EMMA

Zohr’s fever rages on through the next day. It’s a long, miserable one with a lot of heat and very little relief. The red dragons rage overhead, pinning us in our hiding spot. Luckily, they’re not coming near the apartment complex, but I can’t go outside and risk anything in case they smell me. Now that I know how much Zohr relies on his sense of smell, it makes me doubly anxious about another dragon catching my scent.

I wash his wounds, and I’m worried about how dark a gold his skin is against the stitches. I compare my own stitches on my head in the mirror, and they don’t look anywhere as inflamed as his. But then again, I’m comparing dragon physiology to human, and I might just be worried over nothing.

I use the rest of my mouthwash to bathe his wounds. Because I’m paranoid that he’s going to die on me, I wait until it gets dark and arm myself with an old flashlight and hunt through the other apartments looking for supplies. I find two more bottles, some toothpaste for myself, and more duct tape. I also find some old kids’ clothing that fit if you squint just right. They’re a little tight, but I don’t care. Clothing’s clothing, and I’m too far away from my old store to be picky. Maybe if Zohr recovers we can go scavenging together.

When, I correct myself. When Zohr recovers.

There’s old water damage in the last two apartments I rummage through, so their contents are disgusting and long rotten. I’m a determined sort, so I sift through them anyhow, but when the stairs collapse on me, sending me tumbling onto the refuse below, I take the hint. Enough scavenging for now. I rub at my bruises and scrapes. They’re going to be ugly tomorrow, but overall I’m fine. I have what I came for.

It’s super late at night when I return, and not even my dim flashlight can help with the creepy feeling. I remember when I was a kid, I was afraid of ghosts and things that go bump in the night. Now I’m scared of rogue dragons or nomads looking for a little companionship. I click my flashlight off at that last thought and decide I don’t need the light that bad. It’s completely dark when I head back into our apartment, and so when a big shape rises in the shadows, I let out a yelp of surprise.

“Emma,” Zohr whispers, his breathing ragged.

“Zohr, you scared the shit out of me.” I put a hand to my breast, willing my thudding heart to calm down. ”You’re up? What are you doing out of bed?”

“Emma,” he says again, drawling my name out. He moves closer to me and buries his face against my neck, inhaling deeply.

“Um, Zohr?” I pat his shoulder, and I realize just how burning hot his skin is. Still fevered. Oh no. He feels hotter than ever. “Let’s get you back into bed and I’ll cool you down, okay?” I sling the pack off my back and dump it by the door. “I’ll help you out.”

“Em-mah.” He murmurs my name aloud, and one big hand curls around my neck and cups the side of it. I feel the prick of claws against my skin and realize that he’s got claws in his human form. How did I never notice that before? Maybe I was distracted by all the golden skin and the horns nestled in his thick, tangled hair. Either way, I’m noticing them now.

I go still, waiting to see what he does. He could snap my neck in a heartbeat.

Zohr leans in and nuzzles my throat, rubbing his heated cheek against my skin. It’s like he’s trying to bathe in my scent. Maybe it helps him in his fever-madness. I touch my mind to his—or try to—but I get a lot of nonsense and garbled thoughts. He might as well be asleep for all that he’s there.

“Come on, Zohr,” I tell him soothingly. “Back to bed.” I slide my arm around his waist and lead him back toward the makeshift bed.

The sheet I have down on the floor is soaked and warm, possibly from sweat, possibly from the water I’m constantly drenching him in to cool down his skin. I switch it out with another fresh sheet that I have waiting nearby and then pat the linen. “Come lie down and I’ll bathe you.”

His eyes swirl bright gold, and instead of doing as I tell him, he tugs at the tiny, tight shirt I’m wearing, as if he wants me to be naked, too.

“Nice try,” I tell him with a small laugh. “But I just found this, so let’s not rip it.” I point at the bed and then take the large bowl into the kitchen for fresh water. I’m not entirely surprised that Zohr follows me. Maybe he needs company, even in his delirium. I send happy thoughts in his direction, along with reminders of cool water and fresh wet sheets to drape over his heated skin. Heck, the air’s so stifling that it sounds like a good idea to me, too. 

He runs one super-heated hand along my arm as I fill up the bowl, inhaling and rubbing his nose against my hair. I ignore it as best I can, and when the bowl is full, I prop it up against my hip, put my arm around his waist, and try to lead him back to bed again. “Come on, Zohr. Let’s lie down and work on that fever, okay?”

The dragon-man leans heavily on me, and it takes all of my strength not to drop him—or the water I’ve got balanced on my hip. We half stagger back over to the sheets and I set the bowl down on an old end table, then gesture that he should lie down.

He slides his arms around me and pulls me against him. “Em-mah.”

It’s strange that he says my name differently than he has in my head. It’s more guttural, fiercer. Weird. I pat his side, careful to avoid his wounds. “On the ground, Zohr.”

His eyes get this strange gleam, and I feel a shiver move through my body. What’s he up to? He slides down to his knees and then pulls me against him once more. His arms wrap around my hips and he buries his face against my breasts, rubbing.

O-kayyyy. A delirious Zohr is apparently a horny Zohr. “You really need to sleep it off. You’re not yourself right now.”

The rumble low in his chest tells me that he doesn’t care. That he’s enjoying himself just fine. He rubs his face against my breasts again, and despite the layers of clothing, when I feel his nose skim over one nipple, I can’t help but gasp.

The arms around my waist tighten, and he looks up at me, his eyes whirling with rich gold. His nostrils flare, and I know what that means—he’s scenting me. More than that, he’s scenting my arousal.

“I like you,” I whisper to him. “I do. And I’m down with playing, I promise. We just need you to get better and then we can have sex as much as you like—”

His gaze slides from my face to my breasts. He stares at them thoughtfully, at the cartoon character adorning my front, and then reaches up, grabs a handful of the tightly-stretched fabric, and tears it from my body.

I gasp, struggling to get away. I push a hand against his chest. “You dick! Do you know how much a shirt goes for in the forts nowadays? You—” I squeak as he releases me and I tumble backwards onto the nest of blankets.

A moment later, Zohr’s over me, his eyes gleaming. “Em-mah,” he breathes, and then climbs over me until I’m caged by his arms and legs, my body flat on the floor. He leans in and pushes his face between my breasts once more, breathing in my scent. His nose rubs against the valley, then he grabs at the material of my bra and shreds it, right between the cups. The bra flies apart, and my breasts bounce, uncovered.

And he nuzzles them again.

My next protest dies in my throat, because heat is pooling between my thighs. I’m responding to him, even if I’m questioning if this is a smart idea. I know he’s fevered and delirious. I know he’s not in his right mind and his back is probably killing him. But with the look on his face right now? I don’t think he’s considering his back in the slightest. He’s more focused on me and drinking in my scent.

I’m a terrible person, and weak, because I’m not really fighting much anymore. I’m too fascinated with what he’s doing.

Zohr lowers his big golden head and skims his nose across the valley of my breasts again. He licks the soft skin there, and I gasp when I feel his tongue rasp over my flesh. It’s a little prickly, a lot like a cat’s tongue. I’m not sure what to think about that. He growls low, then continues to lick my skin. First the space between my breasts, and then moves slowly over to one side, heading for the tight, aching nipple that is just begging to be tasted.

I shouldn’t want this. I should be above this. I need to think like his nurse.

But then his tongue traces a little circle around the tip and I’m lost. I cry out, arching under him. That raspy tongue across my nipple? It feels like the most ticklish, most delicious thing ever. 

Zohr growls again and drags his tongue over my breast. His hand moves up my arm, caressing it, and when I try to touch him, he pins it down to the blankets. That’s all right. I let him take the lead, panting my need. As long as he keeps putting his mouth on me, I don’t have to touch him.

Emma. My name isn’t coming from his lips this time, but his thoughts. He sends me a barrage of images, all of them scattered and filthy and utterly fascinating. I can’t make sense of them—they flit through my mind too quickly. But I get the gist. Zohr’s in his head enough to want to mate, despite his fever. He wants to claim me.

I’m not hating the idea. Not in the slightest.

With one big, clawed hand, he cups my breast and teases the tip of it, flicking one nipple with his talons while his tongue teases the other. I want to touch him, to drag my hands through his hair, but he’s still pinning down my one arm, so I hold on to my wrist with my other hand to give him free rein. If it feels this good, I’ll let him do whatever he wants to me.

Mine, he sends, and his need pounds through my mind like a hammer, his thoughts brutal and fierce. 

Does he expect me to disagree? I’m not. Right now, I want to be his more than anything. Yours, I send back, caught up in the moment. All yours. 

Scent…his thoughts are jagged, but I get the sense that he finds my smell appealing.

I know, I tell him. I washed off the perfume. I did while he was sleeping, because I worried it would make his head ache, especially given the small, stifling confines of our hiding space. Is it okay?

Emma…mine. His thoughts are feral with hunger.

Yours, I tell him again, and I’m getting caught up in his wildness. Touch me, Zohr. I want you.

He lifts his head, and our eyes lock. His gaze is such a deep gold that I moan, feeling a ripple of pleasure through my core. Did a human man ever look at his woman so hungrily? I’m fascinated by the intensity of his need and it makes me want to know what it’ll be like to be claimed by him, truly, truly claimed.

Mine, he sends again, and then his head dips lower. His mouth grazes my stomach, and then he releases my hand a moment before he moves to my new sweatpants (also tight and the wrong size) and uses his claws to tear them free. My protest dies in my throat, because he shreds my panties next, and then I’m lying out underneath him like a buffet. 

Zohr lowers his head to my pussy and inhales deeply.

I squirm, because that seems a little strange to me. It’s not something a human guy would do—ever—and I don’t know how to react. I slide a hand down my belly to push him away, embarrassed.

He flicks my hand away, as if I’m bothering him, and inhales deeply again.

“Zohr,” I protest. 

He only growls at me, as if trying to silence any sort of protest I have. Fine then. I swallow my awkwardness and lie patiently under him.

He continues examining me in his leisurely way, gaze utterly focused on my naked lower half. I’m nervous under his scrutiny, which seems silly. We’ve had sex. We have a mental connection and our thoughts are shared. Why does it matter that he’s looking at my pelvis as if he’s never seen one before and he took a deep, long whiff of my lower half? But the truth is, he’s still a dragon and I don’t know what to expect of him. He doesn’t think like I do, and in moments like this, it becomes incredibly clear that we’re not the same.

It’s both fascinating and a little frightening.

Emma, he murmurs again, and he lowers his face. I think he’s going to take another long, awkward sniff, but instead, he pushes my thighs apart with one hand and gives my folds a slow, thorough lick.

I can’t help the little squeal that escapes my throat. My nerves feel shredded and I feel all tense and fluttery and excited all at once. He groans, and a burst of pleased thoughts echoes from his thoughts to mine. He likes my taste. No, he loves it. The wave of hunger that sweeps through next startles me, so much that I’m too distracted to notice that he’s lowering his head again.

Until his mouth closes over my clit and he tastes me there.

I moan again, unable to be still. My eyes close and I rock my hips. 

He rumbles low in his throat and pins my shifting thigh down with one hand and continues to lap at my clit. It’s like he’s found a new toy he’s suddenly fascinated with, because each lick he gives me makes me shudder, and he seems to want more and more of my responses. He bathes my clit with his tongue repeatedly and then eventually moves lower, exploring me with his mouth.

He’s careful, though. Despite claws and fangs and the fact that he’s leagues stronger than I am, Zohr’s incredibly delicate in the way he touches me. I know I’m safe with him, and so when he nuzzles my clit and then drags his tongue over the entrance of my core, I’m left wanting even more. God, do I want more.

Mine, he tells me in my head. 

There’s no disagreement here. I’m totally his, in any way he wants me. His hand is so hot it’s practically burning against my thigh as he pushes his face between my legs and makes love to me with his mouth. His tongue feels like fire, and I can’t stop writhing with every firm lick he gives me. It’s too much sensation, and not enough at the same time. I love every drag of his tongue, but it’s not enough. I can’t seem to come, and the longer he spends between my thighs, the more I worry. Shouldn’t I be faster at this? Shouldn’t I come immediately once he touches me there? I’ve read books and magazines—and Sasha loves her romance novels, so I’ve read plenty of those—and those women all seemed to fall apart the moment her man touched her between her thighs. I love Zohr’s tongue but…I don’t know what I’m doing wrong. It feels good, but I still can’t come.

I wish I had more experience in this so I knew how to make things happen. Before Zohr, all I’ve done is masturbate. Maybe I should have tried harder to get more experience—

Zohr lifts his head, and his eyes are swirling, edged with black. Mine, he tells me, panting. His mouth is wet with my juices, and the look on his face is so possessive it takes my breath away. No one touches you but me.

“Okay,” I agree, breathless. I don’t want anyone else anyhow. All I want is him…and one teeny tiny orgasm. Last time we did the dirty together I didn’t come that time, either. Someone barged in before I could get off. Maybe there’s a problem with me. Maybe I need more than what he can give. Maybe—

He growls and lowers his head again, and his mouth closes over my clit once more. 

But it’s too much, or maybe I’m too sensitive after all the working his tongue’s been giving me. Either way, I don’t think it’s going to work and it’s not bringing me any closer to the orgasm I’m seeking. I push at his head. “No, Zohr.”

He snarls and lifts his head, casting another hot look in my direction. His eyes are flaring with both black and gold, and I remain still, wondering if he’s losing control again. I thought he was back to himself, that touching me was connecting us once more, but maybe he’s still lost in his fever.

He lowers toward my pussy again, watching me, and when I shake my head, his eyes narrow. He studies me for a long moment, as if he can’t figure me out, and then presses his mouth to my thigh, in an almost-kiss.

And that’s not so bad. I relax, glad he’s not going to push the matter.

He kisses my leg again and then tugs on it. I’m a little confused when he pulls my legs together and then begins to kiss along the side and back of my thigh. Where’s he going with this? I realize it a moment later when he rolls me onto my stomach and then puts his hands on my hips and hauls them up.

Oh. He’s going to come into me from behind. I can feel a blush sweeping over my face with the realization, but I’m also excited at the thought. His hand strokes down my spine, and then he caresses my bottom in a way that feels…appreciative. I can’t help but wiggle under his touch, and he growls with appreciation. His thoughts start to cascade again, full of pleasure and dominance and possession.

My Emma, he tells me again.

“No argument here,” I reply, panting. I’m full of anticipation. The nervousness hasn’t gone away, of course—I don’t think it’ll go away until I become more practiced at sex—but it’s being pushed aside by excitement. I want Zohr’s touch. I want to feel his body over mine.

His hand grips my hip and I feel his claws drag ever so lightly against my skin. I moan, and feel his body settle behind mine. His skin still feels scorching against my own, a sign that the fever still rules him. Maybe we shouldn’t be having sex if he’s unwell, but when I try to touch my thoughts to his, I get nothing but chaos and feelings.

“Zohr, should we—”

One big, hot hand moves up and down my bottom and then pushes between my legs. I feel him exploring me with the pads of his fingers, and when he finds my core, he rubs it, then grunts as if how wet I am meets his approval. “Em-mah,” he says again, voice thick, and it gives me goosebumps.

“Right here,” I whisper, fighting the urge to push back against the fingers stroking my core. Claws, I remind myself. No matter how good it would feel to have his fingers inside me…claws.

Mine, he reminds me in his fevered thoughts. Before I can agree, his hand leaves my pussy and he nudges my legs further apart with his thigh. I feel something hard and thick prod against my core and then he pushes inside me in one swift stroke.

I suck in a breath.

At first, I think it hurts. It takes me a moment to realize that what I’m feeling isn’t pain, just a weird sort of tight discomfort, like things are stretched far too tight. I get a strange mental image of the tiny T-shirt I was wearing earlier, and a laugh bubbles out of me.

Zohr groans, and I feel his hand tighten on my hip. He rocks gently against me, as if testing my reaction. His thoughts are no longer wild and savage with emotion, but patient…waiting to see how I feel.

How do I feel? I feel like every nerve ending has sprung to life. I feel like my body has become a bowstring and that if I’m pulled any tighter, I’ll snap. I feel…incredible. I feel alive.

I feel…like he needs to move right about now. I send that thought—no, demand—to him, too.

With a surge of emotion, he grips my hips and thrusts into me. 

I gasp, feeling pummeled both by his body and his mind. I’m not used to either one, and both together feels almost overwhelming. My fingers knot in the sheet underneath me, and I’m gasping for air as he pulls back and thrusts into me again, hard. It doesn’t hurt—I think I’m too slick and too aroused for that—but every thrust feels as if it’s pushing so deep I’ll come apart at the seams. 

Zohr murmurs my name again, and then he begins a slow and steady rhythm, pumping into me with a stamina I didn’t realize he had right now. His thoughts come to me, even more jumbled than ever, and they feel heavy, as if drowning out my own thoughts. I’m being overwhelmed, not only physically but mentally.

And I still can’t come. I whimper with frustration. Zohr’s thrusts feel good—god, so good—but I’m not any closer to an orgasm. I don’t know what else I need. Maybe I need to touch myself—

One big hand settles on my shoulder, as if claiming me. Zohr pauses in his deep thrusts, and I feel his hand push between my legs again. His fingers slide over my clit.

That. That was what I needed.

My entire body tenses up. I cry out, pushing my head down against the blankets. Oh god. Oh godohgodohgod. Now it’s coming. He rubs against my clit again and thrusts into me with one of those teeth-rattling thrusts, and I give a choked cry. I can feel my pussy clench around him, tightening. All of me is tight. My toes are curled, my hands fisted, and that bowstring is so close to snapping…

He rocks into me again, hard, and rubs my clit once more. This time, I come with a scream. The world shatters around me and it feels like everything’s exploding. My thoughts are cascading—just like his—into chaos, and I come and come and come.

God, it feels so good.

I feel like I’ve shattered and been put back together. Somehow. I’m panting, waiting for my body to slowly unwind itself as I come down from my orgasm.

Zohr has other plans, though. He slides his finger along the side of my clit and thrusts into me again, his hand anchoring my shoulder. It feels like I’m coming all over again, and my body seizes up with another orgasm. This…this is so not possible. But when he thrusts into me again, through the haze of my mind, I realize that not only is it possible, but oh my god, it’s amazing.

He doesn’t stop, either. It doesn’t matter that I’m still coming and I can barely breathe with the force of the orgasms ripping through me. He just keeps stroking my clit and thrusting into me with fierce, possessive strokes. I’m coming again. And again. Or maybe I’ve just never stopped. All I know is that I’m practically limp when he snarls my name once more, and his movements become jerky. 

Then he’s coming, too. His hands lock onto me, tight but not painful, and I feel the heat of his release wash over my insides. It’s…strange. He pins me underneath him, his big body covering me, and his thrusts grow smaller, slower, as if he’s reluctant to stop.

As if he never wants to let me go. It’s a…strange sensation. In the After, I’ve learned it’s better to be alone. To depend on yourself. But when Zohr relaxes and lies on his side and pulls me against his feverishly warm skin, I feel…happy. Protected.

It’s a feeling I shouldn’t trust, but I guess I can enjoy it for now.