there’d ever been ice in her, it was steam now, curling at his touch like her fingers, her toes, her damn hair. A second finger and then a third, and she went off like a fucking firecracker.
Maybe she screamed—an ooh or an ahh—but she was blind and deaf and dumb to everything except the explosion bursting along her nerves and his hands and mouth stroking her to the fiercest orgasm of her life.
She came down like a cloud of fireflies, drifting slowly and scattered.
His breath still gusted hotly across her sweat-damped skin, but he pulled the covers up around them with one hand, his other still buried inside her.
She realized belatedly that he hadn’t come. “Torch…”
He shushed her. “Go to sleep.”
She squirmed against his hand. “I’m not that selfish,” she insisted.
He curled his finger, and she couldn’t hold back a little mewl. “I’ll wait,” he said.
She wanted to protest again, but her eyes were drifting closed. She was too cozy to bitch. And the ice was gone, burned to nothing.
He pulled her into the curve of his body, just as he’d intended to all along. He murmured into the back of her neck, “So about the knife under the pillow…”
She bent her head to his breath. “I wasn’t going to attack you,” she muttered, eyes closed. “Unless you attacked me.”
“This didn’t count?”
“Well, technically, I suppose.”
His snort lifted her hair, and she couldn’t hold back a smile.
She drew his arm under her breasts. “If I dream again…”
“Dreams only,” he promised. “No nightmares.”
And since he’d said he’d never lie to her, she fell asleep.
***
Torch lay awake, cursing himself.
Why hadn’t he fucked her? It wasn’t like she hadn’t offered.
Rave’s accusations and warnings flittered around his head like annoying mosquitoes that even his tough dragon hide couldn’t repel. She was a witch. She was Ashcraft’s minion. She would betray him.
But she hadn’t stabbed him. And he’d been waiting for it.
Maybe if he had let himself fuck her…
Damn, he’d missed his chance to prove her innocence.
By taking her innocence.
He snorted softly, the sound echoed by the dragon in his head. He’d taken plenty, although—he twitched his hips uncomfortably—not enough for his satisfaction.
But he wasn’t going to wake her. He’d just close his eyes for a minute…
He woke with the rising sun filtering across his bare skin and Anjali’s hands following the same path.
Double damn. He never slept this long, never slept with a woman, ever. He couldn’t believe the dragon hadn’t roused him.
It was plenty roused, preening under her touch, almost purring.
Hopefully it would’ve let him know if she went for the knife.
He stretched, kicking off the covers that had fallen to his naked thighs under Anjali’s stroking. His cock surged when she murmured a good morning. To him or his erection?
Her breath teased him, but it was her hungry gaze that really got him going. In the cold slant of desert light, there was no reason for her to do this.
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
Maybe she screamed—an ooh or an ahh—but she was blind and deaf and dumb to everything except the explosion bursting along her nerves and his hands and mouth stroking her to the fiercest orgasm of her life.
She came down like a cloud of fireflies, drifting slowly and scattered.
His breath still gusted hotly across her sweat-damped skin, but he pulled the covers up around them with one hand, his other still buried inside her.
She realized belatedly that he hadn’t come. “Torch…”
He shushed her. “Go to sleep.”
She squirmed against his hand. “I’m not that selfish,” she insisted.
He curled his finger, and she couldn’t hold back a little mewl. “I’ll wait,” he said.
She wanted to protest again, but her eyes were drifting closed. She was too cozy to bitch. And the ice was gone, burned to nothing.
He pulled her into the curve of his body, just as he’d intended to all along. He murmured into the back of her neck, “So about the knife under the pillow…”
She bent her head to his breath. “I wasn’t going to attack you,” she muttered, eyes closed. “Unless you attacked me.”
“This didn’t count?”
“Well, technically, I suppose.”
His snort lifted her hair, and she couldn’t hold back a smile.
She drew his arm under her breasts. “If I dream again…”
“Dreams only,” he promised. “No nightmares.”
And since he’d said he’d never lie to her, she fell asleep.
***
Torch lay awake, cursing himself.
Why hadn’t he fucked her? It wasn’t like she hadn’t offered.
Rave’s accusations and warnings flittered around his head like annoying mosquitoes that even his tough dragon hide couldn’t repel. She was a witch. She was Ashcraft’s minion. She would betray him.
But she hadn’t stabbed him. And he’d been waiting for it.
Maybe if he had let himself fuck her…
Damn, he’d missed his chance to prove her innocence.
By taking her innocence.
He snorted softly, the sound echoed by the dragon in his head. He’d taken plenty, although—he twitched his hips uncomfortably—not enough for his satisfaction.
But he wasn’t going to wake her. He’d just close his eyes for a minute…
He woke with the rising sun filtering across his bare skin and Anjali’s hands following the same path.
Double damn. He never slept this long, never slept with a woman, ever. He couldn’t believe the dragon hadn’t roused him.
It was plenty roused, preening under her touch, almost purring.
Hopefully it would’ve let him know if she went for the knife.
He stretched, kicking off the covers that had fallen to his naked thighs under Anjali’s stroking. His cock surged when she murmured a good morning. To him or his erection?
Her breath teased him, but it was her hungry gaze that really got him going. In the cold slant of desert light, there was no reason for her to do this.
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
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