Page 32 of Fated to the Drakarn Commander (Drakarn Mates 4)

“Tight,” he groaned, his control shredding. Fangs grazed his lower lip. “Gods …perfect.”

He sank deeper. Inch by agonizingly slow inch. His wings trembled. Restraint was costing him. When the scaled base of him finally met my slick flesh, he paused. Let me adjust. Let the overwhelming fullness settle. Stuffed. Claimed. Completed.

Then. He. Moved.

The first thrust was deep. Hitting bottom. A choked cry tore from me. Instinct took over. My legs wrapped around his waist, heels digging into the base of his spine, just above where the tail joined his body.

“Harder,” I sobbed, nails scoring crimson paths down the black scales of his back.

A roar ripped from him, primal and terrifying. He slammed into me. Faster. Deeper. That strange structure at the head of his cock pulsed, stroked, rubbed with every withdrawal, driving me insane. Finding nerves I didn't know I had.

We moved together. Flesh against scale. Silk twisting beneath us. We created a frantic rhythm. Sweat slicked our bodies. His scent—ozone, metal, musk—filled the air, thick and heavy.

“Mine,” he snarled, biting the juncture of my neck and shoulder. Not gently. Marking me. The word vibrated through my bones. “Say it,vrakasha.”

“Yours!” The word ripped free, torn from a place deeper than thought. Primal. Honest. In that moment, nothing else existed. His. Mine.

His rhythm broke. Thrusts became erratic, desperate. He was almost losing control. The scaled base ground against my clit, friction building unbearably. His tail lashed around my thigh, squeezing hard, mirroring the frantic rhythm of his hips.

“Come,” he commanded, his voice thick, guttural. “With me.Feelyou.”

That final, deep thrust. The grinding pressure. The command. It shattered me. My inner muscles clenched around him, milking him. His answering roar shook the room, vibrating through the floor, through me. I felt his release flood me, hot, thick, branding me from the inside out. His pulses echoed my own climax.

Silence crashed down. Khorlar collapsed, his weight pinning me, his forehead pressed to mine. His wings draped over us like a fallen curtain. I felt his tremors, the harsh rasp of his breathing mingling with my own ragged gasps. He pulsed weakly inside me still. Echoes of the storm.

Eventually, agonizingly slowly, he shifted, rolling onto his side but pulling me with him. His arm banded my waist, his tail a heavy, possessive coil around my thigh. Claiming, even in exhaustion.

No words. What could be said? Inevitable disaster? Necessary collision? Both? My mind spun, trying to calculate consequences, risks. Warnings screamed silently.

But I didn’t pull away. I couldn’t. I curled closer, my cheek finding the solid, steady beat of his heart beneath the scales. His arm tightened. Cool scales against fevered skin.

A mistake? Probably. Definitely. But as darkness pulled me under, wrapped in his heat and scent, I couldn't regret a single second.

10

KHORLAR

The dim chillin the depths of Scalvaris seeped through stone, a pale imitation of true darkness, but instinct recognized the shift. My eyes snapped open. I was alert and ready.

And sawher.

Hawk. My mate.

The truth slammed through me, undeniable as bedrock, resonant as a war drum. She was curled against my side, her dark skin highlighted by the muted glow filtering from the heat crystals in the walls. One slender arm lay heavy across my chest, her fingers instinctively gripping the edge of a scale even in sleep. Her heat radiated against me—not the scorching fury of Volcaryth, but something softer, deeper, soaking past my scales to the cold stone core of me.

Mine.

Something low rumbled in my chest, a sound of pure ownership I barely contained. Evidence marked her—the faint bruising where my fangs had grazed her fragile skin, the shadow beneath where my claws had held her hips. It was proof. Possession. The air hung thick with the scent of our joining, her human musk interwoven with my own harsher tang. It was intoxicating.

She stirred, the rhythm of her breath snagging. Her muscles tensed beneath my arm. Consciousness returned like a snapped bowstring. Her eyes opened—dark pools reflecting the low light—and locked onto mine.

Vulnerability flashed there, raw and exposed. Gone in a heartbeat. Her shield slammed back into place, that wariness I recognized, honed sharp by survival. Yet beneath it, embers still glowed hot. The contradiction clawed at my control.

"Mine," I grated, the word rough-edged, torn from my throat. My hand moved, unbidden, tracing the line of her shoulder. Scales met skin. She shivered, a tremor that sparked fire low in my gut. "My mate."

Her body went rigid, a wire pulled taut. She didn't recoil. Not yet. The claim hung between us, heavy as unmined ore.

"A heavy word," she finally breathed, her voice thick with sleep but losing none of its edge. Always that edge.

---