I bite back a moan, but I’m not fast enough to trap the gasp that escapes when Aeson nips the lobe of my ear. I’m playing with fire, in more ways than one. I should move away from the commander, demand distance. But the thought of doing any of that right now feels wrong, and I’m so fucking tired of feeling wrong.
With each slow blink, my eyes start to adjust to pitch black shadows surrounding us. I can just make out gloomy shapes that look like couches and one on the opposite side of the space that I’m pretty sure is a bed.
“Where are we?” I ask, puzzled.
“My room,” Aeson answers evenly, his breath once again teasing my ear.
Every cell in my body suddenly comes alive. I’m all at once glaringly aware of the way Aeson’s massive arms cradle me. The press of his large palm against my stomach is suddenly at the forefront of my focus. The scrape of his five o’clock shadow against my temple feels perfectly indecent, and the pitch of his resonant voice is quickly becoming something I’d like to add to my favorite playlist and listen to on repeat.
He’s holding me like my weight doesn’t even faze him, subduing me with nothing more than his presence, and it’s so good…and sosobad.
“Lights to one hundred percent,” I call out, needing a shock to my senses to help snap me out of whatever spell Aeson has me under.
Did that sorcai bitch get a shot off and I didn’t realize? Something to make me all docile and bewildered?
Unsurprisingly, Aeson’s room doesn’t obey. I can feel the amused smile that stretches across the commander’s face, but my attention is drawn to the way his thumb is arcing across the bare skin of my torso and stopping just under the bottom hem of my top—which is way too close, and not nearly close enough, to the bottom swell of my breasts.
“Lights at fifty percent,” Aeson orders, and instantly incandescence chases away the dark’s inky claim.
Once again, I’m both annoyed and pleased by Aeson’s assent to my wishes. I wanted light and now there’s light. I wanted to shank his guest and now no more guests. It’s what I’m asking for, but why the fuck is he giving in to me?
“If I put you down, are you going to attack anyone else?” he asks me, and there’s no missing the inflection of amusement in his question.
“Maybe. Maybe not. It’s hard to say,” I grump while trying to cross my arms over my chest. Unfortunately, his arm is still banded around me—and therefore in the way—so I’m forced to leave mine hanging at my sides while my feet dangle above the ground.
I look like an idiot.
Why did I want the lights on again? Oh right, illumination makes me less inclined to hump the scion.
“I’m fine,” I huff. “Unless any more sorcai or wyverns come storming in here. She must have triggered a flashback of something,” I tell the commander dismissively, even though that’s not totally accurate. I did see flashes of the night of the rebellion, but that was after I was already triggered by something else. I still have no idea what though.
“A flashback. Sure. That must have been it,” Aeson agrees, except something in his tone makes me think he doesn’t actually believe that’s true.
He sets me on my feet, and I sense a split second of hesitation before he steps back. Deliberately and slowly, he lets his hands slide off my body as he moves further away. I shoot a glare at him over my shoulder and ignore the way my blood heats at the sensual contact. His nostrils flare, scenting me, and his smile is wicked and unapologetic as he finally puts a few feet of distance between us.
“It was a flashback,” I argue, more to put some emotional distance between us as well as physical space.
“Sure,” he agrees again, but it’s placating and ambivalent.
“What does that mean?” I demand, both annoyed and curious.
Aeson’s smile widens even more, and I instantly question if I want to hear whatever he’s about to say.
“It’s nothing, Claws. It’s perfectly normal for dragons to feel territorial in these kinds of situations. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
My brow furrows.
“These kinds of situations?” I repeat slowly.
He steps closer to me, and I have to crane my neck to maintain eye contact. Damn, he’s big.
“Yes, Claws,thesekinds of situations,” he reaffirms, lifting his hand and running the back of his fingers lightly across my cheek.
I startle as his meaning hits me.
“Wait,” I demand as I back away from him. “You think I went after that sorcai because I was feeling territorial over…you?”
The humor drops from Aeson’s face. “I don’t think, Claws, I know. I’ve seen territorial displays before. You would have too if you were raised around other dragons. That’s exactly what happened.”
