Page 46 of Fated to the Dragon Alien

“…I want this,” she said, steady and unwavering. “I want you. Here. And now.”

He let out a long breath. Did he hear what he thought he heard? Tension rolled off his shoulders as he sat there, frozen. How badly he’d wanted to hear that. To know she wanted him, really wanted him, and now he wasn’t sure his ears were to be believed.

He leaned forward casually, but it was an effort to appear so. “Cerani, if you’re sure, I will have you,” he said. “But once I do, there will be no other for me. Ever. So be certain that this is what you want. There will be no going back.” There. He said it, and he knew in his heart and gut and everywhere else that those words were true. There was no more blunt and honest way of putting it.

She nodded, almost regally, as if acknowledging the power she had over him and accepting it. He saw the first glimpse ofthe female she was beyond the survivor she’d had to be. “I am certain, Stavian. I don’t wish to go back. To any of it.”

They sat in silence again. He wasn’t sure what to do. Should he get up and just…carry her to bed? Perhaps they needed to discuss the terms of their copulation. She might want a physical inspection before taking him inside of her. What if his cock was too big for her? Or too small? Or… He frowned. “I don’t know the protocol for this.”

Across from him, she picked up another piece of 14-C. Her shoulders were straighter now. Lighter. And just like that, another piece of all this fell into place. The ache behind her eyes was gone. Her leg was healing. So was she. Maybe so was he. She smiled at him. “You need to stop with the protocol. There is no protocol.”

He tapped a finger on the table. “Very well. When you’re finished eating, I’m going to get up, carry you to that bed, and make you mine in every way.” He held her gaze, knowing she could see it all—hunger, desire, need. “And if you could hurry, I’d appreciate that.”

THIRTEEN

Stavian

Stavian watched Cerani shift in her chair, draped in his oversized tunic, legs curled beneath her. Heat flared in her eyes. She chewed that last bite of food and slowly put her utensil down. It clinked on the plate like a decree. “I’m ready, Stavian.”

Stavian stood up and slowly walked around the table to stand in front of her. His hands were clenched. His chest rose and fell too fast. He was barely keeping it together.

Cerani looked up from her seat like she owned the room and had just decided to let him breathe in it. She didn’t move.

He reached down, slipped his hands around her, and lifted. Her arms wound around his neck. Her legs wrapped around his waist. She was locked to him, and all that warmth, all that skin, bare under one of his shirts—made him burn.

He carefully laid her on the bed. Everything in him screamed to move faster, to rip her shirt—his shirt—off and finally taste what he’d wanted from the first time she looked at him without fear. He didn’t. He sat beside her instead.

Neither of them spoke. Then her hand slid over his chest, fingers coasting the hem of his uniform. “Off,” she said.

He yanked it over his head without a word, tossing it aside.

She pushed up onto her elbows and helped him pull her shirt off her body. Her breasts were small, perfect, tipped with dark nipples already taut. His gaze dropped. He’d seen only a glimpse of the gold freckles that covered the apex of her thighs and lower belly. Now, he let his eyes feast.

She lay back, bare now.

Mine.

She stared at him like she could feel every possessive thought crashing through his head.

He positioned himself above her. His arms trembled with the strain of holding back as he lowered himself slowly, so slowly, until his mouth hovered over hers. He kissed her hard. Demanding. All of his intentions and promises and desire flowed into the kiss.

She opened to him—mouth, body, all of it—and he groaned against her lips. Her hands ran over his back like she was memorizing the shape of him with her fingertips. She tugged the edges of his wings and he jerked against her, almost lost balance.

Cerani looked up. Grinned. She was naked in his bed and still the fiercest thing he’d ever seen.

He kissed her neck next, then her collarbone, savoring the taste of her skin. It was tinged with a sweetness that hit his tongue like a drug he’d been denied too long. He traced the hollow of her throat, then dragged his lips lower, across the soft slope of her breast. When he finally reached her nipple, his tongue circled slowly—testing, coaxing—until she gasped and arched into him with a shiver like all her reservations had snapped.

Her hands tangled in his hair. She held him there with quiet desperation, and he complied, suckling that tight bud betweenhis lips until she whimpered, hips shifting beneath him as her thighs fell open—an unspoken invitation.

The heated scent of her was maddening. Something primal flared beneath his skin, something old and feral. He’d spent cycles worshiping her with patience, restraining himself. Now he would learn the exact ways she liked to be held, the sounds she made when he kissed her throat or touched her cheek. He wanted every part of her.

He shifted downward, dragging his hand across her torso—palm open, reverent. Her skin was soft like velvet and stunningly warm. His fingers trailed lower, catching the curve of her hip, the flare that gave way to her inner thigh. He kissed down, past the soft swell of her stomach, to the golden freckles that beckoned his mouth. The freckles fanned over the smooth mound of her pussy, dusting the soft folds like stars draped over night.

Stavian slid lower, spreading her parted thighs wider. There was no hesitation in her gaze. No questioning. Just need. Raw and bright and lit with so much trust it made his chest ache.

“I need to taste you,” he rasped. His voice was frayed at the edges. Barely restrained. He had no idea what he was doing. Every move he made was raw instinct.

“Please,” she said, breathless and hoarse. “Don’t make me beg.”

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