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“I know. I don’t expect them to.”
“Then what are you saying?”
“I’m saying that the next time I go into heat, I want you to give me another clutch.”
Sorin knew that dragons were as fast as they were powerful. He’d been at the mercy of Sebastian’s claws and had seen for himself how quickly Reynard had transformed when his eggs had been in danger. Still, he was unprepared for the speed with which Bertram pinned him to the bed and claimed his lips. It was aggressive, greedy, and barbaric—like the suave Bertram he knew had lost himself to the beast he kept inside—but Sorin was not frightened by it. Not when Bertram seized his mouth in a crushing kiss, and not when scales fell in cascades down his neck and the darks of his eyes turned into slits.
He was a dragon, yes, and like this there was no mistaking it, but he was not like the others. Not even now, at his most monstrous.
He wouldn’t ever be.
Because he was Sorin’s.
Because he had cared enough to listen and learn.
And Sorin would love him forever for it, scales and all.
Bertram’s claws made quick work of his clothing. Their tatters tumbled onto the bed, leaving Sorin barely covered and desperately horny. He pushed his hips up against Bertram and, as Bertram bore down on him, felt his cock hard and huge beneath his trousers.
He wanted it inside of him so badly, he couldn’t help himself—he rubbed himself on Bertram’s cock, teasing them both with friction that promised so much more to come.
“Come in me,” he whispered, tracing his fingers along the new scales on Bertram’s neck. “Let’s practice for when I next go into heat and make you a father again.”
A snarl broke out of Bertram, practically feral, it was so savage. There came a sudden flurry of movement, during which buttons went flying and Bertram’s shirt was torn from his body as his wings unfurled in a rush, snapping to maximum extension before curling in around Sorin possessively. Sorin did not see Bertram’s pants come off, but he heard them rip—and when Bertram grabbed him by the back of the thighs and folded him in half, spreading him open, it was his bare cock that rubbed up between Sorin’s cheeks and snagged the very edge of his hole.
A single thrust was all it took for it to slip inside.
Bertram sank in until his balls bumped Sorin’s ass, then set a purposeful pace that Sorin enthusiastically matched. Their bodies were so familiar with each other that sex came as seamlessly as blinking or breathing—so automatic, there was no room for awkwardness or discomfort. Only pleasure. And as they gained momentum, that pleasure grew until it consumed Sorin entirely.
He needed to come desperately.
But more than that, he needed to feel his dragon breed him.
There was no other time he felt as confident or as powerful as when he made Bertram lose all control.
“Knot me,” he said through a moan, clinging to Bertram as Bertram drove into him. “I want you to come inside of me, and I want it to go deep.”
He’d meant to drive Bertram to his breaking point—to send him so utterly over the edge, there would be no holding on.
But Bertram did not fall.
He pounced.
Snarling, savage with lust, he fucked Sorin into the mattress, drowning him in pleasure that stole the air from Sorin’s lungs as quickly as it shut off his brain. It was the kind of sex that shouldn’t have been good—the kind of sex that should have scared him. He had been beneath too many snarling dragons before, forced to endure them, knowing all too well what would happen were he to struggle.
But Bertram was different.
Sorin trusted him.
The understanding they had superseded fear. It allowed Sorin to lose himself, giving in to the same primal instincts that propelled Bertram, and brought him to do what he would have never dared with anyone else—grabbing fistfuls of Bertram’s hair, he yanked his head down and crushed their lips together.
He wanted to taste his ferocity.
Wanted to feel the sharpness of teeth that could easily kill him, lethal weapons used for lover’s bites.
He got his wish and then some. Bertram snarled into his mouth when Sorin tugged him down, but mellowed quickly as Sorin kissed him and returned the passion he received. Their tongues met. Their teeth clacked. And when they parted to draw breath, Bertram dragged the sharpened points of his teeth over Sorin’s bottom lip, dragging it teasingly down without any pain. It was ecstasy, and he wanted nothing more than to feel those death-dealing teeth be tender with him again.
As their hips rocked and building pleasure pushed Sorin closer to orgasm, he returned fire, seizing Bertram’s bottom lip between his own and tugging gently in the hopes he would retaliate in kind.
