Page 2 of Daring the Drakarn Warrior Lord
"Shut up and kiss me."
He did.
His mouth claimed mine with a hunger that stole what little breath I'd regained. No gentleness, no hesitation. Just raw need and the taste of him flooding my senses. I kissed him back just as fiercely, biting his lower lip, feeling the sharp points of his fangs against my tongue.
His hand released my wrists, but I didn't pull away. Instead, I buried my fingers in the thick hair at the base of his skull, holding him to me. His claws found the hem of my shirt, and this time he did tear, the sound of rending fabric loud in the quiet chamber.
Cool air hit my skin for a heartbeat before his palm covered my breast, scaled and hot and perfect. I gasped into his mouth, and he swallowed the sound, his kiss turning deeper, more demanding.
I got my hands on his chest, feeling the hard planes of muscle beneath his own training shirt. I needed to feel his skin. His scales. The contrast of textures that never failed to undo me.
He broke the kiss long enough to yank his shirt over his head, wings shifting to accommodate the movement. The sight of him, bare-chested, eyes molten, lips swollen from my kisses, sent a fresh surge of want through me.
"You're wearing too many clothes," he said, voice like gravel.
"Fix it."
He did, with an efficiency that would have been impressive if I wasn't so focused on getting my hands back on him. My shirt joined his somewhere to the left. My pants followed, his claws making quick work of laces and fabric until I was bare beneath him.
The stone floor should have been cold. It wasn't. Heat radiated up from it, the same geothermal warmth that kept all of Scalvaris livable. Or maybe it was just us, burning hot enough to warm the rock itself.
Darrokar's gaze raked over me, and I felt it like a touch. Possessive. Hungry. Reverent.
"Mine," he said, and it wasn't a question.
"Yours," I agreed, reaching for the laces of his pants. "Now get these off before I rip them."
His laugh was dark, pleased. He stood just long enough to strip, and then he was covering me again, skin to scales, heat to heat. The weight of him should have been crushing. Instead, it felt right. Like this was exactly where I was meant to be.
His hand slid between my thighs, and I stopped thinking entirely.
The pads of his clever fingers, careful because of the claws, found exactly where I needed him. I bit back a moan, but he felt the tension in my body, the way I trembled under his touch.
"Don't hide from me," he murmured against my ear. "I want every sound."
Then he did something with his fingers that made me cry out, back arching off the floor. He made an approving noise, deep and rumbling, and did it again. And again. Building a rhythm that had me writhing, chasing the pleasure he offered.
"Darrokar." His name fell from my lips like a prayer. A curse. A demand.
"I have you,luvae." His thumb found the bundle of nerves that made stars burst behind my eyelids. "Let go."
I shattered.
The orgasm crashed through me, stealing my breath, my vision, everything but the sensation of his hands on me and his voice in my ear, murmuring words in his own language that I didn't need to understand to feel.
Before I could fully come down, he was moving, positioning himself between my thighs. The blunt head of his cock, already slick with that fluid his body produced, pressed against my entrance. I looked up at him, meeting those golden eyes, and saw my own need reflected back.
He pushed in, slow and careful, giving me time to adjust. The stretch was intense, pleasure-pain that made me gasp. The scales at the base of his cock rasped against my sensitive flesh, and the ridges along his length dragged in all the right ways.
But it was the tip, that independently moving piece of flesh that seemed designed specifically to drive me insane, that made me moan. It flexed inside me, seeking, stroking, finding spots I hadn't known existed.
"God," I breathed.
"Just me," he corrected, voice strained. Then he was moving, pulling out and thrusting back in, setting a pace that had me clinging to his shoulders.
The training chamber filled with the sounds of us, skin on scales, harsh breathing, the wet slide of our bodies joining. His tail wrapped around my thigh, holding me open for him, and I couldn't have closed my legs if I'd wanted to.
I didn't want to.
