Page 48 of Hoarded By the Dragon

“Onlya robe?”

“Yes?” Clothing is uncomfortable against my skin for long periods of time, and I prefer the way silk runs over my scales.

Katarina’s eyes widen. “You’ve been sliding into my bed naked every night?”

Ah. “No. I’ve worn a robe.”

“So practically naked.” Her voice raises an octave.

I frown. “You’ve been fully clothed.”

Her night clothes have varied since the beginning. When the child was drawing more heat than she could sustain, she’d worn thick flannels. As the heat I’ve added has offset that drain, she’s transitioned more to summer wear of thin cotton. Tonight, she has a set of shorts and a shirt that leaves a good expanse of skin exposed.

“That is not the point,” she says.

“Then what is the point? I would never do anything against your wishes while we are in bed.” Indignation flashes hot, but the curling, sweet scent of arousal in the air sparks pleasure through my limbs.Oh.“Do you think you will be too tempted by my presence, Rina?”

My voice comes out as a purr, and she swallows. I should be more wary, but it’s gratifying to affect her so greatly. I’d told her we couldn’t have a romantic relationship, and sex would complicate things between us, but over this past month I’ve been tempted. Every time I catch her scent, it makes me want to tug her hair back and force her to beg like the night we’d had together.

But that’s only the hungry dragon part of me.

“No,” she squeaks. “Fine. Wait on the couch.”

I frown but turn away from her and do what she says. She ducks into the bathroom and reappears once I’m situated on a corner sofa that I think would accommodate the both of us well.

“What is that?” I ask, aghast.

“It’s a robe,” she says. “Just like yours.”

She ties the robe at her waist, and the sight of it blares against my senses.

“Not like mine,” I growl. My robe is a silk masterpiece that warms to my touch and slides over my sensitive skin like an angel’s caress. Her robe is so worn it appears rough and peeling and covers her from neck to ankle.

“Yeah, yours is much smaller.” She narrows her eyes at me and my bare thigh.

I shrug. “I like to have a breeze.”

“I’ll keep my robe, and you can keep yours,” she says.

My lips twitch, and I choose not to tease her about how I can remove my robe if she so desires. Her glare tells me that she wouldn’t take kindly to the offer.

“Very well,” I say, patting my thigh. The motion has her eyes dropping for a moment before she shakes herself free of the sight of my bare legs. Humor that’s rusty with disuse threatens to rise in my chest.

“Fine,” she huffs. She grabs her sketchbook and approaches. There’s a hitch in her step when she gets within arm’s reach of me, as if she doesn’t quite know how to settle on my lap. I grasp her hand and pull her forward before her mind can raise any more objections to this.

When I arrange her on my lap, she softens, relaxing into my hold. As with every time we do this, the easy way she trusts me with her body and bends for my direction has my dragon sighing in satisfaction and lights a fire of temptation over my skin.

“I hope you brought something to keep yourself busy,” she says, ignoring my presence to open her sketchbook.

“You don’t want me just staring at you?” I ask, teasing.

She blushes, the pink of her cheeks making the green of her eyes more vibrant. If I’d had her under full light that night, would I have pushed her to leave in the morning? Yes. There’s a beauty she has, but no amount of beauty can fix something broken centuries ago.

I brandish my phone in one hand. “I’ll just be working on business.”

I read my emails one-handed as she relaxes against me. My other hand presses against her middle without a thought from me. The robe is just as scratchy as it appears, and I try to ignore it.

We spend a few minutes like that. Me reading and sorting emails, and the sound of her pencil scratching the paper.

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