Page 67 of Cowboy Dragon's Rose

“What, Petals?” I ask, voice low and rough, thick with awe and lust. “Tell me.”

Her fingers curl into the bedsheets, her body already trembling under my hands.

“So good,” she breathes. Just two little words, but they rock me.

And gods help me, I vow right then and there—she will never feel anything less again.

I kiss my way down her body, slow and reverent, like she’s my prayer and my salvation all wrapped into one delicious, maddening package. Every soft inch of her is sacred.

Every sound she makes, a hymn I’ve waited my entire life to hear.

Her cherry-red bikini slips from her hips like melted sugar, revealing skin so warm and soft I forget how to breathe.

And then I kneel.

Not just for the view—though that alone is enough to bring a lesser man to his knees—but because this is it.

The moment. The reason I’ve been burning from the inside out.

My Dragon coils in the shadows of my soul, watching her through my eyes with barely leashed reverence.

“Please,” she whispers, her voice cracked open with want.

Her thighs part like petals blooming at dusk, her eyes locked to mine like she’s seeing the man and the monster and accepting both. Even though I know that’s not possible.

“Do you know how fucking beautiful you are?” I rasp, my voice unsteady, the truth of her beauty leaving me undone.

She shakes her head.

That lip catches between her teeth, and I groan.

Fuck.

That lip. That mouth. I swear, everything about her turns me inside out.

“You got me wild for you, Petals. So sweet. So goddamn perfect. You make me forget who I am.”

My fingers brush her thighs, my thumbs tracing reverent circles as I lean in, brushing a kiss just above the place she aches most.

She gasps. I smirk.

“I want to taste you again,” I growl, “but if I do, I won’t last.”

She shudders, whimpering my name like a prayer.

I rise over her, my weight pressing her into the mattress, our skin hot and slick.

Her hands slide over my back, her thighs wrapping around my waist like they were made to hold me.

“Zeke. Need you.”

The sound of her saying my name like that—needy, breathless, reverent—breaks the last of my restraint.

Our eyes lock. I reach for the invisible thread that’s been burning beneath my skin ever since I met her.

I grip my cock, loving the way her gaze flicks to that hard and ready part of me and I stroke myself twice.

“Zeke,” she whimpers, and I inch closer, sliding my dick through her sopping wet folds.

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