Page 23 of Dragon Prince of New York

"No, you don't."

"Just admit it, Cyrus. I'm not good en—"

He charges through the water and catches me, one arm banding around my back as his hand covers my mouth. “Don’t you dare finish that sentence!”

I swallow, hyperaware of his hard body pressed against mine, the water lapping against our skin, his breath fanning my face.

“You are everything. Everything. Do youunderstand?”

I give my head the tiniest shake. It’s all I can manage with the way he’s gripping my face. A tear spills unnoticed down my damp cheek.

"Fuck it," he growls, and then his lips slam into mine. I fight. Confused. Disbelieving. Angry at him for making me hope. He grasps the back of my head, keeping my lips pressed to his. I scratch my nails down his shoulder blades and he groans. I can't stop my answering moan, letting him in, giving myself over to what I've craved for so long.

It's a kiss that explodes out of nowhere and everywhere all at once. He demands everything. Takes everything. Gives everything.

My tears are falling freely now, and I’m incapable of hiding the salty taste of them. His kisses soften, but I cling to him more fiercely than before.

“Oh, little flame,” Cyrus whispers against my lips. “I never meant to hurt you." A gentle kiss. "I thought I was doing the right thing." Another. "I’m so sorry.”

It’s like I’ve been holding my breath underwater all my life, and now I’ve finally come up for air. He’s oxygen, even as he steals the air from my lungs. No longer fire and fury, we hold each other gently, like lapping waves after a storm.

“Have dinner with me,” he says.

“I thought maybe…” I bite my lip, not sure if I should say what I really want after all the push and pull we’ve been through. Now that I’m in his arms, I don’t want to risk anything ruining this. I don’t want to let go.

He nuzzles my neck and follows the sweet touch by scraping his teeth along the tender skin. “We have time. Have dinner with me. Watch a movie. I just want to hold you.” He gives me a tender kiss, followed by a tortured, “Please.”

Unable to resist, I agree.

Chapter 13

Cyrus

Finley sits cross-legged onthe couch with a container of pad thai in one hand and the remote control in the other. Her knee presses comfortably into my thigh, and there’s a giant grin on her face. This is how it should have been all along. The two of us, together, getting to know each other.

The need to claim her is like an itch that’s worse when we’re this close, making it hard to keep some physical distance between us, but being here with her in any capacity is better than being apart. All the tension I’ve been carrying for six years eases out of my muscles, replaced by a heavy contentment.

“What do you want to watch?” She asks.

“You,” I answer.

She chuckles, assuming I’m joking. I’m not. I could study her every expression and never get enough.

“A show? A movie? Comedy? Adventure? Romance? Horror? Documentary?” She flips through different options as she speaks. “I bet you’re an action movie guy.”

“Actually, no. It might be my least favorite genre.”

“Really?”

I nod and steal a bite of her pad thai.

“So what’s your favorite?” She takes a piece of chicken from my green curry. “What do you watch when you’re by yourself?”

“Promise you won’t laugh?”

She draws a cross over her heart with her chopsticks.

“I like to watch old B Movies from the 50s. Things likePlan 9 From Outer Space,Creature from the Black Lagoon,Bride of the Monster, you know? Cult classics.”

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