Except she wanted to.
He locked his hands behind his head, tacit permission to take what she wanted.
He’d sensed the cold in her last night, not just from the warlock’s distant, fading attack, but from her own pain and uncertainty. She’d lost a battle against him three days ago—not one she’d really wanted to win, but still. She didn’t know where that left her.
And he knew that feeling. What was he if he couldn’t keep the Nox Incendi safe? Useless, not worth the leather of his own hide.
She traced her hands up over his chest, fingers tickling across his clan markings, making his pecs jump as if he’d leaped from the highest tower of the Keep, hoping for a wind to carry him higher.
The downward sweep of her fingertips—over the ridges of his abs to the grooves at his groin that framed the surging shaft of his cock—gave him all the lift he needed.
She murmured another hot breath of air and a pale bead of ichor pearled at his tip.
She licked her lips, a flash of wet pinkness, and her gaze darted up to his.
He gripped the short hairs at his nap to stop himself from reaching for her, but he stared at her with all the fire raging in his body.
She soothed the ichor over his cock, down the head, swirling. The slick fluid tingled, or maybe that was just anticipation as she centered her mouth above him. The muscles in his thigh tensed, and he dug his heels into the mattress, wanting so badly to ram his cock between her parting lips.
Her tongue emerged again in a long, slow, lollypop swipe, up over the crown.
“You taste like the storm,” she murmured and then went down, taking him deep. She hummed, a sound of delight that vibrated through him hard enough to break his control and had him nudging up into her mouth.
She bobbed on him, each nod of her head taking more of his cock, her tongue sweeping down the ridged, pulsing veins of his arousal.
He groaned, thrusting his hips harder. And she took that too, the thick head of his penis bumping the back of her throat. She peered up at him through the red dreadlocks, her hazel eyes glinting a challenge.
He couldn’t take any more.
With a curse, he dragged her up his body, careless of her scrambling knees near his dick. He spun her under him, and she gasped, her hands clenching his biceps.
He kissed her in a hard slant, tasting the sweet bite of his ichor on her lips and tongue. He feasted at her mouth until he tasted only her, a hint of musky incense rising from her skin, the lingering aftermath of her orgasm.
Bracing his hands on either side of her, he stared down. “I want to be inside you.”
“No baby, no infections, no beast,” she said.
He quirked his lips. “No problem.”
She dragged the soft, lush weight of her thigh up along his flanks, an erotic embrace. “You swear?”
“The dragon is what protects you. It shares no diseases with humans, and it can only procreate with its solarys—its true mate.” He dipped his head to murmur against her mouth, “I’ll only let it out a little bit.”
She nipped at his lower lip. “That’s what all the boys say.”
“I am not like your boys.”
That he would swear.
When he spread her labia, he found her already wet and wanting. He smoothed her juices over the blunt head of his cock and caught his breath as ichor welled from his tip.
When he took his pleasure from the rich gambling widows, the dragon never came out to play, never revealed its essence. When it had done so earlier, he’d chalked it up to the dry spell he hadn’t bothered lately to break. Probably it was just aroused from last night’s frustrating lack of completion.
The silky shimmer of ichor on his cock cast a faint gleam on the dark curls around Anjali’s plump, damp slit. When he slid slowly into her, the tingle sank deeper.
Her eyes widened. “What—what is that?”
“Ichor,” he said, his jaw clenched to stop from ramming himself balls’ deep.
She curved her spine, opening her channel so he sank like a stone. Her slick warmth mingled with the ichor, enveloping his shaft with molten delight. She arched, grinding her clit against his pubic bone, and then curved again with a gasp, her inner muscles tightening around him.
He took up the wordless demand, stroking her long and hard, pausing at the depth of each stroke to add heat and pressure to the swollen nub of her clit. She mewled and twisted into him. She cupped her hands under the heavy curves of her breasts, plumping up the flesh and tweaking the peaks into bright, begging rubies. He groaned at the clap of her pussy around him as he pounded her.
“Harder,” she panted. “Faster. I need…”
He didn’t need to hear more. Pushing his upper body upright, he slammed his hips into hers. She wrapped her heels behind his ass, lifting herself to every plunging blow.
Eyes closed, she thrashed her head on the pillows, red dreadlocks lashing the pale sheets like tongues of flame. The dusky flush of blood suffusing her skin was like night shadows sweeping across the desert, calling him to fly.
But not without her.
He stared at her avidly, watching for every flicker across her face, more vital to him than the invisible currents of air under his wings. He felt the hidden muscles in her core tense in preparation, and he redoubled his beats.
Her eyes flashed open and she braced herself on his shoulders as her body came up off the pillows with a scream like a shattering diamond.
He caught her, held her close, and pumped hard into the apex of her thighs.
She clamped her legs around his hips and screamed again, low and growling this time.
The dragon roared back as he came with a ferocity that seemed to drain him of ichor, breath, and bone itself.
He managed to hold himself and her upright for another heartbeat with only the strength of his pride, and then he fell.
Luckily, the bed was really soft.
And so was she. She gathered him close, as if his weight wasn’t a problem, and her sighing breath tickled across his throat.
It couldn’t last, he knew. She was too prickly by half, and her enemies and secrets were a bane to dragonkin.
And he was a dragon who’d never bothered to keep a treasure.
The pleasure and release binding them for this moment was just an illusion and could never be anything more.
Chapter 8
Anjali showered in the luxe slate and glass bathroom. The pebbled floor massaged her feet, and the multiple shower heads sent steamy water raining down on her like a fantasy summer storm.
But all the water in the world couldn’t rinse away the thoughts of what she’d done.
Giving her body to a dragon.
That had to be as verboten as selling her soul to a warlock.
Maybe worse. Souls were cheap in Vegas, but bodies had a price tag.
There was no point in thinking she could scrub him off. The body wash had the mineral-rich, rain-on-the-desert scent she’d forever associate with Torch Dorado. She’d have to move to the Sahara to escape it.
She suspected she’d have to go farther than that to escape him.
He’d been reluctant to let her up, one muscled leg thrown over hers, his head propped on her shoulder. Luckily his phone had pinged and when he’d rolled half off the bed to rummage in his jeans, she’d slipped away.
It took everything in her power to stop herself from slapping his bare ass, bent over the edge of the bed.
She didn’t want to give him the wrong impression. It was just that Ashcraft invading her dreams had freaked her out so badly, a dragon invading her pussy had seemed like a good idea in comparison.
She skimmed one soapy hand over her mound, and her clit throbbed at the remembered passion.
Okay, it had been a very good idea.
But not to be repeated. She’d never been the sort to deny herself, and while she’d enjoyed the sample—hoo boy, how she’d enjoyed—she couldn’t afford the whole. He just wasn’t for her, that bad-boy smirk no disguise for his fierce need to defend his clan at all costs. There was no room for a problem child like her in his life.
She was going to help him defeat Ashcraft, free Esme and her uncle of any alchemical influence, and make peace with her friends. That seemed like she’d bitten off entirely enough for now.
And if she rather wished he’d bite her again…
Well, a girl couldn’t always get what she wanted. She’d learned that a long time ago.
She rinsed quickly, got out and dried in one of the exceedingly plush towels that still had that extra cushy pile, like they’d seen less use than the bed, and dressed in the knit leggings and matching hooded sweater she’d gotten from the boutique. The bright jewel tones felt strong and alive.
She thought that might come in handy today.
Armored in her pretty clothes, she stepped out into Torch’s aerie.
The sun had risen higher, bathing the view in changing light. Since they faced the empty mountains, she could almost imagine they were alone, with nothing to do, no one to answer to. They could spend the day in bed… Wait, she’d already decided that was a one-night stand, a fly-by connection.
Torch was a dark silhouette against the triangle panes, hands on his hips as he stared out. Even when her eyes adjusted, he was still all in black. The black jeans clung to the ass she hadn’t slapped, and the black t-shirt hugged his broad shoulders and thick biceps.
He’d held her so easily…
Her bare feet didn’t make a sound, but he turned to face her.
Though the light was behind him, his eyes glinted. For a heart-fluttering moment, she thought he was going to say something about their night together…
“Do you know a place called Mercurius?”
She halted. He’d folded the bed back into the wall, and the aerie looked as echoingly empty as it had been when she first saw it.
As if last night never happened.
She straightened. “I don’t think so. What is it?”
“My contact says it’s Ashcraft’s stronghold.”
“He lives in a condo in Salt Lake City. It’s a nice condo, but not what I’d call I stronghold.” She frowned. “Wait. I have heard of Mercurius. But it’s not a place. It’s his foundation.”
Torch’s brow furrowed. “For what?”
“Through Ashcraft Antiquities, he supports a lot of endeavors in the arts.” She bit the inside of her cheek. “One of the reasons I believed him when he said he could get me into galleries. But he also funds math and science works, engineering, even an after-school program for disadvantaged kids and an animal shelter.”
The line between Torch’s eye spread into a full scowl. “Isn’t he just the fine upstanding citizen. Practically a Renaissance man.”
“What better disguise?” She’d believed in what she saw, which was a testament to how good the disguise was since she wasn’t inclined to trust anyone at face value.
Maybe that was why she was drawn to Torch. He had two faces—man and dragon—but he displayed them both with zero qualms.
Not that she was drawn to him in any actual sense, just…
She gave herself a shake. “His foundation must be headquartered somewhere, but I don’t know where. He travels all around the world.” She joined Torch at the window to look out at the stark but serene landscape. “If—when—you find him, what are you going to do to him?”
“What we’ve always done to would-be dragonslayers.”
She glanced up at Torch, and while his expression was every bit as austere as the desert, it was nowhere near serene.
When she shivered, he looked down at her. His silver-shot eyes were almost as cold as the ice in her nightmare. “Does that bother you?”
She considered, then shook her head. “It should, but I know what he’s willing to do. I’ve seen what he’s doing to Esme.” She took a breath. “Can you take me back to see them, Esme and Piper? I…I feel like I need to explain.”
After a moment, he nodded. “I’ll take you, then I need to meet with my team about how you disabled the security cameras when you spirited Esme out of the Keep.”
She put on her pink ribboned heels and followed him out of the aerie. “It was something Ashcraft gave me. Like a candle. Except when I lit it, it didn’t burn; it gave off a fog to confuse the light so the cameras couldn’t follow us.”
Torch snorted. “Putting those chemistry scholarships to good use.”
“Ashcraft didn’t tell me what it was, just said that I’d have fifteen minutes once it started burning and I should keep it on me the whole time. I was supposed to use it to get out of the Keep after…” She swallowed.
“After you killed me,” he finished.
“Not necessarily you.” She knew that was a weak-ass response but she owed him what answers she had. “Any dragon that was drawn to Esme would have been the sacrifice. I was supposed to call Ashcraft’s men once the victim was down. They’d do the dirty work, and I’d take the ichor to Ashcraft.” She grimaced. “I don’t think he trusted his own men to bring it to him, but he knew I’d be back since he had control over Esme and my uncle.”
Torch made another growling noise. “Good to know there’s dissention in his ranks.”
“Some people he controls with money, some with magic, some with desperation. I’m not sure any can afford to oppose him.”
Torch stopped and put one hand under her jaw, his thumb lifting the point of her chin. “You did. You broke free.”
She closed her eyes, thinking of innocent Esme and her greedy uncle who wanted even more than the magic he’d already stolen. “But I’m not the one who’s going to pay the price.”
Slipping his hand down to her shoulder, Torch gave her a not-too-gentle shake. “Don’t play the victim now. You came here willing to fight a monster. Me. Now turn that on the true evil.”
The rattle shook her eyes open again. She stared at him, willing the tears to stay where she’d always kept them: deep inside. “You told me you wouldn’t lie to me, Torch. So I’m going to be honest with you. I’ve never won at anything. I came to Vegas to steal a dragon’s ichor, but I didn’t even bring a quarter to drop into a slot machine. Not just because I didn’t
have
a quarter—which I didn’t—but because I knew I wouldn’t win.”
Torch let his hand drop and they walked on through the back corridors of the Keep. “Since we’re being honest… Slot machines aren’t. Honest, I mean.”