Dragos Goes to Washington (Elder Races #8.5)(5)

“You are very welcome to try,” she whispered. Her attempt at cockiness had turned breathy and yearning. “Please, try very hard.”

A smile lit his hard features. “Trust me, that will be entirely my pleasure.”

Chapter Two

There was nothing new to their banter. It was a staple of their daily lives, and Dragos had come to rely on it like he relied on breathing.

He basked in the sparkle that lit her eyes as if it were sunlight. Her happiness warmed and sustained him. Her feminine scent fed a ferocity of hunger that never faded or mellowed, no matter how he tried to sate himself on her.

Even when he had forgotten her completely, he had still wanted her. The memory of his brief spell of amnesia tightened his mouth.

The construction accident that had caused his injury had happened a few months ago. It had only taken him a few days to recover almost all of his memory, but even when he could have flown away from everything in his life and never known the difference, he had been fascinated by her presence and ensnared by her perseverance.

Even then, when the dragon had been at his most feral and dangerous, he had mated with her. He still remembered the strange, possessive struggle he had felt—the odd jealousy toward himself, or at least the man he thought he had been, before his memories had come flooding back.

They were twice mated. Old as he was, he had never heard of such a thing before. Using his grip on her spaghetti strap, he pulled her closer and growled softly into her face, “You’ll never be rid of me. Never, as long as either of us live.”

The same miracle occurred, as it always did, yet it never failed to astonish him. An expression of peace softened her features. She gave him a soft smile as she whispered back, “Never.”

She wanted him to hold on. She wanted him.

He took hold of her hips and pressed her against him, so she could feel his erection straining against his jeans. Her eyelids grew heavy, and her peaceful expression grew flushed. She licked her lips, moistening the plump, soft flesh so that he had to taste her.

Bending his head, he covered her mouth with his. She had taught him how to be gentle, a trait that did not come naturally to him, but he had savored learning it, because it brought out all the many, delicate facets to her pleasure that he loved to devour.

The catch of her breath. The way her violet eyes darkened. The trembling of her lips. She was cooler than he, but even so, when passion rose, it tinted her pale skin with a dusky rose, as if she was lit inside from an internal fire. He drank it all down, the evidence of what he did to her. He would have missed all of it if he had not learned the lessons that she had taught him.

He would always be a selfish man. The gentleness she had taught him brought him pleasure.

But despite himself and the enjoyment he took in her arousal, the combination of things that they had talked about—that he had thought about—were too potent a cocktail for him to resist.

The possibility of making her pregnant had him so hard, he almost spilled in his pants just considering it. And the memory of how recently he had mated with her—both times—put him in touch again with those earlier emotions.

There were so many times when he had almost lost her, and she had almost lost him. Back in the beginning, when he had such dominant, possessive feelings, she could have rejected him out of hand, and that would have been it. She’d had every reason to reject him. He had chased her, terrorized her, and yet she still ending up loving him. Mating with him.

The mating frenzy always lay in the back of his mind, rather like a place that he had left, just around a corner. All he had to do was turn back, step around the corner, and he was there again.

Crazy from wanting her.

Insanely jealous of everything that took her attention away from him.

And needing her so badly, it felt like a knife in the gut.

After passing his hand over her hair, he lifted his head from the kiss. Tilting back her head, he pressed his lips against her vulnerable, beautiful neck.

He said against her fragile, petal soft skin, “You know how this goes, don’t you?”

He had meant to take her back to the first time they had made love, when he had told her I’m going to eat you until you scream.

Instead, Pia grabbed his conversational gambit and skipped away with it.

“In a general sort of way,” she whispered unsteadily. She ran her hands up his arms and dug her fingers into his shoulders. “You diddle here, I suck there. Or maybe you suck, and I diddle. Or both. Couple of pats, and ten or fifteen thrusts. ‘Oh baby, you’re so good, I can’t take it,’ pow, et cetera, ‘let’s go raid the fridge.’”

He felt his lips pull into a grin, and he made himself stop. Forcing some bite into his voice, he repeated, “Ten or fifteen thrusts?”

Her body shook as she started to giggle. “Well, you know, I never really counted them up. I’m usually too preoccupied with my own pow to keep track of what you’re up to.”

“Your pow,” he growled. Her tank top was a pretty cherry red, one of his favorite colors. He eased the soft, thin material up her torso, and she lifted her arms so he could pull it over her head. “I think you’re mistaken.”

“About what?” Her laughing face emerged from underneath the top, hair disheveled and eyes sparkling.

She wasn’t wearing a bra, and her breasts bounced free. Her beautiful, generously rounded breasts with the erect pink nipples. His mouth watered as he looked at them.