I press a kiss to his jaw, my limbs still trembling. He exhales, a soft, satisfied sound, and pulls me closer.
His breath is still hot against my skin, our bodies tangled together under the sheets. The fire’s glow bathes the room in soft amber light, and I feel the gentle rise and fall of his chest against mine. His hand traces circles on my hip, slow and deliberate, as if memorizing every curve.
He shifts, rolling onto his side to face me, his eyes holding mine. There’s no smirk, no teasing—just a quiet intensity that makes my heart skip. His thumb brushes across my lower lip, and I press a kiss to it, feeling the roughness of his skin against mine.
“Clara,” he murmurs, his voice low, almost reverent.
I don’t answer with words. Instead, I lean in, capturing his mouth with mine. The kiss is slow, deep, and filled with something I can’t quite name—something fragile and raw that neither of us has dared to voice. His hands slide down my back, pulling me closer, until there’s no space left between us.
He breaks the kiss only to trail his lips down my neck, his teeth grazing my collarbone in a way that makes me shiver. His hand slips between my thighs, fingertips brushing over my still slick folds, and I arch into him with a gasp.
“You’re so wet for me,” he growls, his voice rough.
I reach for him, my fingers wrapping around his cock, already hard and throbbing. He groans, his hips jerking forward as I stroke him, his breath hot against my skin.
“I want more,” I whisper, my voice trembling with need.
He doesn’t hesitate, guiding himself again to my pussy. The first thrust is slow, deliberate, and I gasp as he fills me completely. He pauses, letting me adjust, his forehead pressed to mine, our breaths mingling.
Then he moves, his hips rolling in a rhythm that’s unhurried but insistent. Each thrust sends waves of pleasure through me, my body tightening around him. His hands grip my hips, pulling me closer, deeper, until I’m gasping his name, my nails digging into his shoulders.
He shifts, angling himself just right, and I cry out as he hits that spot inside me that makes my vision blur. His pace quickens, his thrusts harder, more frantic, and I cling to him, my legs wrapping around his waist.
“Dralgor—” My voice breaks on his name, my body already trembling on the edge.
“Come again, Clara,” he growls, his voice thick with need. "Want you coming all night."
And I obey, my orgasm crashing over me in waves, my body clenching around him. He follows moments later, his release spilling hot inside me as he groans my name, his body shuddering above mine.
The firelight dances across the room, casting Dralgor’s sharp features in a soft glow. His chest rises and falls steadily beneath my ear, his hand absently tracing patterns on my shoulder. The weight of his arm around me is grounding, like an anchor in the quiet of the room. I exhale, my body still humming with the aftershocks of what just happened.
“You’re thinking too loud,” he rumbles, his voice low and lazy, like the warm embers in the hearth.
“I’m not thinking,” I lie, my fingers idly tracing the scars on his chest. They’re raised and uneven, a map of battles I don’t know the stories to yet. “I’m just… existing.”
He snorts, a sound that’s both amused and disbelieving. “You’re never just existing, little teacher. Your mind’s always racing, even when your body’s still.”
I tilt my head to glance up at him, narrowing my eyes. “And here I thought I was the one who analyzes everything. Turns out you’re just as bad.”
The corner of his mouth quirks, but he doesn’t deny it. His hand slides up to tuck a strand of my hair behind my ear, his fingers lingering there for a moment too long.
He shifts slightly, pulling me closer so I’m half-draped over him. My cheek rests against his chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat a soothing counterpoint to my own thoughts.
“You’re warm,” I murmur, my voice muffled against his skin. “Like a giant space heater.”
He chuckles, the sound reverberating through me. “Thanks. I’ll add it to the list of my many talents.”
“Right next to ‘impossibly stubborn’ and ‘annoyingly good at everything,’” I add, tilting my head to look up at him again. His grin is smug, and I can’t resist poking him in the ribs. He doesn’t flinch, but his hand catches mine, holding it firmly against his chest.
“Keep that up, and I’ll have to remind you why you shouldn’t start fights you can’t finish,” he warns, though there’s no real threat in his tone—just that gravelly edge that makes my stomach flip.
I raise an eyebrow, trying to look unimpressed. “Is that a promise or a threat?”
His eyes darken, and for a moment, I think he might take me up on the challenge. But then he exhales, his grip on my hand relaxing. “Both. But right now, I’m enjoying the quiet.”
“A rare moment of peace,” I tease, though I settle back against him, my fingers resuming their idle tracing of his scars. The fire crackles softly, filling the silence with its gentle rhythm.
He doesn’t respond, but his hand moves to my back, drawing slow, lazy circles that make my eyelids heavy. I close my eyes, letting the warmth of him and the fire lull me into a rare, contented stillness.
