Page 54 of Kenna's Dragon

As soon as I have the taste of Kenna Byrne on my lips, any lingering self-control burns to ash.

There’s only her. There’s only Kenna and her sweet cries and all her fire unleashed. For me. Just for me.

When her climax breaks over her, it feels like inevitability. Of course we were going to end up here, like this. There was never any other choice for us.

Because it was there, right there in her eyes and the soft words she offered. A temptation too sweet for me to deny.What if we just… enjoyed this? For what it is.

Was there anything I could do but accept?

As Kenna comes apart on top of me, as she writhes and cries out in ecstasy, I draw every last drop of pleasure from her I can. There’s no time for mercy, not now, not when time already feels so short between us.

For however long it lasts.

When she spoke the words, I know Kenna was thinking of the disparity between our lifespans and the utter impossibility of us being together given the position I hold, and those are concerns, certainly. But some part of me knows that’s not the only reason this thing between us can’t burn so hot for long.

She deserves more than this, more than me and the battered, broken thing rattling around in my chest where a heart should be. She deserves someone who can love her in the light, who can promise her their heart and soul.

Tonight, though, it hardly matters.

Not when I’ve got my willing, wanting ember still pressed against my mouth, coming down from her orgasm and flushed with pleasure.

Her body slumps in sated bliss, and I shift her so she’s laying just to the side of me. While she’s still boneless and panting, I make quick work of shimmying off her impossibly erotic thigh-high stockings, running a hand over the smooth swell of her thighs. At least until Kenna stiffens and makes a little squeak of protest when she realizes where she’s laying.

“Your wing,” she gasps, shifting to move off of me.

I keep her in place with a hand on her shoulder and a low chuckle in the back of my throat. “You’re not hurting me.”

Laying on my wings is not the most natural position to be in. In fact, some dim instinct in the back of my brain is still protesting the feel of them pinned beneath me, but I choose to ignore it. It was more than worth it to have this beautiful woman riding my face like she was born to do it.

Kenna gives me a look which tells me she doesn’t quite believe me, but she reaches out to stroke along the smooth expanse of thick, pliable skin.

And… gods. The feel of her soft fingers on me, warm and curious, sends an answering shot of arousal straight down to my hard, aching cock.

“Beautiful,” she murmurs.

I pull back, startled, to meet her eyes.

Kenna laughs. She’s flushed and rumpled, some kind of vision straight out of a Botticelli painting, looking back at me with soft wonder in her gaze.

“What?” she asks. “Not what you expected me to say?”

“‘Beautiful’ usually isn’t the first adjective people reach for when they see me shifted.”

Another soft laugh, a pulse of something aching and tremulous in the center of my chest.

“Would ‘fearsome’ be better?” she teases. “‘Terrifying?’ ‘Monstrous?’”

“‘Beautiful’ works. If that’s what you’d like to call me.”

Her smile falters for a moment before coming back sharper and more wicked. And when her hand moves from my wing to the scattering of golden scales over my chest, the muscles there bunch and ripple in response.

“Can I?”

“Yes, ember,” I rasp. “You can touch me however you want.”

Her laugh this time is more of a threat. “Alright, dragon. If you say so.”

A sweeter taunt I’ve never heard as Kenna climbs on top of me and proceeds to explore me with lips and teeth and eager, searching fingers. Kissing along the scales over my chest, learning their patterns and texture. Catching one plated nipple between her teeth in a bite hard enough to draw a warning growl from me and another sharp laugh from her. Nipping and caressing a path down over the planes of my stomach and lower, until she settles herself between my spread thighs.

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