Page 82 of The Naga Lord's Pretty Little Mouse

His head dips slightly, golden eyes locked onto my lips.

The tension shatters.

I slam my mouth against his, all teeth and fire, and he responds instantly.

It is not a kiss.

It is a battle.

A claiming.

Our bodies collide, my back pressed into the stone, his weight bracing above me.

Claws graze my hips, pressing just enough to send a shiver through my body.

I arch against him, refusing to be still, refusing to simply take.

His growl vibrates through me.

I flip us.

A surge of movement, a twist of limbs, and I am straddling him, knees locked against his sides.

His laughter is low, rough.

"Bold," he murmurs, voice thick.

I press my dagger against his throat, the blade teasing against his skin.

His chest rises beneath me, golden eyes watching me like I am the only thing in this world.

"Still think I should walk away?" My voice is a whisper, breathless and unsteady.

His claws trail up my thighs, a slow, deliberate touch.

His gaze drops to my lips again.

His answer is in the way he shifts beneath me, the way his tail coils, tightening around my ankle.

I lean down, ready to close the distance again.

But a voice shatters the moment.

“Xirath?”

The single word freezes everything.

I jerk upright, heart pounding.

Xirath goes still beneath me.

Footsteps approach, slow and deliberate.

I turn my head.

A naga female stands in the entrance of the arena, her long, iridescent green tail shifting behind her.

She is stunning.

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