Page 33 of The Dragon’s Good Girl

“Margot,” I gasp, my control shredding.

She quickens her pace, taking as much of me into her mouth as she can, and the sight of her looking up at me while she does it brings me dangerously close.

“Margot.” My hand tightens in her hair. “Angel, I’m going to come. You need to pull back.”

She doesn’t.

If anything, she becomes more determined, keeping her eyes on mine as she takes me again.

“Fuck.”

I barely get her name out before the orgasm tears through me. I roar her name as I come, hot and violent. I spill into her mouth, my body convulsing, and she takes all of it without hesitation, her eyes never leaving mine.

She rests her cheek against my thigh. I smooth her hair back from her face, still trying to get myself under control, and she closes her eyes beneath the touch.

We stay that way for another minute before I reach down and help her to her feet.

“Come here, Angel.”

She lets me pull her back onto the bed, where I wrap the weighted blanket around her and make sure she’s comfortable before dealing with the rest. By the time I return from the bathroom, she has burrowed farther beneath the blanket, only her head and one bare shoulder visible above it.

“I have something for you.”

Her eyes follow me as I cross to the small table near the window. A covered bowl and a basket of bread have been waiting there since before she arrived. I made the soup this morning, then spent most of the day pretending there was nothing unusual about making soup for a client who wouldn’t arrive until four. The bread came from a bakery across town because they only bake this particular loaf on weekends, and I remembered thinking last Saturday that she’d like it.

The soup has cooled while we’ve been occupied, but that’s easily fixed. I wrap both hands around the covered bowl and let some of my dragon’s heat into my palms. It takes less than a minute before warmth seeps through the ceramic and steam curls out when I lift the lid.

Behind me, Margot says, “Did you just heat that with your hands?”

I glance over my shoulder. “Yes.”

She stares at the bowl, then at me. “That is deeply unfair.”

“What is?”

“You never have to use a microwave.”

A laugh catches in my chest. “One of the lesser-known advantages of being a dragon.”

I tear off a piece of bread, warm that between my palms too, and add it to the tray before carrying everything over to her.

Margot pushes herself upright as I set the tray across her lap. “You made soup?”

“I did.”

“For me?”

The question stops me for a second.

“Yes, Angel. Just for you.”

She looks down at the bowl again, and I have to resist the urge to ask what’s wrong. But I’m beginning to recognize the expression she gets when someone does something for her and she can’t immediately find a way to repay it.

She picks up the spoon and takes a cautious mouthful. Her eyes close almost immediately, and she moans.

“Good?”

She nods, catches herself, and opens her eyes. “Yes, sir.”