I forgot to beat my wings and nearly lost altitude.
I corrected myself at once, mortified and fascinated in equal measure. She had gone still, clearly trying to pretend nothing was happening, which only made it worse. Her body reacted even as her mind scrambled for composure.
I should have changed course immediately. Instead, I let myself enjoy it.
I adjusted my wingbeats in a subtle pattern I knew would increase the low hum through my spine. Her reaction came instantly—a soft sound against my scales, and a mental spike of surprise that was not entirely unwelcome.
I smiled to myself, which was ridiculous. Dragons did not smile mid-flight because the woman on their back was accidentally aroused.
“You are safe. And very responsive.”I sent the thought before I could stop it.
Her response hit me like a slap wrapped in silk.
“Arthur.”
Heat surged through me, possessive and bright. The visceral feeling of “mine” rose in my mind before I could examine it.
I thought of her laugh. I thought of her clever hands flipping pages. I thought of her gorgeous body, soft and strong and exactly right where it pressed against me.
She squirmed, then swore at me, which only made me want her more.
I could have made it stronger with a slight increase in speed, and a sharper dive followed by a lift. That movement made experienced riders gasp.
I wanted to see what it would make her do.
But I refrained.
Instead, I adjusted my flight until it evened out, until there was less vibration and less stimulation. I paid attention to her words and her body, to the shift in her weight and the tension she was trying to hide. I paid attention toher, because she mattered.
It worked.
Her movements slowed. Her grip loosened. The tight edge between us eased.
“Thank you.”She sounded less flustered, and I was awed at how quickly she’d taken to sending the thought instead of using her speech.
“Always,”I replied, and the truth of it surprised me.
She moved again, this time with intention. She stretched out along my back, her weight settling evenly, likeshe trusted the sky and me equally. Then she reached into her pack and pulled out her journal.
I felt it before I saw it. The small scratch of pen against paper. The careful stillness of her posture as she wrote.
In mid-air.
Something warm settled low in my chest that had nothing to do with heat.
She trusted me enough to write while flying across the ocean on my back.
I adjusted my path without thinking, smoothing my turns, correcting for distance and current with half my attention. The other half stayed fixed on the intimacy of the moment and the fact that she felt comfortable enough to be herself up here with me.
Why did she feel so close?
Why did the connection feel finished instead of new?
Why could she hear me in my dragon form?
The answer lanced through me.
Fated mate.
