What on earth am I doing?

When I got up this morning, the only task for my day off from the gallery was to find a decent tattoo artist who could do the memory of my grandmother proud.

Now?

I’m following the sexiest dragon I’ve ever laid eyes on home. We’ve just met but there’s no mistaking it, the attraction is crazy off the charts.

The bonds of a fated mate are said to be very strong. At least, that’s what Grams always said to me. Never having experienced it, there is nothing in my experience to prove it or disprove it.

Until him.

At first, I didn’t recognize the fluttering in my chest as being more than just nerves. His piercing hazel eyes didn’t just look at me, they looked through me. Down into the deepest recesses of my soul.

My dragon fluttered to life in recognition of my fated mate. All discovered in a simple touch.

It is crazy.

Broad across the shoulders, with a tapered waist, strong hips, and thighs that looked poured into his jeans, Taran is as close to perfection as I could have dreamt of.

The kiss he laid on me at the park curled my toes. After that, I’m willing to follow him anywhere.

This is not the turn I was expecting for my day.

My logical mind screams this is not a good idea. I barely know the man, other than he is crazy talented. Everyone on the forum had nothing but good things to say about him. When I was able to get a peek at the magazine he was featured in last month, it was obvious then his reputation, which is stellar, is spot on.

Plus, I know good art when I see it.

It grieved my senior art project mentor in college when I expressed an interest in street art and the contributions the artists make in the art world.

He said it was trash. I believe it is the most honest and pure exploration of the human spirit one artist can hope to achieve. Sadly, I appear to be in the minority in the art world.

Taran Scalding is the epitome of that. The rock star of the ink world.

Not only have I lucked out in getting him to design my tattoo, which will probably set me back a month’s rent, but now he’s leading me to his place.

He refused to take the bus, even though Stelline City has one of the best mass transit systems in the territory. He wanted a cab. When I asked why, he said nothing.

Who am I to refuse him anything he wants? My baser instincts only want him to kiss me like that again.

My body aches for him to take me from head to toe. Sexy, commanding, and talented, all in one amazingly tight package.

“What’s on your mind?” Taran finally breaks the silence I wasn’t aware I’d lapsed into.

I am not sure what exactly to say. Grams said to always be honest. So I’ll be honest. “You.”

He laughs, and his hand grips the back of my neck in a gentle, but oh-so-possessive hold. My dragon is doing back flips, and I’m trying to stay focused and not jump him in the back of the cab.

Whether he pulls me in for another kiss or I lunge for him, the end result is the same. The same toe-curling experience overwhelms me again and distantly, I hear the whimper escape my throat.

He smiles against my mouth before taking another deep kiss and all I want is for him to take me in the cab. I don’t care who’s watching.

The cab comes to a stop and when I pull away, my heart is pounding hard in my chest.

Logic once again tries to assert itself.

I don’t know him.

No one knows I’m here.

I don’t know where here is.

I am completely at his mercy.

I should be afraid.

Yet there’s nothing in my instincts that screams for me to change my mind. Especially when Taran smiles at me, reassuring, but with the promise of more.

He slides out of the curbside door before holding it for me. Once the cab pulls away, he slides his hand down my arm to clutch at my hand. Our fingers twine.

It feels perfect.

It’s never felt perfect before.

The row of brownstones extends the block, the uniformity of each stoop made unique by planters, colorful flags, or wreaths on the doors.

Taran leads the way up the stairs to stop at one door. I make a note with little confidence I will remember before the day is done.

If I’m lucky, I won’t remember my name, either.

“Are you okay?” Taran reaches across his body to dig his keys out just so he doesn’t have to let go of my hand. I try to release his so he can key us into the building. His fingers tighten, not letting me go.

Once we’re inside, he shuts the door behind me, locks it and tosses his keys on the small hall table. “Would you like something to drink? Water, juice which I assume is still good, beer, and maybe a little wine. I’ll have to check.”

“Beer is fine,” I say, following him up the brief staircase to the main floor of his townhouse.

He motions for me to sit on the large and overstuffed leather sofa before he disappears into the kitchen.

The standout feature of his living room is not his large screen television, unless not having one at all counts, but the large pieces of framed tattoo art.

Instead of taking a seat, I walk toward the wall, the art calling to me.

Filling the frame, a dragon swirls around the figure of a cross, twined with barbed wire and roses. The colors are stark and vivid and the action is dynamic. The image is alive and in motion.

It looks like it was done in oil. Closer inspection shows that it’s not oil but watercolor. Impressive, since watercolor is not an easy medium to work in.

“That was my winning design for the contest.” Taran’s voice just off my shoulder startles me. I never heard him walk up.

He holds out the beer for me and I take it, grateful to now have something in my hands. “It’s beautiful.” I take a sip and turn to look at it again. “It went on the man’s back, right?”

“It did. Took us about eighteen hours. The man had an iron will against pain.” Taran is standing close enough that I can feel his body heat. It stirs up a mix of feelings that are hard to sort out.

Attraction that transcends the physical, although that is certainly a huge factor. There’s a comfortable component to it, having Taran at his back as protection.

One gentle hand smooths down my back and I instinctively lean into it. “What’s happening?” I ask over my shoulder.

“Only what you want to happen, Nosko.” Taran’s breath ghosts across my ear. My resolve is weak in the face of it.

What do I want?

That is a question I have never examined too closely before. I was content to focus on my gallery. Mates, family were not part of the equation.

All of that is shattered when Taran touches me. He speaks to a deep part of my soul that I try to keep closed off. Not for any dramatic reason stemming from any sort of trauma in my childhood. Nothing like that. It just isn’t important to me.

Wasn’t.

It wasn’t important to me.

Taran pulls the bottle from my hand and sets them both to the side. His large hands cup my face. Our eyes meet and I am drawn into them as the whole world fades to nothing until all I see is hazel and passion and a deeper understanding of this indefinable tugging between us.

I know what it is. Even never having experienced it before, I know it. My dragon knows it, recognizes it, cries out for it.

It’s not something I can fight. I’m afraid it’s not something I want to fight. “You,” I whisper softly. My hands seek balance by pressing against his sides, thumbs hooking in his belt loops.

Taran is in excellent shape. His body is firm. Every breath causes the muscles beneath my touch to move, and it’s an exhilarating feeling to know that much power resides inside him.

“I’m glad.” He never once breaks eye contact as he takes a step back, then another. The visceral thrill that pulses through me knows where we are going. It’s why I came home with him.

My feet are firmly on the ground but my dragon soars through the clouds in delight.

Here is a man who will know me inside and out before we do anything.

That is what fated mates are, for me.

Two souls, separated at the beginning of our time on earth, looking to join each other again.

Not everyone believes that and it’s okay. I don’t care about others. All I care about is this gentle man who is firmly and decisively guiding me to his bedroom.

The door shuts with a soft click. The mid day sun shines brightly outside, but only pierces the semi darkness of the bedroom through the small slit in the heavy drapes at each window.

Taran apparently likes the dark. His bedroom suite is carved from dark, rich woods, lending a distinctive cave-like feel to his inner sanctum.

While I’m not fond of feeling so closed in, normally, here in Taran’s bedroom it feels safe.

His eager hands are joined with mine as we hurriedly strip each other. I kick my shoes off and they land somewhere out from underfoot. My jeans and shirt join his shirt over the edge of the bed.

Stripped bare before him, I have to laugh. “How did you manage to get me naked and you’re still half dressed?”

“You called my winning tattoo beautiful. But that isn’t the most beautiful thing in this apartment right now.” Taran’s hands smooth reverently over my shoulders and chest, sweeping down across my waist and up my back. Firm pressure pulls me into him and his mouth descends on mine.

It’s not a kiss. It’s a claim on me that I feel to my toes.

I succumb to it willingly. I want more. I want him all. I want to give him everything.

The dizzying flush of emotions makes it difficult to focus and I have to pull back before I lose my breath.

“What?” Taran asks. A crease between his eyebrows forms and it’s almost cute on such a masculine face.

“Need to catch my breath.”

Taran hooks a large hand around to cradle the back of my head. Lifting me with his other arm like I’m a doll, he encourages me to stretch out on the mattress before covering me with the secure weight of his body.

The button and zipper of his jeans scratch at my stomach and I can feel the hard line of his cock as it presses against me. I need to feel that in my ass and I whimper into another deep kiss to vocalize my impatience.

He finds my hands, wrapping his fingers around my wrists, and stretches them over head. When he pulls back, his eyes are blown wide, almost all pupil from desire. I’m sure my eyes look similar. I want him so much the energy of need is coiling crazily in my gut.

My fingers brush the headboard of his bed. “Hook your fingers to curl around the mattress to hold on.”

Through my lust-fogged brain I am able to process his command and I comply, my fingers wiggling to squeeze between the end of the mattress and the wood.

He places a soft kiss on my nose and smiles down at me. “Keep them there. If you move them, I stop.”

Panic grips me when he slides off me. I almost sit up, but remember his warning. I think it applies even now, so I relax against the bed, worrying at my lip with my teeth when I ask him, “Where are you going?”

“Patience, my little dragon,” he says, and his voice takes on the rolling growl associated with his breed of dragon. Red Skulls are the largest of dragon forms, with large, intimidating human forms, and deep voices which rumble like mountain caverns.

How can I possibly have any patience when he is so frustratingly out of reach? With deep breaths, I try to relax and wait for him.

Standing at the foot of the bed, Taran is watching me with an intense gaze. It crawls along my skin as his eyes inspect me from my feet to my hands. And it does more than inspect, it devours. “Taran,” I whimper.

Slowly, he undoes the top button of his jeans and peels them away. A distant part of my mind realizes he goes commando, as he steps from his jeans and kicks them to the side.

With one knee on the bed, Taran wraps a large hand round one of my ankles and pulls. One of my hands slips from my hold on the bed and he stops and fixes me with a simple eyebrow lift.

Sheepishly, I resume the position.

He considers that for a moment before continuing. Grabbing my other ankle, he stretches my legs until they’re straight. With the flat of both palms, he pushes my thighs to spread them far apart. It gives him room to crawl up the bed to kneel between them.

“God, Nosko, I can smell you from here. You’re driving me crazy.” His fingers dive between my ass cheeks and he fingers me, my slick so abundant his fingers have no resistance when they slide into me. “Your body is hungry, isn’t it?”

“Taran, please.” I fight the rising hysteria, stopping just short of begging.

“I’m getting there. I just want to enjoy watching you squirm.”

I cry out in frustration, wanting to twist myself down to shove more of his fingers in me. Something, anything to fill me up. I’m almost out of my mind at this point.

He chuckles softly and pushes a third into me. I feel the slight burn of being opened like I haven’t in far too long, and I arch from the bed from the pleasant pain.

“Now that’s a reaction that’s worth being rewarded for.” Taran’s fingers pull from my ass and I feel lost without some part of him inside me. I don’t wait long before he’s pushing my thighs up to cant my hips.

With a sharp jab, his thick cock is buried in me and I shout in surprise. The flash of discomfort passes quickly as my body adjusts around his thick shaft.

With teeth clenched and bared, Taran watches me as he picks up a punishing pace of thrusts, pounding into me. I don’t feel pain, just the blinding pleasure from being claimed so thoroughly as Taran mercilessly takes us both to the peak. Just before I can tip over and come, he slows until the urgency passes.

Then he does it again. And again. And again, until I am begging him to please, please let me come.

Taran finally obliges, taking my own neglected and weeping cock in hand, stroking in time with his thrusts until it’s all a blur. My orgasm surprises me, slamming into me with ferocity, and my cum paints my stomach with lines of heat.

As I slowly start to float back down on blissful hormones, Taran roars his own completion. The look of intensity on his face as he finds his pleasure is an image that I will treasure for a long time. It is the look of a man who gave over in complete abandon to someone else.

That someone else is me. Maybe that’s me painting my desire and bias onto him, but a deep knowing settles into my very being.

Taran falls forward, catching himself before he crushes me beneath his body weight, then tips to the side. Before I can shift, he gathers me in his arms and wraps around me. Cum is drying on my stomach and will soon start to itch, and my ass has been pleasantly abused, but with Taran wrapped around me so protectively, I will enjoy it while I can.

I’ve almost dropped off to sleep when Taran nudges me and I blink my eyes open to look at him. “Can you stay a while today?”

I’m willing to stay for as long as he wants, as long as this contentment never fades. I nod. “Today is my day off. I don’t have to be back to the gallery until tomorrow morning.”

“Good,” Taran says. He shifts around to get comfortable and closes his eyes, signaling that now is the time for a nap.

By the time morning rolls around, Taran has thoroughly exhausted me. I’m not sure I’m going to make it through the shower, but he is as attentive in there as he is in bed. He takes care of me, washing every available part of me before giving me the choicest, fluffiest towel.

Even breakfast shows deliberate care. Pancakes, fresh orange juice, excellent coffee, and bacon fried to just the perfect level of crispness.

Sitting at the table clad only in the towel, watching as he busies around the kitchen in his jeans, feels familiar.

And comfortable.

His back bears the marks of one of our many sessions, long deep red stripes. I didn’t see any blood on the sheets but I still feel bad. “I hope those didn’t sting too much in the shower,” I say, pointing to his bare back.

Taran looks over his shoulder before he shrugs. “Nah, takes a lot more than that to hurt me. You were getting into it and I was not about to stop you.”

I still feel bad about it, though. “It’s crazy.”

“Which part?” Taran hooks one of his feet with mine under the dinette table.

“This connection,” and I motion between us with my fork.

“I think what’s crazy is you coincidentally walking into my shop. But I don’t believe in coincidences so it seems like there’s really only one explanation.”

I fall silent as I consider that. It was as close as either of us got in conversation since yesterday to acknowledging that we might be fated mates. “Is it supposed to be this comfortable? I mean, Taran, we hardly know each other.”

“I don’t know. Maybe? It’s not like I’ve ever had a fated mate before. But they tell tales of it. Of a connection that runs deep and defies explanation.” Taran leans forward and takes the juice glass out of my hand, holding it in both of his. “I know one thing. I don’t think I’ve ever felt this happy before.”

It really is a relief to know I’m not the only one. We never knotted the night before and now I want to feel it. I want to rest in the protective shelter of his arms, our bodies locked together by his knot, taking the final claiming to its logical conclusion.

Already my body agrees that it’s a fabulous idea.

Talking all the stuff about fated mates is one thing, but to finally have it out in the open and knowing it’s the cause of some of the most profound feelings I’ve had in a while…

It moves quickly into overwhelming territory.

“Hey, you’re thinking awfully hard.” Taran’s voice brings me back out of my head. He taps at my temple. “What’s going on in there?”

“Stupidly, I was thinking about how quickly I could get you to knot with me,” I admit in embarrassment.

Taran stands and draws me up with him. “Call in sick.”

“Taran.” I should say no. I want to say no because I really do have to go into the gallery. “There’s a show coming up and I need to get the gallery ready.”

I said the words but there wasn’t an ounce of conviction in them.

Taran readily picks up on that and grins. “Then meet me halfway. Call out until lunch.”

I’d be lying if I say I considered saying no after that.

Instead, I leave my towel at the table.