Page 62

Azaren walked straight to the bathroom. He set me on my feet only long enough to turn on the water. Steam began to fill the small space. Then his hands were on me again, careful of the claws as he unbuttoned my coat, peeled my sweater over my head, worked the button of my jeans with surprising patience. I returned the favor, sliding the dark tunic from his shoulders, revealing the broad planes of his chest, the ridges of muscle, the places where old scars had faded into something almost decorative against his skin.

When we were both bare, he stepped under the spray first and drew me in after him.

Hot water cascaded over us. I tilted my head back, letting it soak my hair, and felt his hands settle at my waist again. His wings folded carefully against the tiled wall so they wouldn't knock anything over. His tail curled around my thigh, the tip stroked slow, deliberate circles higher and higher.

"Poppy." My name sounded like a prayer and a warning at once.

I reached up, cupped his face, careful of the horns as I rose onto my toes. "I'm right here."

He kissed me.

It started soft—tender, almost reverent—then deepened the moment I parted my lips for him. His tongue stroked against mine, and a low, hungry sound rumbled in his chest. One clawed hand slid down my back, pressing me flush against him. I felt the hard length of him against my stomach and gasped into his mouth.

He broke the kiss just enough to speak against my lips. "Tell me if anything is too much."

"I will." My hands explored the powerful lines of his shoulders, the place where wings met skin. "But I don't think it will be."

He lifted me again, settling me against the warm tile, with my thighs wrapped around his hips. The position lined us up perfectly. His forehead rested against mine. Water streamed between us. His eyes never left mine as he slowly, carefully, pressed inside.

I moaned—long and soft—at the stretch, the heat, the overwhelming sense of being filled by him. He held still, breathing hard, giving me time. One hand cradled the back of my head so I wouldn't knock against the wall. His tail tightened around my thigh in a gentle, possessive hold.

"Okay?" he asked, in a strained voice.

"More than okay." I rolled my hips experimentally and watched his eyes flare brighter. "Azaren… move."

He did.

Slow at first. Deep. Every thrust measured so his claws never scraped, so his wings stayed braced safely, so the only thing I felt was pleasure and the solid strength of him holding me. I clung to his shoulders, with my forehead pressed to his, breathing the same air. Soft sounds slipped from me with every stroke and broken little gasps of someone who had waited far too long for this and still couldn't quite believe it was real.

His mouth found my neck again, kissing, nipping, soothing. "You feel…" He struggled for words, something that almost never happened. "Like home."

Tears pricked my eyes even as pleasure coiled tighter low in my belly. "So do you."

The water was still cascading over us when the need became too much for the small tiled space. Azaren's thrusts had stayed deep and deliberate, every movement careful of his strength, of the claws that never once scraped my skin, of the powerful wings braced against the wall so they wouldn't knock anything over. His tail stayed wrapped around my thigh, the tip stroked slow, maddening circles higher until I was shaking.

But the shower was too narrow, the footing too uncertain, and the way he looked at me through his deep red eyes told me he needed more room. Needed to lay me down. Needed to take his time.

"Bedroom," I whispered against his mouth.

He didn't answer with words. He simply shut off the water, lifted me effortlessly, and carried me through the steam-filled cottage. Water dripped from our bodies onto the hardwood. Reggie cracked one green eye from the couch, decided whatever was happening was none of his business, and went back to sleep.

Azaren laid me on the bed with surprising gentleness. The sheets were cool against my damp skin. He followed me down, bracing his weight on his forearms so he wouldn't crush me. His wings spread wide above us like a dark canopy. The tips of his horns brushed the headboard when he lowered his head.

For a moment he simply looked at me. Then he started over. His mouth found the hollow of my throat first, kissing, tasting, the soft scrape of a fang sending a shiver straight down my spine. He trailed lower, unhurried, as though he had all night and intended to use every second of it. When he reached my breasts he paused, breathing warm against one peaked nipple.

"Tell me if I hurt you," he murmured.

"You won't."

He proved me right.

The flat of his tongue circled first before the sharp point of a fang lightly grazed the sensitive tip. Not enough to break skin. Just enough to make my back arch and a sharp moan escaped my throat. He did it again, slower, then closed his lips around the nipple and sucked, the contrast of gentle heat and the teasing edge of his fang made me writhe beneath him.

His tail moved at the same time.

The long, flexible length slid up my side, then curled around the underside of my other breast, lifting and cradling it. The tip flicked across the neglected nipple in a slow, deliberate stroke that made me gasp. He tightened the coil just enough to hold me open for his mouth, presenting both breasts to him like an offering.

"Azaren—"