An amused growl rumbled in my throat. “You don’t sound positive. Need more proof?”
His glassy eyes widened. “M-maybe.”
That was exactly what I wanted to hear.
In a quick motion, I tossed Mylo on the bed and climbed on top before crushing my mouth against his. This time I plunged my tongue past his lips and claimed my territory. Mylo whimpered in pleasure as my tongue ravaged him.
My dragon instincts went wild. My nails shifted to claws, digging into the comforter. My spine arched as if my wingswanted to unfurl. There wasn’t enough room in here to shift, so it was a headache to keep it in check, but something about Mylo kept luring it out. It was like my arousal was intrinsically linked to shifting.
Mylo gasped when I pulled up. He looked adorable pinned to the bed, all flustered and panting. I didn’t understand where his disbelief came from—couldn’t he recognize how fucking sexy he was?
Well, except for his stupid baggy outfit.
“Take this shit off,” I ordered.
Mylo paused. “Um... But...” He gave me a pleading look. “Can’t I keep it on?”
My lip curled as I tugged on his oversized shirt. “No. I want to seeyou, not your shirt.”
He smoothed the shirt over his body like a protective layer. His hesitation annoyed me. Any other omega would’ve thrown themselves at me, but Mylo wasn’t just any omega. What was so special about the shirt?
“Tell me what’s bothering you, Mylo,” I commanded.
He averted his gaze. “I don’t want you to see my body. It doesn’t... look good.”
“What?”
My dragon’s voice cut into mine, and it came out as a half-roar that startled Mylo. I grabbed the bottom of his shirt with my claws.
“Is this sentimental?” I asked roughly.
“Um... No, it’s from Wal-Mart.”
“Good.”
I tore it from his body. My claws shredded the fabric and it fell to the floor in tatters.
Mylo gawped. “My shirt!”
“I’ll buy you a better one,” I promised. “Now, let me look at you.”
Mylo squirmed as my hungry gaze perused him. He lay there awkwardly, like he didn’t know what to do with himself. Meanwhile, my cock screamed for release from its denim cage.
What the fuck was Mylo talking about when he said he didn’t look good? Why couldn’t he see whatIsaw?
“I’m sorry,” Mylo murmured. “I tried losing weight before the show, but—”
I growled loudly. “Stop. I don’t want to hear another word out of your mouth unless it’s begging.”
He blushed, then gave a small nod.
A fiery lick of arousal swept through me. I straddled him, bracing my knees on either side of his waist. “I’m gonna touch you now. I guess you’re also allowed to talk if you don’t like something, or want more of it.”
He nodded again.
I snorted. “All right, fine. You can talk. Just don’t say self-deprecating shit or I’ll bite your fingers off.”
“O-okay.”
