Page 116 of Kenna's Dragon

“Keep them closed,” he murmurs into my ear as he draws one hand away, and a shiver of pleasure races down my spine.

The sound of the door opening follows, and he brings his hand back to my face as he walks me into the room.

“Can I open them?”

“Not just yet. Stay right there.”

He moves away, the light shifts behind my eyelids, and I wait with growing impatience as his footsteps echo deeper into the room.

“Alright. You can open them.”

My breath catches in my throat as soon as I open my eyes.

A studio. He’s turned it into a studio for me.

And not just any studio, either, but one that feels like someone reached directly into my brain and pulled it out. A space that feels like me, like all my favorite things in the world.

The entire room is decorated in golds and jewel tones, from the paint on the walls, to the light fixtures, to the curtains and rugs and all the other decor. It’s warm and maximalist, and makes me feel like I’ve stepped into a jewelry box.

It’s exactly my style, every piece I look at is something I absolutely would have picked out myself.

I take a few slow steps into the room, mouth falling open in awe.

“Do you like it?” Ewan asks, a little uncertain.

“Are you kidding?” I lunge for him and throw my arms around his neck. “I love it!”

For good measure, I use my hold on him for leverage and pull myself up so I can wrap my legs around his waist. He bands an arm under my ass and pulls me tighter against him, growling low in his throat as he takes my mouth in a swift, breath-stealing kiss.

Without breaking the kiss, he walks us over to the emerald green sofa at the side of the room and sits down, bringing me with him so I’m straddled across his lap. The flames between us grow hotter and more urgent the longer the kiss goes on, and I’m just about to rip his clothes off when he pulls away.

“If any of the supplies aren’t to your liking, or if you’d like to change anything in the room, let me know. I can order whatever else you need.”

He sounds absolutely serious, like he hasn’t already gone way over the top. Supplies for every medium I’ve ever mentioned working in are stocked on the wide worktable at one side of the room. Every inch of this place is carefully arranged and decorated, put together with so much obvious care…

A sudden realization makes a bubble of laughter rise in my throat. “Ewan. Are you trying to hoard me?”

He’s silent for a few seconds before he answers, and my grin grows even wider.

“I just like the thought of you here,” he says gruffly. “Happy. Safe. With everything you need.”

“Oh, my god,” I laugh. “You’re totally trying to hoard me.”

With a low growl as my only warning, he flips me onto my back and presses me into the plush cushions.

“And if I am?” he asks, leaning down to brush his lips over the proud claiming mark he left on my throat all those months ago. “Would you let me hoard you here, ember?”

There’s a dark promise in his words, threads of possession and need, something ancient and dangerous and so absolutely fucking hot I don’t have to think for a moment before answering him.

“Always. You can always hoard me here.”

This time, there’s no denying the intent in his eyes or the urgency in his touch. Neither of us are gentle as we tear at each other’s clothes. Neither of us has any patience as we strip each other bare and Ewan half-shifts, running his fangs over his mark in an act of deliberate provocation.

“Enough,” I whine when he does it again.

“Never enough,” he shoots back with a grin. “It will never be enough.”

He moves us again so he’s sitting on the edge of the sofa, wings spread wide behind him, and settles me over his cock. Lifting his hips to meet me, he presses the tip of himself just inside before pausing. I let out a needy, frustrated little whimper, and he growls in response.

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