Page 9 of Ashborne: Defiance

Mate. He claimed his mate. His soulbond.

My dragon was bonded to the dragon who’d Chosen her.

“Vane… I want… I need… something,” Grace whispered, her lips full and pink, eyes shining, even as they glazed. She leaned into me, her little, elegant hands sliding up my chest, to my neck, and that inch of cleavage became two because her elbows pressed her breasts together, plumping them under the very thin cotton barely shielding them from my sight.

With a groan that came from my balls, I plunged a hand into her hair with every intention of pulling her head back, away, of turning her and… and…

And her big, round eyes pleaded with me.

And my body sang because the warmth of her pierced my ribs.

And suddenly, the thought of pushing her away was ice to my heart.

The dragons’ calls rose, echoing in the mountains above us as I gave a tormented groan, pulled Grace to me, and devoured the sweet velvet of her mouth.

4. The Hollow

SOUNDTRACK: Midnight Eyes by Lumie

~ GRACE ~

Something inside me ached. My belly was hollow, my skin heated. My lips felt thick, and my tongue too dry—was I ill?

Words dripped from me, thick and slow, like honey, and made Vane’s eyes widen.

Want… need…

When he grabbed my hair and tugged my head back, his gaze burned. The sensation of his fingertips on my scalp sent goosebumps skating down my spine. Instinctively, I arched into him, my hips pressing forward of their own accord until I brushed against his thighs. He went still, his eyes darkening. Our gazes locked, and I wasn’t sure I breathed.

Then he descended upon me, lips open and soft, tongue seeking, tangling with mine in a heated slide that tore a gasp from my throat.

That ache inside. The empty space. The yearning. Somehow touching him, tasting him, breathing him, soothed pieces of it.

Desperate, I curled fingers into his hair and held him to me, panting, trembling in the onslaught of prickling pleasure that coursed from where he kissed me, down, to sensitize my nipples, and make my belly jangle.

His hand slid from my hair to my neck and I shook. He curled me tighter against him, sheltering me.

Gone was the violent anger he’d used to overpower me, replaced by trembling touches, coaxing me closer, long fingers curling, his nails scraping at my nape, the pad of his palm pressed to my throat, his thumb stroking the side of my neck so that when I swallowed convulsively, I felt him against me.

Then a song rose over the trees—two voices, one high, one low—ragged calls that I’d never heard before, but they hummed in my ribs, and danced in my belly.

The dragons.

The female screamed, and I jolted, overwhelmed—images flickering in my head of gleaming scales and beautifully arched necks, accompanied by a rush of shuddering pleasure so acute my knees weakened.

Vane caught me, a low, deep moan broke in his throat, and his breath rushed out of him, thundering against my cheek. But as my head sank back, my eyes closing against the onslaught, he only tipped his chin and deepened the kiss.

The moments that followed unfurled like new, spring growth. Tremulous and breathtaking.

Silk strands of his hair slipping between my fingers.

Soft, warm lips sliding against mine.

The peculiar thrill of the stubble on his chin scratching my jaw.

The iron strength of the arm flattened against my spine to keep me pinned against him.

The warmth of the broad, flat hand splayed between my shoulders, cradling me.