Page 42 of Ditching the Dragon (Fated Dates)

My emotions surge in the most confusing mix of relief, joy, worry, and annoyance.

And against my better judgment, I kiss him back.

I drape my arms over his thick shoulders, let him capture me in his arms, and have him sway me to the music while he takes vengeance for my absence.

Kissing Wickham Barrett is an event, and it’s every bit the celebration, just like the first time he pressed me against his obnoxiously expensive car.

His lips search for a smile, a laugh, something to indicate I’m happy to see him. He smiles too, his grin wide as I lean into the kiss.

Hands grip my waist and circle over my ass, pulling me flush against him.

Wick maneuvers us to the side until we’re shoved by the crowd into an empty VIP seating area. The wide, J-shaped banquette with a little table around the curve seats at least ten, but it’s only us now. There’s even a velvet privacy curtain.

A server comes over to intercept us, but my mate chucks his wallet at the woman.

It makes me laugh, and my big, ridiculous dragon grins like a fool at my joy.

We bump against the banquette, and I nearly topple over the table. He rescues me by swinging me around into his lap.

The server returns with an order book and passes Wick’s wallet back. How she knew which card to use is anyone’s guess.

“Champagne,” Wick announces. “And close the curtain.”

“They don’t close all the way. There’s always a gap. They don’t want people toyouknow.”

“What if you charged the most expensive bottle of champagne and tip yourself an equal amount?”

“Then it would take me a very long time to find and open the bottle.”

“Excellent!” Wick yells.

When the slim girl scurries away, I give him a scowl.

“You can’t buy people to get what you want every time,” I tell-yell him.

“I didn’t buy her—I bought us privacy.”

Before I can object further, Wick pulls me into another aggressive kiss. His teeth sink into my bottom lip, not enough to hurt but enough to feel the threat there.

I groan against him and switch to straddling him. My skirt splays out around us, and the fine fabric of his pants are soft on my bare skin.

“You really like being on top,” he says.

“It’s the most comfortable.”

He shakes his head and spins us in one quick turn.

Instead of laying me out flat on the couch, he sets me upright and kneels at my feet.

Wick spreads my knees as far as they can go and sinks his face into my crotch. He inhales then growls so deeply, I feel the vibration against my pussy.

“Fucking mine,” he rumbles, more dragon than man.

I groan, and it makes him nip at my underwear.

But he doesn’t go further.

He waits oh so patiently for me to give him an okay.

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