Page 70 of Zachary

I suppress a laugh, lifting my head slightly to bite his earlobe. “Make me come, Zac. I want to come with you in me.”

He shifts his weight to one arm and reaches between us to grab my dick. “Ridged,” he mumbles. “I like it.” Then he begins the torment, his cock withdrawing slightly only to plunge back in—in perfect rhythm with his hand stroking me. The barrage of sensation is more than I’d expected, and I gasp.

At first, he keeps a steady pace, working every nerve with slow deliberation, but when my breathing becomes unsteady and my head starts to thrash, he picks up speed.

“Zac,” I moan.

“I’ve got you, love. Come for me.”

A sob escapes me. I want to, want to, want to—

It takes me without warning, seizing every muscle until I’m sure I’ll die. Distantly, I hear Zac’s shout and pry open eyes I didn’t realize were closed so I can see his face. It’s clenched in the same agonizing rictus of pleasure I feel, and I let go, roll with it, happy in the knowledge that Zac is my future.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Zac

There isnothing quite so amazing as waking up with Ronan’s body tangled in mine. Memories of last night play in my head as I swim toward consciousness, tightening my arms around him, and I can feel myself smiling. He was worried about pleasing me? How could I ever be unhappy with a partner who wants me as much as he does?

How could I ever be unhappy with Ronan?

“Good morning,” he murmurs, and I open my eyes. He’s smiling at me from our shared pillow, a smile full of naughty secrets and love. There’s no doubt in my mind that I want to wake up this way every day for the rest of my life.

“Hi. How are you feeling today?” After that first time—which was actually the second time he’d had something in his ass last night—we brought out the toys. I offered to be Ronan’s live test body, but he insisted on using the Fleshlight first to make sure he could make it good for me. I didn’t bother to point out that the Fleshlight wouldn’t know if it was good or not—Ronan being stubborn is adorable, and it was no hardship to jerk myself and watch him fuck the toy. After which he decided he was definitely versatile and fucked me. Then we took a shower together andhe ordered me to teach him the finer points of how to give a blowjob.

He’s an excellent student.

Moving against me, he winces a little. “I’m discovering muscles I didn’t know I had. And some of the other ones are sore too.”

I’m instantly contrite. “We probably did too much for your first time. I’m sorry. A hot shower might help, and a massage?”

He scoots closer to kiss me. “No, I like it. It’s a tangible reminder of everything we did. I could heal it if I wanted to, but for now, I’m keeping all the soreness as a trophy of my deflowering.”

I laugh, the same way I do every time he says that word—and he’s said it a few times now. He seems to enjoy my reaction. “I think your flower is supposed to be the trophy, and that’s mine,” I tease.

“I’ve been thinking about that…” His tone is thoughtful, but overly so. As though he’s putting it on. “Since the Ding Dong Dildo was there first, does it have my flower?”

With mock outrage, I roll him under me. “Are you saying it ‘rang your bell’ better than I did?”

Laughing, his eyes dancing with happiness, he shrugs. “All I’m saying is that Ding Dong was the first.”

I steal a kiss and adopt the same fake, thoughtful tone as him. “Maybe we should ask your friends what they think.”

“Oh fuck no. I’ll never hear the end of it. My flower is yours. Ding Dong will just have to deal with second place.”

We stay like that, kissing under the warm comforter in the peace of an early Sunday morning, until things start to get more heated. That’s when I roll away.

“What? Nooooo. Zac,” he whines.

“Not unless you heal yourself first.”

His eyes narrow stubbornly. “But I like the ache.”

“Then you can wait until tonight for sex.” Even if he doesn’t heal himself, I know the natural metabolic rate of a dragon will mean he’ll be a lot less sore by then. Not like a human, who might need a few days.

“Fine. Just remember that if I’m waiting, so are you. So I guess that means I can’t practice my blowjobs this morning.” He gets out of bed and strolls toward the bathroom—or at least, I think that’s what he’s aiming for. Instead, it’s initially a stagger, then a half-limping gait. I still enjoy the sight of his naked back as it goes.

Around midmorning,we’re in the kitchen, me cleaning up after our breakfast of fresh cinnamon rolls (and when I say fresh, I mean I watched Ronan make the dough and had to wait for it to rise—twice) and fruit while Ronan sits at the table, paging through one of the ancient recipe books someone let him borrow and making notes. There’s a little furrow between his brows as he asks, “How difficult would it be to get a wood-burning oven up here? Would I need a permit?”

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