A sound escapes him. Half laugh, half groan. “You probably could.”
“Don’t test me, Guardian King.” I roll my hips against his, gratified by the sharp intake of breath, the way his fingers dig into my thighs, the unmistakable hardness pressing against me. “Take me to bed. Or I swear to every god you’ve ever worshipped, I’ll take you right here against this wall.”
His eyes go molten. His grip shifts, hitching me higher, and his mouth finds my ear. “You want to give orders, Fire-Bringer?” The words are a rumble that vibrates through my whole body. “Be careful what you wish for.”
He carries me to the bedroom like I weigh nothing.
The bedroom isdark except for the moonlight streaming through the window.
He sets me on the edge of the bed and steps back, chest heaving, eyes glowing. I can see him fighting for control. Trying to slow down. Be careful.
I don’t want careful.
I grab his belt and yank him toward me. His hands catch himself on either side of my head as he stumbles forward, and I use the distraction to work the buckle free.
“Impatient.” His voice is gravel and smoke.
“You have no idea.” The belt comes loose. I shove his pants down, and he kicks them away while I yank my shirt over my head. No bra—I hadn’t bothered. His sharp intake of breath makes my nipples tighten.
“Fuck, Selene.” His voice cracks. His hands hover near my breasts, not quite touching. Still holding back.
I grab his wrists and press his palms against my chest.
“Stop being noble and touch me.”
He cups my breasts, rough and possessive, thumbs dragging over my nipples until I gasp. The dragon heat of his palms is almost too much—burning in a way that makes me arch into his hands rather than pull away.
“More,” I demand. “I need more.”
He pushes me back onto the mattress and follows me down. His mouth replaces his hands—tongue circling one nipple, teeth grazing, sucking hard enough to make me cry out. I fist my hands in his hair and hold him there while his fingers work the other breast.
“Pants,” I manage between gasps. “Off. Now.”
He strips me with rough efficiency—hooking his fingers in the waistband and dragging the fabric down my legs. His boxers follow. Then we’re both naked and he’s kneeling between my thighs, looking at me spread open beneath him with eyes that burn.
“You’re sure.” Not a question. A last chance.
I reach down and wrap my hand around his cock. He’s thick and hard and as hot as a brand, and the groan that tears from him—raw and desperate—sends a rush of wetness between my thighs.
“Does that feel like I’m not sure?”
“Fuck.” His hips jerk into my grip. I stroke him once, twice, feeling him pulse in my hand, watching his face go slack with pleasure. Then he catches my wrist and pins it above my head. “Keep that up and I’ll come before I’m inside you.”
“Then get inside me.”
He reaches between us, fingers sliding through my wetness, and the sound he makes is pure male satisfaction. “So fucking ready for me.”
“I’ve been ready since the moment I saw you.” I hook my leg around his hip, pull him closer. “Now stop teasing and fuck me, Drayke.”
He notches himself at my entrance. Pauses. Meets my eyes.
“Mine.” The word comes out rough. Possessive. A claim.
“Yours.”
He drives into me with one hard thrust.
I shatter. Not an orgasm—not yet—but the feeling of being filled, stretched, claimed. My back arches off the bed. My nails score down his back. His name tears from my throat, broken and desperate.
