12
Mercy's lips crashed against Zane's with all the desperation of a drowning woman finally finding air.
She tackled him back against the couch cushions, her hands fisting in his shirt as she straddled his lap. The kiss was messy, urgent, nothing like before. This was need and fear and relief all tangled together, pouring out through the press of her mouth against his.
He tasted like danger wrapped in silk. His lips were soft, but his kiss was anything but gentle. When she nipped at his bottom lip, he groaned deep in his chest, the sound vibrating through her entire body where they pressed together. Heat radiated from his skin, not quite human warmth but something fiercer, more elemental.
Dragon heat. The heat that had turned her attackers to ash but left her untouched.
Her mind reeled, trying to process the impossible duality of him. This man, who baked bread and played cards with her, who cleaned her galley until it sparkled. The same man who could transform into a creature of legend and rain fire from the sky.
But right now, with his arms wrapped around her and his mouth moving against hers, he felt like he was all hers.
Zane's hands tangled in her hair, angling her head to deepen the kiss. His tongue swept into her mouth, claiming and exploring, and she moaned against him. Fire raced through her veins, pooling low in her belly. Every nerve ending sparked to life, her body going liquid with want. She needed more. Needed to feel him, all of him, needed to confirm he was real and solid and here.
Her hands traced over his shoulders, mapping the broad expanse through expensive fabric. Muscle shifted beneath her palms, coiled strength that had carried her to safety. She could feel the power thrumming just beneath his skin, barely leashed.
No one had ever come for her before.
The thought made her kiss him harder, pouring all her confusion and gratitude and want into the connection. Her fingers found the hem of his shirt, tugging impatiently. She needed skin. Needed to feel the heat of him without barriers.
Zane pulled back just enough to look at her, and she gasped. There was literal fire dancing in his eyes, flames flickering in brown irises like embers in a hearth. Another reminder that he was more than human, more than she could fully comprehend.
But she didn't care. Not now. Not when her body was singing with need and her heart was still racing from terror and rescue and the impossible fact that she was alive.
Her hands shook as she pulled at his shirt, fumbling with fabric that suddenly seemed far too complicated. She needed to touch him, needed to confirm he was real and whole and here. That they'd both survived. That those mercs hadn't dragged her away to whatever fate awaited girls with bounties on their heads.
"Easy," he murmured, his voice rough with barely controlled want. His hands covered hers, steadying them. Together, they worked his shirt over his head, and then her palms were finally, finally on his bare skin.
He burned like a furnace, heat radiating from every inch of exposed flesh. Her hands mapped the planes of his chest, feeling the way his muscles tensed beneath her touch. Scars marked his skin here and there, thin white lines that spoke of a life less pampered than she'd assumed. Her fingers traced each one, learning this new landscape of him.
"I need to see you," he said, and his hands were gentle as they found the hem of her shirt. So different from the rough grip of the mercs, the violence of being grabbed and scanned like cargo. Zane's touch was reverent, careful, giving her every opportunity to pull away.
She didn't want to pull away. She wanted to fall into him and never surface.
Her shirt joined his on the floor, and then his hands were on her skin, warm and sure. He traced the bruises on her ribs with heartbreaking gentleness, the chemical burns on her fingers, the scrapes from her time with the pirates. Each touch felt like an apology, a promise, a claim all rolled into one.
When his mouth followed his hands, pressing kisses to each injury, she thought she might shatter. No one had ever touched her with such care. Like she was precious. Like she mattered.
"Beautiful," he murmured against her skin, and she believed him. In this moment, with his hands and mouth worshipping every inch of her, she felt beautiful. Felt wanted.
The rest of their clothes disappeared in a blur of desperate hands and tangled limbs. She needed to feel all of him against all of her, skin to skin with nothing between them. When they were finally bare, she pressed against him with a soft cry of relief. The heat of him chased away the lingering cold of fear, warming her from the outside in.
He was magnificent.
All lean muscle and controlled power, strength that could level buildings channeled into gentle touches. Her hands couldn't stop moving, needing to touch and claim and confirm. This impossible man who was hers, at least for now.
At least for this moment stolen from chaos.
"Let me," he said, and she wasn't sure what he was asking but she nodded anyway. Trust, she realized with a start. She trusted him. This dragon who'd hidden his nature, who'd saved her life, who looked at her like she hung the stars.
His mouth traced a path down her body, and she surrendered to sensation. Let herself stop thinking, stop analyzing, stop planning for once in her life. There was only feeling as he mapped her with lips and tongue and careful teeth.
Only the building pressure as he found every sensitive spot and lavished it with attention.
When his mouth finally found her center, she arched off the couch with a cry. Pleasure sparked through her like lightning, sharp and bright and overwhelming. Her hands fisted in his hair, holding on as he took her apart with focused intensity. The vulnerability of it should have terrified her.
But this was Zane. Zane, who'd burned for her, flown for her, offered her sanctuary without asking for anything in return. She could be vulnerable with him. Could let down her walls and just feel.
