slipping along the seam of my pussy before plunging in.
“Yes!” I hiss, a whine moving up my throat as he pumps into my wetness, slick noises surrounding us as I drench his palm with my juices.
We’re both making sounds that aren’t quite human. My growls. His rumbles. The scrape of claws on skin. The sharp edge of fangs testing skin without breaking.
I can see his eyes now in the darkness. They’re shifting. Gray bleeding to silver with vertical pupils. Dragon sight. Fully present.
Mine must be changing too because the dim room looks different. Sharper. Clearer. Colors more vivid. I can see him in detail—the way scales are starting to ripple beneath the skin of his forearms, the way his chest is heaving with his ragged breathing, the way his cock is thick and flushed and leaking.
“Nadia.” My name is rough in his throat. Strained. “Fuck. I need you—”
I don’t answer with words. Just turn. Drop to my hands and knees on the mat-covered floor. Mating position. Primitive and instinctive, and exactly what my wolf demands.
He makes a sound that’s pure anguish. Half groan, half dragon rumble. I can hear him fighting for control. Fighting to maintain some semblance of reason. Then he drops behind me, his hands on my hips. Gripping tight—too tight. And I love it. I know it’s going to leave marks.
I feel the heat of him behind me; the thatch of hair surrounding his cock brushes against my ass, and I mewl. The anticipation is overwhelming. The head of his cock presses against my entrance, and I spread my thighs in unmistakable invitation.
“Yes. Now. Please!” I’m pleading and totally unashamed about it. I’m so wet that when he pushes forward, there’s no resistance. Just slick heat and the perfect stretch of him filling me.
He moves slowly at first. Too slowly. My wolf snarls in violent protest.
“Harder,” I growl, body taut with want.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” he grits out. The restraint in his voice is tangible.
“Please,” I moan. “I need… I need…” There’s a keening edge to my voice as my wolf whines in frustration. I push back hard. Take him deeper. Speed the pace.
His control shatters completely.
He groans—a guttural sound ripped from somewhere deep—and his hands tighten on my hips with bruising force. His claws pierce my skin. Then he’s driving into me with power that would hurt if my body wasn’t demanding exactly this.
Each thrust pushes me forward. His grip keeps me in place. The sound of skin against skin echoes in the small room along with our breathing—harsh and ragged and interspersed with inhuman sounds neither of us can suppress.
I can feel his scales now. They’ve manifested fully on his forearms, the rough texture scraping against my skin when his hands slide up my sides, over my ribs, tracing my body with possessive thoroughness. The sensation is alien and irresistible. Proof that he’s losing his human form the same way I am.
