The pressure built and built until she shattered with his name on her lips. Waves of pleasure crashed over her, leaving her boneless and gasping. He worked her through it, gentle now, until she tugged at his hair to bring him back up to her.
His eyes still held traces of fire as he looked at her, and she could feel the hard length of him pressed against her thigh. Ready. Waiting. Letting her decide what came next even though she could see the strain of holding back written across his features.
She pulled him down for a kiss, tasting herself on his lips. "Please," she whispered against his mouth. "I need you."
The words were inadequate for what she actually needed. Not just his body, though she craved that with an intensity that surprised her. She needed the connection, the affirmation of life after facing death. Needed to feel claimed and cherished and whole.
He entered her slowly, carefully. The stretch and fill of him made her gasp, her body adjusting to the intrusion. But it was good, so good, like coming home to a place she'd never known she'd been searching for.
"Perfect," he growled, and there was something inhuman in the sound. "You feel perfect."
She couldn't form words to respond, too lost in sensation. He filled her completely, the heat of him warming her from within. When he started to move, slow and deep, she wrapped her legs around his waist and held on.
This was nothing like her previous experience. This was connection on a level she didn't have words for. Every thrust felt like a claim, every kiss a promise. Her body sang with rightness, like this was what she'd been made for.
This man, this moment, this impossible feeling of belonging.
His control started to slip as they moved together. She could see it in the way his eyes flickered with flame, hear it in the growls that rumbled from his chest. His skin grew hotter, almost burning, but it didn't hurt. It felt like being wrapped in safety, in power, in something ancient and unbreakable.
"Mine," he growled against her throat, and she should have bristled at the possessiveness. Should have reminded him that she belonged to no one. Instead, she found herself arching into him, baring her throat in submission.
"God, yes," she gasped, and felt him shudder against her.
The pressure built again, spiraling higher with each thrust. She was close, so close, balanced on the edge of something vast and terrifying and wonderful. Then Zane's hand found the place where they were joined, his thumb circling with just enough pressure, and she flew apart.
This climax hit harder than the first, stealing her breath and her thoughts and possibly her sanity. She clung to him as pleasure whited out her vision, her body clenching around him. She felt him follow her over, his own release pulled from him with a roar that was definitely more dragon than man.
They collapsed together on the couch, sweat cooling on their skin. Mercy's mind felt blissfully quiet for the first time in days.
No plans, no fears, no constant calculation of threats and exits. Just the warm weight of Zane's body covering hers, the steady thrum of his heartbeat against her chest.
She should move. Should retreat to the bathroom and rebuild her walls and pretend this was just physical release after trauma. Should do anything but burrow closer into his embrace and let herself feel safe.
But she was so tired of running. Tired of being strong and independent and alone. Just for tonight, just for this stolen moment, she could let someone else be strong for her. Let someone else stand guard while she rested.
She let herself rest against Zane and pretended everything would be alright.
13
Zane held Mercy against his chest, feeling the rapid flutter of her heartbeat gradually slow to match his own. Her hair tickled his chin, dark strands still damp with sweat, and he resisted the urge to bury his face in it and breathe her in. Every instinct screamed at him to wrap her up, carry her somewhere safe, and never let her out of his sight again.
His mate. Finally in his arms where she belonged.
Time was slipping away, and he could feel her starting to think again. Her muscles tensed slightly against him, the first sign that her walls were rebuilding. Soon, she'd find some excuse to put distance between them. Then she'd start talking about leaving again, about finding work on someone else's crew.
He couldn't let that happen. Not when he'd finally found what he hadn't even known he was looking for.
Mercy's fingers traced lazy patterns across his chest, following the lines of muscle and the thin scars he'd accumulated over the years. Her touch was gentle, almost reverent, like she was memorizing the feel of him. The sensation sent warmth racing through his veins that had nothing to do with dragon fire.
"You really were going to sabotage some matchmaking meeting?" Her voice held amused disbelief. She tilted her head to look up at him, green eyes still soft with satisfaction but sharpening with curiosity. "Not that I'm complaining, but it seems a bit extreme. Why not just say no?"
How could he explain it without sounding like the spoiled lord she'd initially assumed he was?
"I'm the youngest of three, did you know that?" He kept his tone light, conversational, even as his hand found its way into her hair.
"That's one of the least surprising things I've heard."
The dry delivery made him laugh despite his nerves. Trust Mercy to cut straight through any attempt at sympathy. He growled playfully and rolled them both, pinning her beneath him on the wide couch. Her startled laugh turned into a gasp as he captured her mouth in a quick kiss, nipping at her lower lip until she squirmed against him.
