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“What I like.”
“You’re trying to undo me,” he said hoarsely when she kissed him again and scored her nails through the pelt of hair on his chest. She rocked closer, holding him in the cradle of her thighs. She moaned at the pressure against her quim, the hardness of him. He lifted his hips and she moaned again, threatening to lose control of the moment. His hands flexed on her thighs. She kissed him again and again, soft, teasing. Reverent even as her hips promised something darker, something deeper. The combination made her squirm. Made him curse.
She eased away slightly, panting. The crushed flowers between them scented the air. “Convinced?”
His eyes flared greedily. “Not even close, sweetheart.”
She reared back, pouting.
“Unfair tactic,” he groaned. “I have fucking dreams about that mouth.”
She brightened. “You do?” She’d dreamt about him as well. The sharp line of his jaw, the way he scraped his teeth over her neck. The smell of the sea that clung to him. His fingers stroking into her.
He groaned again in defeat. “Give me the damn greens. Eating the damned lawn for you like a bloody goat.”
She was grinning as she whispered a spell to the leaves, one she had devised purely out of self-preservation when she was very little. Her mother had not been a good cook. Ethan watched her mouth and she felt powerful. She offered him the leaves and he took them, nipping at her fingertip. Heat bolted into her center.
He chewed, swallowed, his eyes on her. He blinked. “It tastes like cake,” he said, surprised.
“Green witch, remember?” He would have his birthday cake, even if she had to sneak it to him.
“I would have eaten all of my vegetables if I’d known you as a lad.”
“I do make a brisk business in winter spelling cabbages to taste like raspberry tarts.”
“I’d rather taste you,” he said, closing his fingers around her waist and tugging her forward. She braced herself, palms on his chest. She could feel his heart beating. “Sweeter than cake.” He gripped the back of her neck and brought her closer still, close enough to capture her mouth with his. It was a slow, deep kiss, full of heat that lingered. “Are you done torturing me, sweetheart?”
“Not even close.” She slid down his body, reaching for his buttons. His erection sprang free. He was hard, silky. For her. She licked him, swirling her tongue around the tip.
“Briar.” A soft warning. She licked him again, and then took as much of him into her mouth as she could. He groaned, breath stuttering. “That fucking mouth.”
The filthy encouragement made her wet, and she sucked him deeper. She used her tongue to stroke the underside, flicking and hollowing her cheeks until he bucked.
When her eyes drifted shut, his fist tightened in her hair. “Eyes on me, sweetheart.”
She looked up at him, suddenly feeling so needy that she had to squeeze her thighs together. Her quim fluttered, swollen and aching. She sucked harder, deeper, watching him watch her. His eyes glittered and he was every bit the Dragon that witches feared. Her Dragon. At least for tonight. For now. When she gripped the base of him, his curses were as reverent as her kisses had been.
A gleam in his eye was her only warning.
One moment she was moaning around the hot length of him, and the next he had flipped her onto her back and was pushing between her legs to loom over her. He used his mouth to devour her—her lips, her throat, her nipples. She felt it everywhere.
“You’re not trying to undo me,” he growled against her damp and flushed skin. “You’re trying to fucking break me. Aren’t you?”
He pulled her skirts up, baring her glistening quim. She squirmed, trying to get closer. He dragged his cock through her folds, then stopped.
“I asked you a question, little thorn.” She reached for him, but he pinned her wrists in the dandelions. “Answer me.”
“I need you,” she said, not even caring if it sounded like she was begging. “Please, Ethan.”
He transferred the hold on her wrist to one hand and slipped his fingers between her slick folds so lightly that she whimpered. “You’re playing with fire, little thorn. And there’s always a price.”
The price included slow, soft touches that threatened to steal her sanity. A build to something that shimmered and sparkled and then a retreat, like the ocean he loved. He brought her closer and closer, never quite giving her enough. His kisses promised vengeance. She was a mess and he was so amused, almost condescending.
“What’s that, sweetheart? I can’t quite hear you.”
“You bastard,” she panted. It should not have made her toes curl, but it did.
His laugh was dark, soft. “Convince me,” he said again, all taunts even as the tendons in his neck stood out in stark relief. He was not unaffected. It made the desperation all that much sweeter. She still couldn’t touch him, with her hands trapped, her body pinned.
