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Tairon chuckled. “I told you, I have lots of dragon tricks. Speaking of…I still haven’t shown you today’s trick.”
“You haven’t? The bottle thing with the tongue wasn’t…?”
“Nope.” He reached behind him and grabbed the bottle of alcohol, a wicked look on his face. Wetting his finger with some of the clear liquid, he drew a cool line down her torso from the notch of her throat to her navel. Then he released a tiny lick of flame, igniting the line he’d drawn with flickering blue fire, turning it from cool to warm—very warm!
Ivy squeaked in surprise, but just as quickly, he licked up her body, hot path over hot path, putting it out with his mouth. It all happened so fast, she didn’t have time to be afraid of getting burned, but the burst of adrenaline tangled up with her desire and made her feel like she was dizzy-drunk. All she could say was, “Wow.”
“Gods, you’re beautiful when you’re painted with my flames,” he breathed against her skin before raising up again, eyes wandering over her.
Her muscles tightened in anticipation of where he’d draw the next line, but he surprised her again, pouring a small amount onto her directly from the bottle instead of just wetting his finger. The ice-cold alcohol hit her sternum and dripped slowly down her sides.
It ignited with his next exhale, lighting her up in a jagged design like blue lightning. This time it burned hotter, a tiny reservoir of alcohol between her breasts heating to almost unbearable levels before he extinguished it with his tongue. He lingered there, soothing the redness that remained until her heartrate returned to near normal. The greedy, buzzing pulse between her legs didn’t, though.
“Tairon,” she murmured, shamelessly pressing her hips up against him, her cheeks as hot as though he’d burned them. “I need you.”
He grabbed her wrist, dipping the tips of her fingers into the neck of the icy bottle before blowing a lick of dragon fire over them. They both admired her flaming manicure for a split-second before he sucked each of her fingers into his mouth in turn. She whimpered as his tongue found the tender spaces between her fingers and then trailed to the ticklish center of her palm. She felt it deep in her core.
“I can’t take it. I can’t,” she whimpered, writhing with need beneath him.
“Youaretaking it, Beautiful. Look at you. You’re perfect,” he whispered, and proceeded to prove it by lighting up every finger on her other hand, her toes, the long sweep of her inner thigh, the curves of her breasts, and the quivering swell of her belly.
Every new stroke of his tongue extinguished the flames on her skin but stoked the ones inside, until she’d given up on controlling her reactions to the rapid changes in temperature. She lost her self-consciousness about the slickness building between her legs. She gave up any pretense of control or sense of time and just let each new sensation build on the previous one like layers in a cake, rich and sweet and satisfying.
By the time he put the bottle on ice and slid his curved ridges inside her, she was whining and begging for him, hungry to have him. “You’re all I want,” she gasped, reveling in the generous stretch that sent waves of curling pleasure all the way to the tips of her fingers. “All I need.”
“That’s my girl,” he purred in his dragonish way. “That’s my alokoi. My mate.”
