I stare at him for a solid three seconds, my mouth open.
Oh my god. I close my eyes, a hysterical laugh bubbling up in my chest, He doesn't know what a date is. A-freaking-dorable.
"Never mind, Vael," I sigh, opening my eyes and grinning at his serious face. "You're cute. Let’s eat our food, first though, okay? I’m really hungry."
"I am a decorated leader of troops," he grumbles, looking insulted as he marches back over to the automated platters. "I am not 'cute.'"
"Whatever you say," I mutter, my gaze locked onto the thick, rippling muscles of his back as he begins loading a plate. At least he's hot. I slide off the bed and grab my own plate, sitting next to him at the table.
I should talk to him. But I can’t think of anything to say.
Was I this bad at dating at home?
Why was this easier before the translators?
We eat in a charged silence. The food is a strange, savory mix of pepper and roasted root vegetables, but I can barely enjoy the flavor.
Every time Vael-Torin takes a bite, his eyes slide over to my bare thighs, his pupils dilating until the irises are almost gone. Beneath the table, his tail keeps snaking out, the soft red fluff brushing tentatively against my ankle, testing my boundaries with an agonizing restraint.
It’s hot in here. It’s hot between my legs.
Finally, the automated dispenser chimes, dropping a covered bowl onto the center of the table. I slide the lid back to find a dish of sweet berries glistening under a layer of whipped cream.
An evil smile turns up my lips. I can work with this.
"Oh, dessert," I murmur, picking up a spoon. "Want some?"
Vael-Torin stands, his chair scraping loudly against the metal floor. He doesn't look at the bowl. He walks around the table, his shadow eclipsing the overhead light as he looms over me.
A shiver goes through me.
"No," he rasps, his voice dropping into a deep register that makes the hairs on my arms stand up. And the rest of me stand at attention, too.
He reaches down, his clawed hands clamping around my waist, lifting me off the chair before laying me flat across the dining table.
My silk slip rides up past my hips as I stare up into the fire of his gaze.
"Vael..." I pant, the tension burning between us.
"That fruit is not the dessert I intend to taste tonight, Poppy," he growls.
Oh! He said my name right.
Oh! He wants to?—
His thick fingers hook into the neckline of my slip, and with a single, controlled flex of his forearm, he rips the fabric wide open, exposing my breasts and my aching lower half.
I let out a ragged moan, my knees falling wide on the steel table.
Vael-Torin drops to his knees.
His hands anchor my hips flat against the table. His purple-red tongue snakes out, licking his fang as his nostrils flare, drinking in the sight of my bared pussy.
“Even more beautiful like this,” he says. “May I taste you?” His voice is quiet, and reverent, and that does more for me than anything else he could have said.
A small smile curls around my lips. “Please.” It comes out a squak.
"Hold onto my horns." His breath’s hot against my thighs. "And let me show you how a Draegon handles his debts."
