His forehead rests against mine as I stroke him slowly through the fabric, driven by curiosity and desire. His hands tighten at my hips, steadying me when my movements grow bolder and when my breathing grows ragged.
Behind us, Kelan’s voice cuts through the haze, low and controlled. “She’s chasing the high,” he says.
“I know,” Darial murmurs back. “I’ve got her.”
I’m out of control and contained at the same time. It’s like I’m on the brink of bursting out of my own skin, and all that’s stopping me is Darial’s hands.
When he finally lifts me so I’m half-reclining against him, and his hand slides beneath the shirt to find the aching heat between my thighs, I gasp. His fingers move slowly, circling and teasing, and pleasure builds and swells like a storm.
I clutch at his shoulders, at his hair, my head tipping back as sensation curls through me, bright and relentless. The runes along my ribs flare faintly with each stroke.
“Kelan,” I whisper without meaning to.
“I’m here,” he answers from across the room.
“Ronyn.”
He moves closer, drawn by my call, but he stops short of touching. His gaze is molten, his breathing rough.
Darial keeps me balanced on the edge, his touch coaxing, guiding me toward that crest without pushing me over too fast. I shudder in his arms, breathless and crazed.
He holds me, and our bond pulls me closer, growing stronger with every touch.
Darial’s mouth is at my temple when I move against him. I press a kiss to the hollow of his throat, then another to his collarbone. His pulse flutters beneath my lips and his breath catches as I slide my hand over the soft linen of his shirt, curling my fingers around the hem and tugging gently.
“I want to see you,” I whisper.
His pupils dilate and flicker into the sliced gold of his dragon. The hand on my hip flexes, scales bursting forth until both arms and hands are covered. They shimmer like sunlight and honey, trailing down his ribs and vanishing beneath the waist of his pants.
I trace one of them with my finger.
He shivers.
“They’re beautiful,” I murmur.
He sighs with contentment.
My mouth follows my fingers, kissing along the scales, learning his form. His body responds with a subtle tremor, hips shifting beneath me, cock straining against the fabric still separating us.
I slide lower, off his lap and between his knees. The fire casts him in molten gold, runes dancing across his chest, his breath visibly quickening as I unfasten his pants and ease them over his hips, revealing his full, aching length.
He isn’t fully human here either.
He’s long and thick, ridged along the top like the edge of a blade forged for pleasure. At the base, faint scales shimmer in concentric patterns, the same gold as the ones on his arms and ribs, encircling the part of his anatomy that fuses us.
I wrap my hand around him, and he hisses in pleasure.
“Aura,” he breathes. “You don’t have to—”
“I want to.”
I want to worship him the way he has worshiped me. I want to understand him. I want to taste what makes him both human and dragon.
I stroke him slowly at first, learning the way his body responds. He braces one hand behind him, the other sinking into my hair as my mouth closes over the head of his cock.
His groan is low and guttural as I take him inch by inch, adjusting to the ridges. My tongue explores him, my lips sealing as I hollow my cheeks, coaxing each sound from him like a melody of lust and surrender.
“Aura,” he rasps. “Fuck—you feel like fire.”
