Her breath catches.
“Go on,” I murmur from the end of the bed. “Let me see how good you can make yourself feel.”
She hesitates for just a moment, but then her fingers start to move again. Slow. Shaky.
“Don’t think,” I coach. “Just feel.”
It’s still awkward and rushed. She’s too in her head.
“Circle your fingers near your clit, but don’t touch it,” I instruct, voice low and even. “Start slow, like this is foreplay. Like I’m kissing down your stomach, spreading your thighs, teasing you with my tongue just out of reach.”
She gasps and obeys, her touch softer now. Her eyes flutter shut, jaw slack.
My cock throbs in time with every movement she makes. I shift my stance, grinding down the need to pull myself out and relieve the pressure building behind the fabric of my underwear. This isn’t about me. This is for her.
“Now dip your finger in that tight, dripping cunt,” I say in a silky tone, the words flowing out of me without thought. “Just one and only to the first knuckle, Aura. I want you to think of me teasing you with just the tip of my cock, just enough to feel that perfect heat.”
Her lips part as she gasps.
She’s wet. Silken. Glowing.
The scent of her, ripe and addictive, coats my throat. My pulse pounds in places I can’t reach. I dig my nails into my palms and anchor my feet to the floor. One wrong move and I’ll tear the bed apart just to get to her.
“You’re so fucking beautiful,” I rasp, voice sandpaper and heat.
Where most people stop at her body, at the pull of her curves, the arousal she inspires, I see more.
I’ve guarded this girl with the resolve of a soldier, but I’ve also memorized every inch of her. I’ve memorized and categorized her glances, her moans, every stolen smile. I’ve watched her fight. Break. Rebuild herself from nothing but hope and stubbornness. I’ve watched her flirt and tease and feed.
She’s far more than the sum of her parts, her hunger. She’severything.
In every sexual encounter, there’s always been someone else. Some stranger at her lips. Her throat. Her thighs. Feeding her. Touching her. Taking something I wanted to give.
But now?
There is just the two of us in this room. No sharing. No buffering presence.
And it sinks into something primal. Something ancient. My Dragon wants to hoard her. Wants to lock the door, throw away the key, and never let her out of this room. Out of this moment. Out of my reach.
The greedy, fire-blooded part that doesn’t understand reason or restraint wants to burn the whole world down just to keep this part of her all to myself.
She adds a second finger and dips into the second knuckle now, a little faster, finding a rhythm that wasn’t there before.
My balls draw tight. I clench my jaw until it aches, every muscle in my body pulled taut like a bowstring. Every sound she makes feeds a beast I’ve caged for too long.
“You’re doing so good,” I whisper. “So fucking good for me, baby.”
Her whole body shudders.
Then she opens her eyes to meet mine. “Say that again,” she whispers.
“What? You mean call you baby?”
She nods, and her hand stutters, waiting.
“Baby,” I say again, slower this time. Letting it land. “Sweetheart.Mine.”
A desperate sound between a moan and a warble escapes her when I call her by the little pet names. Her fingers plunge deeper, faster, but her untrained touch is moving her away from the edge of orgasm.
