“Does that feel like you killed me?” I tell him, cocking my head. “No, you did not kill me. You tried to kill yourself. And then we were somehow transported here because when we chose ourselves, the entire game glitched, and they were able to pull us out and teleport us to Sueva. So, you’re not dead, and I don’t want to hear that bullshit anymore.”
I clamp my mouth shut, my nose crinkling.
“That’s not how I wanted to say welcome back,” I say slowly, but I narrow my eyes at him. “I am extremely angry. I have been in this forced heat for weeks now.Weeks!They had to sedate me so I wouldn’t try to kill everybody, because apparently your little Draegon heat did more than make me horny—it made me a complete rage monster. So, yeah, congratulations.”
“Is that how you wanted to greet me?” he asks slowly, his lips ticking up in that smug smile I’ve grown to miss so much that it hurts.
“I wanted to greet you by giving you a blow job and waking you up, but apparently that would just make my heat worse. So, every time I tried to do that, they pulled me off of you and had to sedate me again.”
That, more than anything, seems to rouse him from the sad, self-sacrificing bullshit he’s grown so attached to.
I feel his cock begin to stir behind me, the movement in the entire bed vibrating with the force of it.
“We are really alive,” he says.
Reaching up, he holds my face in his hand, his talons pricking my skin gently, but it feels so good to be touched by him that I just stay, letting him turn my face this way and that way.
“You were not hurt. You are alive,” he says with a moan, pulling me into an embrace.
I snuggle closer, then pull back.
“You have to be careful,” I tell him. “Your wing has been healing for days now, and they’ve done some crazy shit on it that I can’t believe, but you’re not supposed to move it.”
“You’re worried about me,” he says slowly.
“Of fucking course I’m worried about you. Do you not remember me telling you that I loved you right before you tried to blow yourself up? Do you not remember that?”
“I thought I was dreaming,” he says. “But it was a nightmare, and I’d killed you.”
He’s still holding my face, even though I’m snuggled as close as I can get to him.
“You’re still in heat,” he says.
“I don’t even want to talk about it,” I manage, pressing kisses against his neck, his ear. Tracing the contours of his face—so beautiful—the scar even in stark relief since he’s been laid up in bed for days, a pale lavender against the darker purple of his flesh.
“We don’t have to talk about it,” he says. “Why don’t we fix it?”
“How would we fix that?” I tell him. “There’s only one way to fix it. And your wing is hurt.”
“I don’t need my wings to make you come. I haven’t used them once.”
“Oh,” I say slowly. “You don’t think it’s kind of messed up to just, like, jump on top of you right now?”
“You have been in pain for weeks.Weeks,” he says. “Heat is supposed to last two to three days at most.”
“I don’t want to take advantage of you. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
I can’t seem to keep my hands off of him, my lips either. “Just let me touch you.”
A low growl rumbles in his chest, and I moan a little because it feels really good between my legs.
“You could never take advantage of me,” he says.
But when my hand starts to inch toward his waist, where I want it most, he wraps his fingers around my wrist and sets it back on his cheek.
“Did I hurt you?” I ask him, absolutely hating that thought.
“No, Lily. The only thing that could hurt me is if something happened to you.”
