Page 11 of Kiss of Frost

His dick twitched inside me as he collapsed on top of me, his tongue tangling with mine. His strong arms circled me, and then he rolled us so we lay on our sides, my thigh hooked over his hip. After a moment, he broke off the kiss and rested his forehead against mine.

A current flowed around us, cooling the sweat on my skin as Callum spoke in a low, foreign tongue, the sibilant sounds overlapping and lifting the hair on my nape. Dragon language. I’d never heard it. Only dragons could speak it. Legend said it couldn’t be written down. It wrapped around me now, caressing my limbs with ghostly hands. It followed all the paths Callum had blazed across my body, marking me in every intimate place he’d kissed and stroked. I didn’t need a translation to know what it meant.

Callum had claimed me. I was bound to a dragon for life.

He lifted his head. The glow in his eyes faded, his irises dimming to a shade that could pass for human. He pulled a lock of hair off my sweaty neck and held it up. At once, the black strands curled around his fingers. He smiled.

“Mine.”

Chapter Four

GEORGIE

An hour later, I stood before the mirror in Callum’s bathroom with my hair piled on top of my head and a towel wrapped around me.

I just fucked one of the dragons.

Like, fucked him fucked him. My pussy still ached from the things he’d done with that battering ram dick of his. Not to mention his mouth.

But that wasn’t the part the elders would care about. Well, it was like item two or three on the list of things they’d care about. Because the first item—written in big, bold letters—was that I’d let a dragon claim me. Forever. I stared at my reflection and imagined myself standing before the elders. “Well, you see, gentlemen, his cunnilingus was just that good.”

“I am so fucked,” I whispered to the mirror.

A knock on the door made me jump. Before I could say anything, it swung open, and Callum’s broad shoulders filled the doorway. He was shirtless, his mouthwatering pecs gleaming through the steam that rolled from the bathroom. The lines of tattoos marched down his ribcage and stretched toward his rock-hard abs. A pair of jeans rode so low on his hips, it was obvious he hadn’t bothered putting his underwear back on.

I swallowed the moan that tried to climb up my throat.

“Brought your things,” he said, bringing a hand up. My backpack dangled from two of his fingers. The same fingers he’d used to—

Nope. Not going there.

“Why bother knocking if you’re just going to barge in?” I demanded, swiping my backpack from him. My towel slipped, and I dropped the pack and tucked the corner of the towel more firmly inside the material across my breasts.

Callum leaned against the jamb and gave me a knowing look. “You’re freaking out.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Aye, you are. You’re rethinking everything, witchling. Questioning fate.”

I narrowed my eyes. “You said your gift is reading desires, not minds.”

“That’s true.” He waggled his eyebrows. “And I’m verra gifted.”

Ugh. That accent. It got heavier during sex. Although, I suspected he purposely laid it on thick. I could hardly blame him. Scottish Highlanders had been making women drop their panties for hundreds of years. It was the kilts. How was any red-blooded female supposed to resist a brawny man in one of those things? They were sex traps. And the Scots knew exactly what they were doing. They were a menace walking around in their pleated tartan making women fantasize about getting railed on the side of a mountain.

Suddenly, Callum’s eyes glowed that eerie, otherworldly green. He tilted his head. “You want me to fuck you in a kilt, lass?”

I pointed toward the bedroom behind him. “Get out.”

“Going at each other right out in the open?” Despite his scandalized expression, amusement danced in his eyes. “You’ll get us arrested.”

“Out!” I shoved him—and it was annoying knowing I only did so because he consented to be moved—then reached for a current. I caught just enough wind to shut the door on his grinning, sexy face.

Dammit.

Muttering, I pulled clothes from my backpack and dressed quickly, forgoing my barasta in favor of a thick, woolen sweater. Warming potions would only get me so far in the Arctic. And if I got past the White Gate, potions would be no help at all. According to my research, the temperatures that far North were so extreme they tested even an immortal’s endurance.

I was kneeling in the middle of the bathroom stuffing a puffer jacket into my backpack when Callum’s deep voice rumbled through the door again.

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