His movements were less fluid than usual, but he complied without a word. He peeled the soft cotton t-shirt over his head, revealing the sculpted planes of his chest and abdomen. The bandages were gone now, leaving only faint pink lines where deep wounds had been. His dragon healing had worked its magic, leaving him whole again. He stood slowly and pulled down his shorts, and Isla’s breath caught.
He was glorious. All hard muscle and smooth, sun-kissed skin, scars mapping a history of violence she was only beginning to understand. And at the center of his powerful frame, he was fully, magnificently aroused for her.
A flicker of practical concern cut through the haze of her desire. She placed a gentle hand on his chest, over his heart. “Are you sure you’re okay? We don’t have to?—”
“Isla.” His hands cupped her face. “Even if every bone in my body were broken, nothing on this earth could stop me from this. From you.”
THIRTY
ISLA
The absolute certainty in his words melted the last of her hesitation. She surged forward, capturing his mouth again, and soon his tongue swept against hers, a taste she’d grown addicted to. His large hands slid down her back, pulling her with him back onto the bed until she could feel the hard length of him pressing insistently against her stomach.
The mate bond pulsed wildly, a drumbeat syncing their hearts. Logic, patience, and the idea of savoring the moment—it all burned away in the furnace of that connection. She didn’t want to wait. She didn’t want to be careful. She wanted to be bound to this magnificent, complicated man who was offering her his scarred heart and his dangerous world with those fiercely open arms.
With a confidence that felt both new and ancient, she straddled his powerful thighs. The position put her above him, in control, and the flicker of raw approval in his eyes sent another jolt of heat through her. She reached between them, her fingers wrapping around his cock. He was thick and hard, and a shiver of anticipation raced through her.
This was it. The point of no return.
She held his molten gaze as she guided him to her entrance, already slick and ready for him. She lowered herself slowly, inch by exquisite inch, and a soft cry escaped her lips as he filled her, stretched her, and completed her in a way that felt cosmically right. He was so big, making her feel utterly claimed and desperately hungry all at once.
“Isla, you feel…” he growled, his hands tightening on her hips.
“I know,” she breathed, her hands splaying across the warm, solid wall of his chest.
She began to move, a slow, rolling rhythm that made them both groan. She could feel every ridge of him and every pulse of his blood, mirrored through the bond that was now singing an urgent song.
But the slow burn was a lie they couldn’t sustain. Her pleasure built like a storm surge, amplified by the cascade of his pleasure flooding back into her through the bond—a dizzying feedback loop of sensation. Her movements lost their measured pace, becoming faster and more frantic. He met her with deep, driving thrusts, each one hitting a spot deep inside her that made her see stars.
“Isla.” His voice was strained, the Alpha’s control fraying. “I’m going to mark you now.”
The world narrowed to his eyes, his touch, the impossible pressure coiling in her core. “Do it,” she gasped, the words ripped from her. “I’m ready.”
Her orgasm detonated without warning, a supernova of pleasure that shattered her into a million shimmering pieces. As her body convulsed, his hands left her hips and pressed flat against her ribcage, just below her breasts.
A searing heat bloomed where his palms met her skin—not the heat of passion, but something deeper and older. A burning that felt like magic being woven directly into her flesh.She cried out, the sensation a stunning blend of pleasure-pain, of possession and belonging. Through the haze, she saw a faint, golden light emanating from his hands, tendrils of power weaving an intricate, permanent pattern onto her.
At the same moment, his own release tore through him. She felt it as if it were her own—the powerful, pulsing surge deep inside her, the hot spill of his seed, and the ragged shout he muffled against her. It triggered a second wave of her own climax, the sensations overlapping until she couldn’t tell where she ended and he began.
Then she collapsed forward, her forehead resting against his sweat-damp shoulder as she struggled to remember how to breathe. He gathered her close, his arms like steel bands around her, and gently rolled them to their sides. He held her there for a long moment.
As the aftershocks subsided, Isla looked down at her body.
There, on her ribs, was a tattoo. An elegant, obsidian dragon with wings curving protectively around her sides, its head resting near her heart. The lines were sharp, beautiful, and shimmered with a gentle, innate warmth.
His mate mark.
It was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen.
Then, she felt it. A final, seismic click deep in her soul, like the last piece of a puzzle slotting perfectly into place. The mate bond suddenly widened into a vast, open channel.
Damon’s emotions flooded into her, no longer muted or fuzzy, but loud and clear and devastatingly strong. The ferocity of his protectiveness, the bone-deep relief, the staggering, overwhelming love that had been locked behind walls for a century—it all washed over her, a tidal wave of feeling that left her trembling. But beneath it all, there was a profound joy, a sensation so foreign to him it felt fragile and new.
His lips brushed her ear, his voice raw. “Mine.”
Tears pricked her eyes. “Yours,” she whispered back. The word was a vow and a beginning.
Her epic love story was finally here, in the steady beat of his heart against hers, in the warm weight of his mark on her skin, and in the glorious bond that now tied their souls together.
