Her hands came to rest on his wet shoulders. “My turn.”
She took the soap from him, her smaller hands moving over his chest, tracing the scars he’d collected over centuries. She paid special attention to the wound on his ribs, now a pink, healing line, her touch feather-light. She washed his arms, his back, her fingers kneading the tension from his shoulders. Each stroke was a brand, a claim just as permanent as the one on her skin.
The tender care was a beautiful torture. It stoked the fire in his blood from a simmer to a roaring blaze. His dragon stirred, impatient and demanding. He could feel her through the bond, a mirror of his own need—a sweet, sharp ache that was building with every passing second.
He couldn’t wait another moment.
He captured her mouth under the spray, his kiss not gentle this time but hungry and devouring. She responded instantly, her arms looping around his neck and her body arching into his.His hand slid between her thighs, finding her already wet and ready for him. A groan tore from his throat, swallowed by their kiss.
“Damon,” she gasped against his lips as his fingers found her slick heat, circling and stroking.
He could feel it—the precise moment her pleasure began to coil tight. It shimmered through the bond, a brilliant, shared sensation that made his own body thrum in response. Her gasps became moans, her hips rocking against his hand, seeking more.
“I need you,” she panted, breaking the kiss to look at him. Her eyes were glazed with desire. “I need to feel you inside me.”
He didn’t hesitate. He lifted her effortlessly, her legs wrapping around his waist as he pressed her back against the cool, wet tiles. He positioned himself at her entrance, his control a fraying thread.
“Look at me,” he commanded.
Her hazel eyes, dark with need, locked onto his.
He plunged into her in one deep, sure stroke, burying himself to the hilt. Her back arched off the wall, a sharp cry of pleasure tearing from her throat at the sudden, perfect fullness.
“God, yes,” she gasped, her fingernails digging into the muscles of his shoulders.
He began to move, a driving rhythm that had her crying out with each thrust. The water cascaded over them, mingling with the heat of their skin. He could feel everything—the clench of her inner muscles around him, the flutter of her pulse where his lips pressed against her throat, and the wild, singing joy of the bond between them.
“Don’t hold back,” she begged, her voice ragged. “Let me feel it. All of it.”
He obeyed. The primal, possessive part of him he’d spent a century caging broke free. His thrusts grew deeper, faster, and harder. The tiles shuddered with the force of it. He gripped herhips, holding her steady as he drove into her, claiming her with a ferocity that bordered on madness.
He could feel her pleasure cresting, a tidal wave building through their connection. His own release gathered low in his spine, a pressure that was both exquisite and unbearable.
“Let go,” he growled against her ear, his voice raw. “Come for me, Isla.”
Her orgasm ripped through her, a violent, shaking wave of sensation that echoed through the bond and straight into his soul. Her cry was swallowed by his mouth as he kissed her. His own release followed, a cataclysm that tore through him with earth-shattering force, pouring into her as he held her pinned against the wall, his body shuddering with the force of it.
For a long moment, there was only the sound of the shower and their ragged breathing.
Slowly, he lowered her until her feet touched the floor, his arms staying wrapped around her as she trembled against him. He looked down at her, water clinging to her lashes, and her lips swollen from his kisses. A profound, quiet awe settled over him, cooling the fever in his blood.
This magnificent woman.
She’d walked into his fortress of solitude and opened every window. She was his peace. His purpose. His miraculous second chance.
THIRTY-NINE
ISLA
The white curtains of the beach house fluttered in the salt-tinged breeze as Isla stood before the full-length mirror. Three months had passed since she’d stepped off that boat onto Everflame Isle as a stranger, and now she was about to become the Alpha’s wife.
Her wedding dress was a masterpiece of simplicity—flowing white silk that caught the light like moonbeams on water, with delicate beadwork that sparkled when she moved. The strapless design showed just enough skin to make her feel feminine and powerful, while the flowing skirt would catch the wind beautifully on the beach.
“Hold still,” Harper muttered around the bobby pins clenched between her teeth as she worked to secure the final pieces of Isla’s elaborate flower headpiece.
Isla’s reflection smiled back at her, eyes bright with a mixture of nerves and pure joy. Through the bond, she could feel Damon’s restless energy like a low hum in her veins—his impatience, his desire, his need to claim her officially as his wife.
“I still can’t believe you’re marrying an Alpha dragon who looks like he stepped off the cover of a romance novel,” Harper said, stepping back to admire her handiwork. “And that you getto live here in paradise. You really did find your perfect man and your perfect love story.”
