“I’m not done with you, my love,” he said. He positioned himself between her legs, his enormous erection straining at her entrance.
“I want you, Rhavor, please.”
“You have me, my little cherry,” he rasped, his eyes glowing with that low, steady light.
He pushed in, a slow, staggering takeover that filled her completely. He pumped the last of his morning heat into her, his movements heavy and deliberate.
“Your pussy... so perfect around me,” he growled, the vibration hitting her core.
They both came with a shared, guttural roar. Only then did he crawl back up her body, one hand sliding possessively over her hip again.
“Better?” he murmured, kissing his way upward until his mouth found hers.
“Mmm,” she managed, her voice still a bit wobbly. “A lot better.”
“I love you, Sylvie,” he breathed into her mouth.
She saw the raw devotion in his amber eyes and kissed him back, soft but certain.She was hopelessly in love with a dragon who had no idea she was about to gamble her entire world for him. And if she had her way, he wouldn’t know until the ink was dry.
***
At breakfast, Rhavor watched her across the table, his amber eyes narrowed over a plate of toast and strawberry jam. He looked like a storm cloud in a flannel shirt, his presence radiating that steady, draconic heat that usually made her want to abandon her coffee and climb him like a tree.
“You look like you’re plotting something,” he said. His brows furrowed in that specific, heavy way that meant his protective instincts were starting to simmer.
“I’m not planning to rob a bank,” Sylvie smirked, though her heart was doing a frantic, caffeinated little dance against her ribs. “If that’s what you’re worried about.”
A flicker of relief crossed his face, but he didn't look fully convinced.He didn't know that robbing a bank would actually be less stressful than what I have planned.
She needed to hit the bakery first. Then she had a “meeting” in town that she couldn't afford to hesitate on.
When she reached Flour and Fire, the air was thick and comforting, smelling of toasted grain and caramelizing sugar.
“There you are!” Bobby called out. “I need a professional opinion. Vera thinks these rolls need more salt. I think her taste buds are burned off,” he added thoughtfully.
Vera drawled from the bread station, briskly shaking the flour from her hands.
“I’m standing right here,” she shot at Bobby, giving him a look sharp enough to slice a baguette.
The usual chaos followed—the rhythmic thwack of dough hitting the bench, the hiss of the industrial ovens, and the high-pitched whistle of the kettle.
The bakery was running like a well-oiled machine. Bobby was flying through delicate tartlets and turnovers with a surprising precision for a man more accustomed to heavy metalwork than puff pastry. Vera handled the traditional loaves the locals were already queuing for, and Julian had turned the front-of-house into his own personal stand-up show.
Looking at it all filled Sylvie with a fierce, burning pride. This wasn't just a business; it was her life. It was the dream turning real.
But she also knew her dragon needed her now more than ever, even if his stubborn pride wouldn't let him admit he was drowning.
Vera stepped closer. Her gaze was too knowing.
“Don’t worry,” Vera said quietly, catching her eye. “You did everything you could.”
“I didn’t,” Sylvie replied, clutching her wrists. Her pulse was a frantic thrum under her skin. “Not yet.”
By late afternoon, Sylvie was driving back toward the farm when the sound of distant music hit her. As she approached, she saw a white tent set up across the rolling field, lanterns glowing like fallen stars. Arla, Myrtle, Julian, and Vera were all there together with the town folks.
She was surprised by this gathering but took it for a breathing wall of moral support.
The black limo appeared on the dirt road like a shark in shallow water. Rhavor’s truck pulled in at the same time. He climbed out, eyes widening at the crowd gathered on his land.
