Last Immortal Dragon(21)

“More,” he said, voice sounding breathless now as he wrapped his fist around his shaft and drew a long stroke.

She cupped herself gently. “Like this?”

He nodded jerkily and pulled another stroke of himself. “What do you feel?”

“Wet.”

Damon moved so fast, he was a blur. Her stomach dipped as she went from hovering over Damon to under his body on the bed. Breath quick and shallow, he pressed her knees apart with his own and curved his powerful hips against hers. His shaft slid into her by inches, and she gasped at how good he felt inside of her, stretching her. He drew out and bucked into her again, deeper this time. Clara clawed his back and bowed against the bed. “More,” she demanded, using his own word.

A long, low rumble filled the room and rattled against her skin as Damon plunged into her so deeply, he pressed onto her clit. She moaned his name and clutched onto him tighter as he eased out and thrust into her again.

“Fuck, how can you feel so good?” he asked breathily. His lips collided with hers as he thrust into her again.

God, he was big. If she hadn’t been so ready for him, this would’ve toed the edge of discomfort, but right now, all she could do was close her eyes and absorb every sparking sensation that exploded in her middle every time he buried himself inside her.

The pressure between her legs was so intense she gripped the back of his hair and raked her fingernails across his back to anchor herself in the here and now. She was at risk of floating away. Of losing herself and not retaining the clean-edged memories of this moment. And she wanted to remember everything because this, right now, felt important. It felt all-encompassing, as though her life was taking an unexpected fork in the road, and at the edge of her path would be a cache of wealth so much more valuable than riches. Happiness lay in front of her now.

Damon’s grip at the base of her neck tightened as he kissed her and thrust into her hard, faster now. His control was slipping, and damn she loved this. Loved to hear that prehistoric growl in his throat. Loved to feel his hands tightening against her skin. Loved to feel him swelling even bigger inside of her. She was close. So close.

As if Damon could feel her tipping over the edge, he grabbed her wrists and slammed them down against the bed above her. He lifted his torso and stared down at her, watching her face as her body exploded around him. “Damon!” she screamed, arching her neck back as her body pulsed with pleasure.

A snarl lifted his lip as he closed his eyes and slammed into her, then froze. Jets of warmth throbbed into her, and he bucked erratically as he uttered her name through clenched teeth. “Clara.” And as he emptied himself into her completely, he lowered himself flush against her, hard chest against her soft breasts, and he bit her exposed neck again. Just a clamp of his teeth as her aftershocks pulsed on, and then he replaced the sharp edges with soft kisses.

And when her body had gone still and sated, he eased out of her and pulled her close against his chest. His skin was warm against hers, but it felt good here in the cold cavern of his lair.

He let his lips linger on her forehead and he rubbed her back gently over and over, as if he was helpless to stop touching her now.

Clara smiled against his skin.

Own me.

Damon had it all wrong.

He was the one who owned her now, body and soul.





Chapter Seven




“I want pancakes,” Clara said. “I want to be able to tell everyone I was fed by a dragon.”

“As opposed to being fed to a dragon?” Damon asked with a deep chuckle that reverberated under her cheek. He was lying comfortably on his back, tugging at her wild curls as she rested her face against his chest. She was actually getting used to Damon’s heat now, and even the darkness of his lair. It was nice in here, sequestered away from the rest of the world. It could be burning to the ground for all she knew, but in here, she was safe and warm and Damon’s.

She traced his uneven skin around a darker scar. “What happened to you?”

His nostrils flared as he inhaled deeply. “War. I’ll be right back.”

He eased out from under her and off the bed, then sauntered to a single door she hadn’t noticed before. When he turned on the light inside the room, she could see rows of suits and clean-pressed shirts lined up. As he began to dress, she pulled the covers over her body to make up for Damon’s lost warmth.

War. Something about his flippant response niggled at her mind, as if a memory was clicking into place that she didn’t understand or realize quite yet. Unsettled, she watched him stride toward the door as he buttoned up a starched, white shirt over dark gray dress pants. Damn, the man could wear a suit, but his passive mask was secured back onto his face. She hated seeing the look of indifference after the last hour they’d shared.