Page 23 of Curvy Girl and the Single Dad Dragon
"I'm thinking about time," I admit. "About how differently it flows for dragons and humans."
She tilts her head slightly, considering. "Because you live so much longer?"
"Yes. Relationships between our kinds are... complicated by that reality."
"Relationships," she repeats, and I catch the slight uptick in her heartbeat. "You mean like you and your ex-wife?"
"Like any connection between dragons and humans," I clarify, though we both know there's more beneath the surface of this conversation. "Friendships, partnerships... whatever form they take."
She nods. "I can see how that would be difficult. Knowing that you'll outlive someone by centuries. That they're just a brief chapter in your story."
"That's one way to look at it," I acknowledge. "But I've come to see it differently over the years."
"How so?"
I search for the right words to explain a perspective shaped by centuries of observation. "Human lives may be brief by our standards, but they're no less meaningful for their brevity. If anything, the limited time makes each connection more precious, more intense."
Her eyes never leave mine, and I see understanding dawning in them. "Like a comet versus a star. The comet burns brighter precisely because its passage is fleeting."
"Exactly," I say, impressed by her insight. "Many dragons isolate themselves from humans to avoid the pain of loss. They view attachments to shorter-lived beings as inevitably tragic."
"And you?" she asks quietly. "Do you share that view?"
I think about Jenny, about the joy and pain our years together brought. About other humans I've known and lost throughout my long life.
"No," I say finally. "I've found that the connections are worth the eventual grief. To close oneself off from experience out of fear of future pain is to miss the purpose of living altogether."
"That's a remarkably hopeful perspective for someone who's lived through so much loss."
"Hope is essential for a long life," I tell her. "Without it, immortality would be a curse rather than a gift."
She smiles, and the simple beauty of it catches me off-guard. "I'm glad you haven't lost that, despite everything."
"So am I." I pause, then add, "I'm glad you came here, Luna. That we met."
"Even though I discovered your secret on day one?" she teases lightly.
"Even though," I confirm. "You were never supposed to know about dragons, you know. I never intended to place that burden on you."
"It's hardly a burden," she counters. "More like... a gift. A glimpse into a world most people never get to see."
"A dangerous gift," I remind her. "Knowing about us puts you at risk."
"Some things are worth the risk," she says simply, and the quiet conviction in her voice undoes me.
I can’t help but notice the warm hazel of her eyes, the gentle curve of her lips, the sprinkling of freckles across her nose so faint they're barely visible to human eyes. In my long life, I've learned to recognize moments that stand on the precipice of change, instants where a single action can alter the course of years to come.
This is one such moment.
"I hope I don't taste bad," I say suddenly, the words escaping before I can reconsider.
Her eyes widen in confusion. "What do you—"
I close the distance between us, one hand coming up to gently cup her cheek as I press my lips to hers. For a heartbeat, she's still with surprise. Then she melts against me, her lips soft and yielding beneath mine.
The kiss is gentle, a question more than a demand. I'm aware of my strength, of how easily I could overwhelm her without intending to. But Luna isn't fragile. She leans into the kiss, one hand coming up to rest against my chest, directly over my heart.
Heat builds within me, not just the natural warmth of desire but the more dangerous fire of my dragon nature responding to intense emotion. I feel it rising from my core, threatening to escape as smoke from my nostrils. With centuries of practice, I control it, channeling the energy back inward.
