Page 66 of Dragon’s Rebel

Chapter 29

When they got back to the lair, Blaze and Zane disappeared in the direction of their rooms, practically tearing each other’s clothes off already.

Tyr and Tempest wandered off towards Tyr’s wing, shoulders bumping together as they talked softly. Tempest barely remembered to call “Goodnight” over her shoulder.

Tyr’s princess.

What was she? Rebel wondered. She definitely was no princess.

“You’re my princess.” It was like Thorne could still hear her thoughts. He came up close to her, his chest inches from hers, and dropped a kiss on her lips. Mmm.

“My snarky,” (kiss) “sexy,” (kiss), “wild,”(kiss), “reckless princess.”

He backed her up against the wall, his hands resting on either side of her. “My captive princess.” He bent his head and kissed her neck, sucking gently on her skin. “I’m going to carry you off to my lair and have my wicked, wicked way with you.”

With every “wicked” he kissed further down her neck, punctuating the last one with a soft bite.

Oh, hell. He was too sexy to live. And he just might be buzzed on pink drinks too.

His lips moved back up, over her cheek to her mouth. He said against her lips, “Unless you have no intention of honoring our bet.” His kiss was hot and sweet, his tongue stroking the inside of her lower lip. He pulled back, his eyes dark and smoky. “I would never dream of forcing you.”

No need for that. She was melting already. “I always honor my bets.”

He kissed her again—longer, deeper. “Then let’s hope you didn’t bet more than you can afford to lose.”

With that, he swept her up in his arms and threw her over his shoulder. She protested, laughing, but all he did was smack her butt lightly. “Captive,” he said. “You do whatever I say.”

The smack reminded her of the vision she’d had when she and Thorne were flying back from the heist in Tacoma. God, that seemed so long ago. Everything had changed since then.

But not the way heat flooded her core at that little smack. She gave up protesting and groped Thorne’s butt, trying to get her hand down the waistband of his molded-on jeans. That earned her another light smack.

“No hands down my pants,” he said. “You didn’t ask permission to do that.”

“So I suddenly need permission? When was that rule instituted?”

“Five seconds ago,” he said.

“You just want me frustrated,” she muttered.

“Oh, you have no idea.”

When they reached his room he kicked open the door and put her down. Her feet sank into the soft carpet.

She barely got a glimpse of a huge four-poster bed of some dark wood, fabulous art, and a crap-ton of gold tchotchkes before he had her backed up against the wall again.

“You’re taking this captive thing pretty literally, aren’t you,” she panted.

“I’m a dragon.”

He ran his hands sensuously down the outsides of her arms, making her skin tingle. He laced his fingers through hers, and then raised her hands over her head, giving her another one of those toe-curling kisses.

Rebel moaned. The first time they’d had sex, it was half in the spirit world, and Thorne was dying. Not the best time to savor his kisses.

Now she had all the time in the world.

His mouth moved expertly on hers, sucking her lower lip, tangling his tongue with hers, sipping and stroking, taking and giving, until her knees were weak. Then he pulled back a fraction of an inch and whispered, “Your safe word is dragonfire.”

And suddenly there were padded restraints around her wrists, fastened to the wall.