Noah had never known white hot rage like the kind that coursed through his body. He’d lived through wars, stood on battlefields with friends to fight a common foe, witnessed a multitude of atrocities, and not once had it threatened to overtake him. But the moment he’d seen the wounds on Claire’s body, and Damon, his sword drawn back, poised for execution, an inferno had rocketed through his veins. There had been no choice, no decision to make; the beast had taken over.

It didn’t matter that he had kept his secret for centuries, that he’d never once been foolish enough to trust another living soul. It was insane to believe he felt so strongly for this woman that he could justify risking discovery and battling his own kin to protect her. But he hadn’t cared.

Nothing mattered except Claire.

And the moment she collapsed on the glass-peppered floor, he’d understood anguish like never before. His chest had clenched so hard, it paralyzed him; a mighty beast, and yet he’d been rendered immobile by her fallen and bloodied figure.

But he could hear the blood pumping through her veins, her heart beating in overdrive, the laborious draw of each breath. She was still alive. For how long, he didn’t know. She’d lost a lot of blood. God damn it, if he’d gotten there just a few minutes sooner…

There wasn’t time for that now, though. He scooped her up in his arms as gently as he could, cradled her close to his chest and spread his wings.

He shouldn’t be doing this. It was broad daylight. He hadn’t been able to stop the change when he’d first spied her, but at least the preserve had been devoid of every living being but the animals it contained. What was he intending to do now? Fly right up to the entrance to his hotel? Land in front of a busy hospital?

No, he knew what he’d do. It was still risky, but it was possible he might go unnoticed. He needed to move quickly though, and so he forced as much of his focus as possible away from the woman who laid unconscious in his arms and onto the flap of his outstretched wings and the smooth glide of his body through the sky. It was too slow, though he knew it wasn’t. While every second felt like the stretch of several minutes, in reality, he knew in flight he was faster than the top speed of his Aston Martin, nearly as fast as the planes that kept him grounded in order to stay hidden most of the time.

It felt like hours, but really, only minutes had passed when he saw the marina down below. It was his private marina, just outside of Santa Barbara, and while he still kept his flights there limited to the cover of darkness, there were seldom people milling about even during the day. He saw no one around as he came in lower, and he would have prayed to whatever ancient deities existed to keep it that way, but his prayers were occupied already, pleading with any ethereal being out there to keep Claire alive.

He landed smoothly on the dock, custom made large and sturdy enough to accommodate his enormous size. But he reined in the heat inside his body once he’d touched down, drawing the beast inward to his core and resuming his human form. He kept her drawn tightly against him despite the change, and hurried onto his yacht.

The blood had ceased to flow from her wounds, or even trickle, and he worried for one panicked moment that she’d perished there against him. But no, her heart was still beating; he could hear it, and he could feel its strong, consistent beat against his own chest. Strange—after such an injury, it should be weak at best. And how had she stopped bleeding?

He didn’t linger on the questions for long. Once inside, he hurried to his suite and laid her out on the bed. He wasn’t well-equipped with medical supplies, having little need of them himself, but he kept a limited supply on board for the rare times he hosted one event or another on the yacht. Lunging for the first aid box in the compartment by the door, he threw it open as he rushed back to the bed.

“Noah?”

Claire’s eyes were wide open, but disoriented. Though her voice quivered when she spoke, it was stronger than he’d expected, given the pallid color of her already pale skin.

“Claire…” he breathed out a rugged sigh, as if he’d been holding his breath since the moment she’d fallen, and her voice had relieved his lungs of their burden. He turned his attention back to the contents of the box in his hands and withdrew a stack of sterile bandages.

He intended to use them to clean and bind her wounds, but as he reached out to swab gently at the gash across her chest, she shook her head and withdrew from him, her body pressing deeper into the mattress.

She was scared of him, and that was a good thing. His response to her last night had scared him, and if she was smart, she’d definitely want to keep her distance. Still, he couldn’t leave her wounds untreated, fear or no fear.

Ignoring her silent protests, he continued, swabbing carefully, despite the way his hands tremored in anger at what Damon had done to her. The wound was deeper than he’d expected, so much that she was going to need sutures. And without anything stronger than Tylenol and whiskey on the yacht, he was going to have to do this with no pain relief for her beyond the slightly numbing effect of alcohol. He should have taken her to a hospital, not to his boat, but he hadn’t been able to stomach the idea of placing her in anyone else’s care. Now, though, he didn’t have a choice.

“Claire, I need to get you to a hospital,” he told her, tossing the bandages on the bed and leaning in to gather her into his arms again.

“That’s not necessary,” she said matter-of-factly, stifling a yawn.

Afraid just a moment ago, she seemed more tired than frightened now. Panic flooded his veins. She was dying; there was no other explanation for the change in her. He was just about to pick her up and rush her to the hospital despite her protests when he paused, catching sight of the wound on her chest once more.

It wasn’t as bad as he’d first thought. Had he been in such a panic that his eyes deceived him? He’d been certain she was badly injured; that she’d lost so much blood, she might not come back from it. Upon closer inspection now, though the wound covered a great deal of area, it was shallow enough that with proper care, it might not even leave a scar. He glanced down at her hand and wrist. The blood there had dried, and the gash wasn’t much deeper than the one on her chest.

Perhaps it had been shock that had sent her careening into oblivion—attempted murder and dragons all in the span of mere minutes were probably enough to make any human faint.

She moved to sit up, and he resisted the urge to force her back down. “I suppose your wounds aren’t that serious anymore, Claire, but there’s no need to push it, alright?”

Now that she wasn’t on the brink of death, he did have a few questions. No doubt, she had a few of her own.

When she’d looked up at him outside the preserve’s building, she’d known who he was. It didn’t matter that he wasn’t in human form; she had seen right past his exterior. How that was possible, he didn’t know, but he’d accepted that his secret had been blown as he gathered her up in his massive arms and flown her to the only place he knew was safe.

He was trading the secret he’d kept for centuries for her, and he’d done it without a moment’s regret. But now, he couldn’t lie and tell her that he’d found her lying in the preserve’s back office; that he had no idea what had transpired in the moments before. But he did need to know why she’d been there in the first place.

“Claire, what were you doing at the preserve?” he asked bluntly.

“I ran into Mr. Cross last night, after…” A blush crept across her cheeks, the color a stark contrast to the pale white skin. “Well, he said he was an avid collector and told me about artifacts he had, and I’d been doing research on some of them…so it seemed like a good idea.”

She sped through the thin explanation so fast, he wouldn’t have caught it all if he had less than stellar hearing, but he did, and he heard every word. And he didn’t believe for a second it was the whole story. She was hiding something, and she was either a terrible liar or too shaken to come up with a better story.

“Do you have any idea why Damon…why he would have wanted to hurt you?”

“No. I mean…no.”

She was definitely hiding something. She knew exactly why Damon had wanted to hurt her. Hell, Damon hadn’t just wanted to hurt her, he’d wanted her dead. Bile rose in the back of his throat at the thought.

Maybe she didn’t realize what a dangerous situation she was now in. But he knew Damon Cross, and what he knew most of all about him was he didn’t give up. Whether it was vengeance he sought or…damn…

“You knew something,” he sighed heavily, wishing fervently it were anything else.

Damon believed in protecting their secret—at any cost. He would go to any length to keep it safe. He hadn’t been content to remain discreet, independently vigilant like the rest of them. No, Damon took it upon himself to guard their secret, no matter the human lives lost to his cause. As much as Noah hated to admit it, he rather thought Damon enjoyed his role, taking perverse delight in eradicating any threat in his way.

She stared at him, her brilliant blue eyes wide in poorly concealed fright. He stared back, searching her gaze in return.

“You were there,” she whispered. It wasn’t a question, but he knew it wouldn’t be.

“Yes…I was there.”

He left it at that. What more could he say?

“I know.” She said simply, though it was the most profound thing he’d heard in a long time; maybe ever.

“I know it was you, Noah. You saved me. Thank you.”

For some reason, he hadn’t been expecting that. He’d always imagined fear…revulsion…rejection if his secret ever came out. Not gratitude.

“But I really have to go now,” she told him, looking ready to bolt from the bed. “And just so you know…I would never do anything to put you or your secret in jeopardy.”

That’s why she was nervous. If Damon had been willing to kill to keep his secret, she had no reason to think he’d do less. Of course, the fact that he’d fought him off and flown her away from there should have given her reason to question that logic. But maybe that’s why she hadn’t flown the coop already.

“What were you doing there?” he questioned more harshly than he’d intended, but his own thoughts were in chaos.

She didn’t answer right away, and then she did, and he knew she wasn’t lying.

“I was looking for something. I thought he might have it.”

“Looking for what?”

“Answers.”

Was she deliberately being vague, or was he so distracted by her that it only seemed that way?

“Answers to what, Claire?”

“I’m not…normal,” she said eventually, and he almost laughed. Of course she wasn’t normal; she was beautiful, intelligent, utterly mesmerizing…anything but normal. But she seemed quite serious.

“Not normal in what way?”

“You aren’t normal either, Noah. Does it matter how I’m different? I’m just different, and like you, I wouldn’t want anyone to know about me.”

Was she trying to convince him not to reveal her secret to anyone, or was she trying to tell him she wouldn’t reveal his? Regardless of which one, that didn’t answer his question. Strange though, now that he thought about it—it hadn’t crossed his mind once that she would betray him like that.

Maybe it was time to try a different angle. “I know there’s something different about you, Claire. I’ve known it from the first moment I saw you. It’s clear to me every second because I’ve never wanted any woman the way I want you. It’s taken every ounce of restraint I’ve got to keep from…” He swallowed back the rest of that sentence. After what she’d just been through, it didn’t seem right to tell her that he was dying to rip her clothes off and bury every inch of himself deep inside her; that if he hadn’t stormed out on her the other night, he didn’t know what would have happened. No woman had ever had that effect on him, so yes, she was definitely different.

He would have felt guilty for the thoughts that ran through his mind then, except as he glanced down to the pulse at her throat, something else caught his attention. The wound on her chest—it was almost gone. Baffled, he reached for her hand.

She hesitated for a moment, but let him take it. Through the haze of desire and confusion that assailed him, he saw that the gash was little more than a paper cut. But he’d seen it, and no paper cut could have caused her to lose so much blood.

Was she a shifter like him? No…he’d always been able to sense other shifters and dragons. He glanced back to her chest as the last bit of proof Damon’s sword had marred her milky skin disappeared before his eyes.

And he fully intended to question her on it, but her head tilted back, exposing the elegant column of her neck.

“It makes me tired,” she whispered as she attempted to stifle another yawn, the last remnants of trepidation in her tone giving way to exhaustion. “Healing, I mean. It seems to take most of my energy to heal so quickly,” she explained awkwardly, a blush staining her cheeks.

And she wasn’t kidding; her eyes closed slowly, as if her lids were fighting against a heavy weight, and her breathing deepened seconds later to the natural rhythm of sleep.

He leaned in to kiss her, demanding his body comply with the restraint he commanded of it. He kissed her cupid bow lips lightly, little more than a feather-light whisper of a kiss, and yet something strange happened to him when he did. He was connected to something other than himself, cognizant of emotions that were not his. Come to think of it, that was exactly how he’d describe the same strange sensation had taken place every time he touched her.

He leaned in again experimentally, and the second his lips touched hers, the sensation returned and he jolted back before it could grow. He tried it again, this time grazing across her wrist where the wound had mysteriously disappeared.

It was the same.

What was it about this strange woman? Or was she a woman at all? She certainly looked like one, exquisitely beautiful with delicate, feminine features and soft curves in all the right places. But the way he was drawn to her—there must be an explanation for it.

As much as he still struggled to deny it, he’d gone to the preserve that morning because something had compelled him there. Sure, he’d been interested in finding out what Damon was doing back in the city after a lengthy absence, but he could have called him…texted him…dropped by at any other time. And yet, an urgent need to get there had forced him from his suite and had him racing the short distance as fast as his car would go. Was it coincidence that he’d arrived just in time to stop Damon from what he’d intended? The more he thought about it, the less likely it seemed.

When she’d walked up on stage, he’d been drawn to her, every part of him lured by her. And the other day when he’d gone wandering through the city on foot, had something sent him in her direction? Had it known she was nearby? He had better senses than any human; he could see ten times further, and in the black of night. He could hear a quiet conversation several streets over, and smell trouble coming from half a mile away. But he’d always been well aware of what he was sensing. If he’d smelled her or heard the soft lilt of her voice, he would have known it, not been led by it unconsciously.

Unable to resist now, he laid his hand flat against her chest, just above the upper swell of her breast, ignoring the way his fingers itched to move lower. And he welcomed the sensation this time, exploring it, searching for its origin. In his mind’s eye he saw chaos, fear; people he couldn’t see were running in every direction as water, cold as ice, covered his feet. It moved higher quickly, saturating his ankles, then his calves. A dark figure appeared in the sky, and though he couldn’t see it in the conventional sense, he knew it was him in the sky above himself—though that made no sense at all.

A little girl’s scream rent the air. He felt her fear as if it was his own as liquid ice rose above his knees on the ship’s deck. Yes, that’s where he was—on an enormous ship, though not one of modern construction. How he knew that, he didn’t know because he couldn’t see it any better than he could see the alter image of himself in the sky above. But he knew it was there as the murky haze of his dragon form swooped down and the girl was silent. Had he hurt her? Or worse?

No. He couldn’t see her there in his arms, or feel her heat against his chest, but she was there. She was safe. He’d saved her. And then she was no longer a little girl, but a full-grown woman. An exquisitely beautiful one, though he could see nothing but brilliant white where she was cradled against him.

Oh god! He jerked his hand back from Claire’s chest. He knew what it was he saw in his mind—only it wasn’t his mind he’d been seeing. It was hers. He’d seen—and felt—inside her dream. She was the little girl, terrified on a sinking ship. And she’d dreamed that he’d swept in and saved her from drowning.

It clicked then, why she kept her hands covered and drew away from being touched. He wasn’t the one responsible for the images he’d seen; it was Claire. Whatever she was, she had a power he knew little about. But was that power limited to projecting outward, to filling others with sensations of what she was experiencing? Or did she absorb as much as she emitted? How many of his own thoughts had he shared with her unknowingly?

He should feel violated, but he didn’t. He wanted to experience more of her like that, in a way that superseded human or even dragon capabilities. And he didn’t care how much of himself he had to share in order to get it.

He stood there watching her sleep, trying to make sense of what had taken place between them, of what he felt for her despite their short acquaintance. But the curve of her hips beckoned to his hands, and the way her lips had parted invitingly made it increasingly difficult to ignore the desire that was coursing through his body.

He tried to keep watch, but the more he watched her, the more he found himself reliving the torturous fire that had burned in his veins the night before. And so he turned away, leaving the confines of his bedroom before the fire could gain any more ground. He would hear anyone approaching from inside or out long before they reached her.

He spent the next several hours pacing back and forth across the long length of the yacht, his mind alternating between the woman sleeping in his bed and the plight in which she now found herself. He’d wanted to kill Damon when he yanked him out of his office, but he hadn’t. It had taken every ounce of restraint he’d been able to muster. But now what? Guard Claire every moment for the rest of her life? More than a few minutes in a room with her, and she would need to be guarded from him.

The creak of the bed caught his attention. She was awake. Her feet sounded lightly on the floor seconds later, but she stayed there, wandering about the room. He waited to hear the sound of his dresser drawers sliding open, or the click of the closet door opening. He couldn’t blame her for snooping, waking up in an unfamiliar place after the ordeal she’d just suffered. She didn’t snoop, though. She just continued to wander around the room, stopping now and again. What was she doing? And was there anything about the woman that didn’t have him guessing wrong at every turn?

He waited for her to leave the room, but she didn’t. She just kept pacing. A few more minutes, and his curiosity was at its peak. That, and his body’s inexplicable need for her was nearing its pinnacle, too, making it increasingly difficult to remain out on the deck.

As slowly as he could force himself to go, he returned the way he’d come, back to his room. He opened the door and she jolted to a halt, eyes wide. The fear that had given way to her exhaustion had returned in full force, but it wasn’t quite the same now. It wasn’t just him that she feared.

She spoke before he could inquire. “I don’t like boats,” she told him, the staccato beat of her heart telling him she was putting it mildly.

Did her reason for not liking boats have anything to do with the dream she’d had? Could he really ask her without letting on that he’d been witness to the images in her head? Did he want to keep that from her? Was he going to go insane if one more question flitted through his mind? That one he could answer with a resounding yes.

“Tell me about the ship,” he said, refusing to risk his sanity in order to question it out any further. And though he should be encouraging her to fear him, he couldn’t help but want to distract her.

Her head shot up and she eyed him suspiciously. He just stood there, trying to look as innocuous as possible with the truth right there in his eyes—yes, he’d looked. She stared back, and he remembered with full force why he’d left her sleeping in the bedroom, why it was safer for her to fear him than to let her guard down.

She took a tentative step toward him, and then another, ignoring her own trepidation. Her scent filled his nostrils and he resisted the urge to pull her hard against his body. She continued to close the distance until just a few inches remained between them and then reached out to him, laying her trembling hand against his jaw. His blood nearly boiled over at her touch and he struggled to keep the fire in his core from spreading outward. This wasn’t just dangerous; it was insane. He felt like a wild animal who’d been caged. But the cage wasn’t nearly strong enough to keep him imprisoned for long. At any moment, he would break free and wreak havoc on the beautiful victim in his path.

Just as he was about to use what little restraint remaining to pull away, something changed. He could still see her standing there in front of him, and his body burned with desire, but just like when he’d touched her in her sleep, there was something else as well.

He was looking out at the ocean, though he knew it more than he saw it. His obscure view barely topped the rails of the boat, and he realized he was seeing from her perspective, a little girl aboard a giant ship. The chaos and panic ran rampant around him and through him; the icy water reached nearly to his thighs.

She screamed as she lost hold of the warm hand of the presence beside her. It was a man, a man she loved very much, and that bothered him until he realized the man was not a lover; he was her father. And then her other hand was empty, a hand that had been gripped tight in a woman’s grasp. Her mother. Both of her parents were gone, but where did they go?

The little girl was silent now, but screams came from all around her. Icy teeth nipped at her skin all the way up to her child-sized ribs. It must be the water; it was freezing.

In the next instant, she was on solid land. The screams had stopped and she was safe. But she was alone, despite the handful of people milling about her. Heartbreak and fear crashed over him like a tsunami.

She pulled her hand away from his jaw and it all disappeared, leaving him with a strange mix of his own emotions and hers.

“It takes some time to understand it and it’s usually not so clear.” She smiled tremulously, but he could see the uncertainty in her eyes. She hadn’t shared her secret with anyone in a very long time, he was sure of it. It had taken a hell of a lot of courage to share it with him now, though he imagined she didn’t feel quite so abnormal when the man she was sharing it with happened to be a dragon.

His mind called up an image she’d shown him and it all clicked. The way she could share what was in her soul; the young girl on dry land dressed in Edwardian style clothing; the men milling about her, dressed in sailor’s apparel he hadn’t seen in almost a century…

So wrapped up in his body’s need for her, it had taken a moment to put it all together. Claire was anything but normal. She was incredible, and she seemed to have absolutely no idea what she really was.

“I think I do understand, Claire.”

But should he tell her what he knew? Was it really his place to tell her she hadn’t tapped into a tenth of what she was capable of?

She was smiling up at him, her lips steady now, not quivering like they’d been. The rest of her was trembling though, and he didn’t know why until he saw the fire blazing hot in her eyes. She wasn’t trembling in fear; she was trembling in need. Red hot desire.

Run! the rational part of his brain screamed. He couldn’t do this. He’d tried…and he’d come close to failing catastrophically the night before.

But his arms were already around her, pulling her hard against him with a fierceness that forced the breath from her lungs. It didn’t seem to faze her. She wrapped her arms around him, her fingers twining in the short hair at the back of his neck and then it wasn’t only his own desire he was feeling. Her arousal crashed over him, even more potent than the scent of her, which grew stronger every second, telling him she would already be wet for him.

“Claire, you need to leave,” he whispered raggedly, but he’d already grabbed the neckline of her shirt. He couldn’t stop himself from tearing it down the center with a flick of his wrists.

“I don’t want to leave, Noah,” she whispered back, undaunted by his fierce response. Her hands moved to his chest and her fingers brushed against the exposed flesh. Arousal shot through his body like bolts of lightning while the beast inside grew larger, its flames licking outward from his core.

Hell, no. No. There was absolutely no way he could feel her fingers roaming and exploring, and keep even a tenuous grasp on himself. There were subtle differences between what happened when he touched her and when she touched him. When her fingers made contact with his flesh, it was as if he saw deeper, beyond what she was thinking or feeling, to what made up her very being. And that was just too god damned intoxicating. He didn’t know how he was going to do this as it was; he certainly wasn’t going to be able to do it drunk.

He grabbed her wrists and whipped them behind her back, but the movement only served to press her satin-clad breasts against his chest. He could feel hard nipples teasing his flesh.

Christ, the woman was driving him crazy without even trying. He needed to leave—walk, run, fly…it didn’t matter. He had to get away from her.

But instead, he clasped both of her wrists in one hand and flicked her bra open with the other. Her breasts spilled out and his mouth watered in anticipation. He blazed a fast trail downward with his lips, latching onto one hard nipple.

She yelped in response, and he cursed himself silently as he did his damnedest to try to ease off. But she thrust her chest forward, and he had no doubt about what it was she wanted. He could feel what it did to her; a wicked pleasure even she hadn’t known how much she responded to until that very moment. So, she liked it rough? Well, that was probably a damn good thing, he thought wryly as he sucked harder and grazed her with his teeth.

The taste of her skin, her quiet, throaty moans, the scent of her arousal…he was losing ground every minute. The flames spread out further. He could feel them heating his shoulders and thighs from the inside. Every fiber of his being wanted her.

He realized he’d gotten caught up in what he was doing and released his hold on her wrists when she leaned forward and grabbed the hem of his shirt. She whipped it upward before he could force himself to resist. And even worse, he released her nipple long enough for her to get the shirt off, but immediately realized his mistake when her fingers returned to graze down the length of his back.

“Claire, stop,” he gritted out between clenched teeth.

Her fingers stilled, but didn’t move away, lying flat on his flesh instead.

He tried to take a deep, calming breath, but it only enhanced her scent. A scent he wanted…needed.

Without conscious thought, he tore off her skirt and the sexy thong beneath in an innate struggle to get to his goal. God damn she was beautiful. He wanted to stand back and look at her, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t bring himself to put any more distance between them than necessary.

The tug on his fly alerted him to what she was up to just seconds later. His cock sprung free and the last thin barrier that had stood between them was gone.

A gasp escaped her lips and she reached out tentatively, sliding down his long length.

Something low rumbled in his chest—a growl or groan, even he didn’t know which one it was. With his last thread of self-control, he pulled away and grabbed her wrists once again, yanking them high above her head. He saw her flinch, and he knew he’d hurt her.

Get a grip, he demanded of himself. He was always self-possessed, never out of control like this. He just needed to get a grip. So he breathed in deep, and regretted it. He tore his gaze away from her body, and realized his mistake too late. His eyes met hers, and even if their combined desire hadn’t been washing over him in tidal waves, he would have known exactly what she was feeling by the wildfire in her eyes. And she looked so god damned hot; her arms stretched above her head, her breasts thrust forward…

He tried not to think about every wicked thing he wanted to do to her, but he was losing the struggle. He could feel the fire inside gaining more ground with every second that passed. His muscles shook with their effort to hold it back.

“Claire…”

“I want you, Noah,” she whispered, staring back at him with a certainty that made it abundantly clear she had no idea the danger she was in.

No, this was just too god damned dangerous. He forced himself to take a single step back. If he could just put some distance between them, maybe he could find some thread of control.

“Don’t you dare walk away,” she said, her eyes bright, and she lunged for him, stretching against her wrists bound against the wall, to press her lips hard against his.

She couldn’t know what she was asking for; she just couldn’t. But it didn’t matter. He couldn’t have stopped now if his life depended on it.

He moved in fast, lifting her with his free arm and settling her over top of him. In the same breath, he thrust upward, pulling her down on him and driving home in one frenzied thrust. She cried out as she struggled against his hold on her wrists, and a jolt of guilt went through him. But oh fuck, god damn it, she was so tight. Her inner walls gripped him so snugly, it was the most exquisite thing he’d ever felt.

And the connection between them had deepened; he could feel it all and he knew she couldn’t hold any of it back in that moment even if she wanted to. He could see the pleasure coursing through her from her throbbing bundle of nerves, and the ache caused by his cock stretching her. He could see her frenzied need to join him, and at the same time, her body’s need to adjust, to accommodate his girth.

He gritted his teeth and forced himself to remain still, but too quickly he couldn’t wait any more. He needed to move, to fuck, to hear her scream in pleasure. He withdrew as slowly as he could and thrust back in, shaking with the effort it took not to increase his pace. Once…twice. By the third time, he was just about ready to snap. He couldn’t control his movements and the dragon burning inside at the same time. But she was ready. She wrapped her legs around his hips and began to move against him.

He lunged for her mouth, capturing her already swollen lips and muffling her moans and breathless cries. But he didn’t want her erotic sounds muffled. He wanted to hear her, and so he released her lips, leaving a frantic trail of kisses down her jaw while he plunged in to the hilt over and over again, his pace increasing with every thrust. The world around them disappeared as he released her wrists, running his hands over every inch of soft skin he could reach. Nothing existed but her body and his; there was no scent but their combined arousal, no sounds outside of their labored breathing and her moans, growing louder every second. He could feel her climbing higher, and he knew it wouldn’t be long. She was almost there. He struggled to wait for her, the sheath of her warm flesh making it near impossible. Just a little longer…

She clung to him, her nails digging deep into his shoulders and her legs wrapped tightly around his hips. They lost all sense of rhythm, frantic with deep need for one another. And then he felt it; he could feel the tightly wound coil spring loose inside her just seconds before she flung her head back against the wall and screamed as she contracted around his length. He followed her over the edge, thrusting in to the hilt one last time, coming deep inside her as lightning bolts of pleasure shot through his body.

She collapsed against him, her cheek pressed against his shoulder while she drew in long, deep breaths. Aftershocks of a cataclysmic orgasm rippled through his body as he tilted her head and kissed her lips gently.

It wasn’t over. It was far from over. He’d barely done more than whet his appetite for her, but he released her lips, trying to ignore the way his body was already revving up. New ripples of desire were making him hard again and he hadn’t even left her body yet. He’d thought that having his way with her would ease his overwhelming need, but it hadn’t even taken the edge off.

But he had to give her a break. The strange connection made him keenly aware that while she was reeling pleasantly in the aftershocks of an earth-shattering orgasm, her body also ached from his rough ministrations. If he didn’t let her go now, he’d be fucking her senseless within seconds.

Reluctantly, he withdrew from her body, the movement making him grit his teeth against the urge to plunge back in. But as he lowered her feet to the ground, her abdomen rubbed against his cock and her lips left feather-light kisses across the planes of his chest.

He clenched his fists at his sides, but he knew there was no sense in fighting; the battle was already lost. It had been foolish to have thought otherwise. He reined it in long enough to grab her arms and move her backward toward the bed. That was the gentlemanly thing to do, wasn’t it? If he was going to fuck her senseless, at least let her lay down for it? He could feel that she wasn’t done with him either and he almost bent her over to take her right there. But he could also see the way his fingers digging into her arms hurt, and he did the only thing he could, pushing her away.

She stumbled back two steps and the backs of her knees bumped against the low mattress. She lost her footing and sat down hard. He knew he should leave. It had been difficult enough to battle the beast for dominance once, but to continue to struggle was a dangerous game.

Still, he crossed the distance in a single stride and towered over top of her, breathing deep, seeking some semblance of control. She reached out for his hand and it was comforting to see she was still completely engrossed, too, but at least for her, there was no way she could physically harm him.

And then she swooped forward, using her hold on his hand as leverage, and took the tip of him in her mouth. Oh god, he was wrong. The effort to keep himself restrained scorched every fiber of his body. He was burning from the inside out in exquisite torture. His hands clenched—hell, every muscle in his body was clenched tight—against the desire to thrust forward, which he couldn’t do without forcing his cock down her throat.

Thinking as fast as his muddled brain would allow, he opted for the lesser of two evils. He grabbed her arms and shoved her flat on her back, pulling her to the edge of the bed by her ankles. He lifted her ass up off the bed to meet him and drove in to the hilt. And he knew right then as her walls clenched him tight that twice would never be enough. Three times…four times…no.

It would never be enough.