Kiss of a Dragon(58)

“Lucian!” Her footsteps were light and fast behind him.

He threw open the door and pounded down the stairs, but what the fuck was he doing? He couldn’t run from her. Even now, her scent was still on him from the ride, the feel of her legs wrapped around him still heating his body. He reached the bottom of the stairs and slowed to let her catch him. When he turned to face her, the words were already in his mouth.

You have to leave.

But before he could say anything, she was on him—delicate hands in his hair, sweet lips crushing his, the entire softness of her body melting into him. Without thinking, he spun her and pressed her into the wall, devouring her with his mouth and his hands and his body soaking up every sweet touch she offered. He needed this forgiveness—this unhesitating understanding—like he needed air to breathe. He pulled it from her lips and her hot mouth and her warm skin where he’d shoved up her shirt to reach it.

She made a small catching sound in her throat, and it ripped fear through him—it sounded too much like pain.

He jerked back, eyes wide at how quickly he’d lost himself in her.

“No, it’s okay!” she said, but she was holding her side.

Fuck. She was still sliced up from that unholy beast, Tytus.

“Arabella.” Pain rippled through him as he reached for her. “Beloved, I’m sorry. So sorry. Let me…” But he let his hands finish for him, lifting the gauzy shirt away from her wounds, still sticky with blood, and dropping to one knee in front of her. The gashes weren’t wide—talons were nothing if not razor-sharp—but they were deep and long and nothing that belonged on the sweet beauty of her body. He kissed her wounds, running his tongue gently along them, using the healing properties of his saliva on one terrible red line while using his hands on two others. He summoned his runes to perform a simple healing spell to speed the process and leave no scars on her beautiful skin. He had her up against the wall again, her head tipped back, small breathy moans coming from her mouth as he worked his way around all the gashes on her body. He licked and kissed and palmed her sweet flesh, healing every nick and gouge. It was a slow, erotic dance of healing and relief and pleasure until her skin was perfectly smooth and tantalizing again. When he was done, the gauzy, bloody shirt was on the floor, with her shredded pants beside it. Her nipples were taut and pointed, and her arousal perfumed the air.

He’d never been so hard in his life.

Sliding his hands and tongue up her body, he finished with the hairline cut on her cheek. Then he came face to face with her. “Did I get everything?” His voice was so rough with lust, he could barely speak.

“Almost.” Then her green eyes blazed, and she took his hand and slid it between her legs.

He groaned, slipping his fingers against her sex, already so wet. “Tell me you’re all right,” he panted into her mouth. “Did I heal all your wounds?” But his hand was moving to deepen his touch. He couldn’t help himself.

Her hands were clawing at his shirt, trying to pull it from his body. “I won’t be all right until you’re inside me.”

He moaned, and a shudder of lust rocketed through his body. He should stop this. He should send her away. But he was lost in the sweet mercy of having her back in his arms, safe and whole, hot and squirming against him. Raw in her need… and his.

“Fuck.” He magicked away his clothes, instantly naked against her sweet, sweet skin. He had to have her. Just one more time. Just once. He was beyond even trying to justify it. The need for her was simply too great.

She gasped as he pulled his hand from her sex. Then he gripped her bare bottom and lifted her, bracing her against the wall, legs spread and wrapping around his waist. His cock was aching for her, so he wasted no time, thrusting deep inside, burying himself to the hilt. She cried out and clutched at him. He moaned into her neck, holding her soft and warm, impaled deep on him for a sweet, golden moment. Then he gripped her bottom harder and pulled back to thrust in again. The hot wetness of her was so damn tight, every thrust was like taking her for the first time. Her whimpers of pleasure were driving his aching need higher. He slammed into her, bracing her against the wall, holding himself back from his full strength, but dammit, she felt so good. Sweetness and light and everything right in the world, all wrapped up in her feminine scent and luscious body around his cock. He pounded and pounded, but he was already rocketing toward his finish.

He panted in her ear, “Come for me, my love.” Both a whisper and a plea, a demand and a command. The words seemed to shove her over the edge. She shrieked as he kept pounding, and he felt the convulsions of her climax all around him, hot and sensual, drawing him right to the edge. His own cry was full of wonder and blinding pleasure as he came inside her, violent and sudden and full of hot spilling need. For her. For everything she was. For everything that had been missing and torn from his life—his soul—since that night so long ago.