He huffed, the closest thing he had to a laugh.
And for the first time since this whole impossible tension began, they simply sat, Zen calm, close but not yet touching, not yet rushing, and just breathing the same space, letting the silence turn into something good. Something real.
“See?” Zara smiled at him, gently. “Talking wasn’t so hard.”
“It’s easier,” he said, surprising her again, “now that I’m not pretending.”
Her heart tripped. “Yeah,” she whispered. “Me too.”
Zara inched closer, just enough that the air between them shifted from tentative to charged. She lifted her hand and cupped his jaw. The diamond-cut scales weren’t rugged rough but smooth and impossibly warm. They shivered faintly under her touch, a tiny ripple of instinct betraying how controlled he usually forced himself to be.
His breath hitched.
She leaned in, just close enough that her words brushed his mouth. “I’ve changed my mind.” Then she kissed him. It wasn’t urgent; this one was deliberate, grounding, full of I-choose-you instead of I-can’t-stop.
He kissed her back, answering with slow certainty, letting the moment decide its own pace. For once, she didn’t try to chase it or fill the silence; she let him lead, let him decide how deep, how long.
But curiosity tugged at her, bold and bright. When she gently changed the rhythm, her tongue sliding against his lips, tasting him, and his hand came to her waist, not pushing her away, not pulling her closer, just steadying.
“I wouldn’t…do that,” he murmured, voice suddenly low. “Sharp teeth and all.”
“Okay,” she said softly, not wounded, not offended, just listening. She kissed him again, and when his mouth opened in answer, she answered him with equal patience. He drew in a breath, unsteady but controlled, and that sound alone sent a thrill through her.
“Zara.”
She shook her head, and the movement brushed her forehead against his. “You think,” she said slowly, “that talking like that will make me step back. Reconsider. Be rational.”
“Let me guess. It won’t?”
“No, it hasn’t,andit makes me want to ignore each boundary and just…lose myself in you.”
Heat fluttered through her, not wild but deep and sure. “Just be here. With me.”
His shoulders eased, not giving in but gentling just a little. And when he kissed her, it wasn’t about control or urgency or proving anything. It was quiet, careful, and real. Two beings finally in the same place at the same time, wanting without rules or performance.
Zara tilted her head back, savoring the warmth of his kiss against her neck, but a frustrated sound formed in her chest. The wanting was there, yes, but the restraint in him was louder. It felt like whenever she pushed forward, he pulled back just enough to make her burn without release.
She slid her hands up his shoulders, fingers tracing the smooth mosaic of scales. He shuddered, but still held himself in careful control.
“This is…not good enough,” she murmured, half to herself.
He stilled. Slowly, he lifted his head, golden eyes studying her with maddening clarity. “You’re used to getting what you want fast,” he said quietly. “I can feel that about you.”
She crossed her arms, cheeks flushed, refusing to admit anything.
“But rushing doesn’t mean right,” he added.
Ugh. This Drakkon and his calm, rational tone. Who was he to slow her down when her whole body was finally buzzing, finally waking?
She huffed. “You know what else I’m good at?”
A brow ridge lifted.
“Deciding for myself.”
He exhaled a soft laugh, deep and warm. “I know. And I’m not trying to take that from you. I just want you to want more than heat.”
She blinked, thrown. “What else is there?”
