Zanaikeyros - Son of Dragons (Pantheon of Dragons #1)(84)

Icy, frosty, and cold…

As he fed.

But then he withdrew his canines and coated the frost with heat, even as he healed the wound and reversed the leeching with a soft, beguiling flame.

She shifted her hips beneath him, trying to restrain the impulse to writhe.

He chuckled softly beneath his breath, and then he devoured her throat like the animal he was: kissing, tasting, nipping…claiming.

Jordan slid her fingers into his gorgeous, silky hair, tightened her fist around a handful of tresses, and tugged him away from her neck. “Kiss me,” she demanded, and his entire upper body shook.

He lowered his mouth to hers and took her to heaven with his lips, his teeth, and his tongue.

His hands began to search her body—to tantalize, tease, and incite—and she found herself squirming beneath him, rising to meet his touch, offering her breasts, and raising her thighs to his hips.

He tugged the front of her dress down to her waist and covered her nipples with a growl; and then his tongue created some sort of magic—she hadn’t even known was possible—as he tantalized her mounds. By the time he finished tasting, suckling, and flicking the peaks between his teeth, she was reaching for the top of his jeans.

He didn’t hesitate to oblige her. “Shiiiiiit, mea dragyra.” He began to murmur in Dragonese…

And she smiled.

There was nothing clumsy about his execution as everything happened at once: He removed his pants, her dress, and her bikinis—and sidled between her hips, his enormous arousal, both hard and smooth, pressing against her entrance. “I need your permission, baby,” he grunted between his teeth. “Say yes, mea dragyra…for the sake of the gods…please…say yes.”

Jordan hesitated, but only for an instant.

He was larger than any male she had ever known, and she wasn’t sure if he’d fit.

Yet his body was trembling with the need to enter hers, and his chest was heaving with desire. She knew she was wet; she knew she was ready; but she didn’t know what it meant.

He rocked his pelvis against her peak in a slow, undulating motion, and she gave in. “Yes…yes…yes.”

He thrust inside her, burying his sex to the hilt, and she braced against the sudden burn. “Relax, angel, your body was made for mine,” he coaxed, and she held her hips still as she stretched. Oh…lords of fire…he felt like solid steel encased in glorious satin: thick, throbbing, and perfect. She began to rock her hips, and he followed suit, pumping with even thrusts. As she slowly relaxed more and more, he let her dictate the intensity—their pace, their fervor, their passion—until nothing existed in that glorious cove other than their two sweating bodies.

As warm waves filled with dragon’s fire washed over their skin, pleasure washed over her body. Harder, faster, in and out, he moved like a seasoned lover, until just like the waves in the magnificent sea, their passion rose to a crescendo.

Jordan’s head fell back, and her lips parted softly in a torturous, wordless cry as she dug her nails into Zane’s strong back and hurtled over the edge of ecstasy.

He released his seed at the same exquisite moment, and his expression was beyond description: savage, masculine…beautiful.

When, finally, the last, lingering tremors of their coupling had subsided, Zane reached up to stroke her cheek. “Are you okay?” he whispered.

She brushed her fingers over his and nodded.

He kissed her once more—lovingly, tenderly—before rolling onto his back and drawing her body with him. “Stay with me forever, Jordan. Make this world your home. Not for the temple, not for the lords, not because you have to…but because you want to, you need to, because you desire what we can have. Give me the chance to love you.”

Jordan rolled over on top of Zane’s chest and stared tenderly into his eyes.

There was nothing—absolutely nothing—manipulative, insincere, or deceitful in his words. He was being honest, raw, and vulnerable. And that, above all else, vanquished her resistant heart. She didn’t know what the future would hold—heaven help her, she didn’t even know if she could go through with the conversion, but she did know that Zane Saphyrius was one in a million, and maybe—just maybe—what she feared the most would turn out to be her life’s greatest blessing.

She laid her head on his chest and listened to the rhythm of his heart.

It was beating in time with hers.

f

Salem Thorne scurried down from a jagged ledge on a rocky outcropping, still in beetle form. He was disgusted by the lovey-dovey, seductive nonsense he’d just witnessed on the beach; impressed as hell by the Dragons Fire in the sea; and more than just a little sexually frustrated by the entire night’s events—oh, how he’d wanted to shift into pagan form and stroke himself to the stimulus of Jordan’s perfect tits.

But whatever.

He could always do that later.

Hell, maybe he’d make love to her corpse.

Right now, the dewy-eyed couple was vulnerable, exposed, and unaware—lying like a couple of sun-bathing seals on an open beach; only, they were cloaked beneath the cover of darkness, moon-bathing beneath the stars.

In other words, opportunity was knocking.

And loudly.

Salem needed to strike swiftly while the iron was hot.

Hmm.

Was that considered mixing one’s metaphors?