Page 105 of Forged in Fire
Everything is different now.
She pushes the door open, and I take a brief look around. Comfortably appointed but impersonal, like the rest of Aurora’s facilities. I saw it briefly when I came to her that night, but my attention was elsewhere. On her.
It’s on her again now.
Iris steps inside, and the air changes. Becomes charged, electric, dangerous in the best possible way.
She locks the door behind us, and the message in the decisive gesture is clear. Whatever happens now, nobody can hear us. Can’t interfere.
Can’t stop this.
She turns to face me, and time stands still. And then moves forward in a rush.
The space between us disappears before I can think about what I’m doing. Her back hits the wall beside the door with force that should hurt, but her laugh against my mouth says she doesn’t care. My hands frame her face, fingers tangling in burnished silk while I devour her mouth like it’s been years instead of hours.
She tastes like shadows and magic and coming home.
Her hands tear at my jacket, nails scraping leather as she pushes it off my shoulders. The garment hits the floor with the soft thud of concealed weapons striking tiles. I should care about weapons maintenance, about protocol, about a dozen practical considerations.
Instead, I focus on the way she fits against me. How her curves align with hard muscle and scar tissue, like we were designed for this. How her shadows reach for my fire without conscious direction, power recognizing power, completion recognizing completion.
“Riven,” she moans.
I don’t reply. I can’t form words. Can only show her what she does to me—hands sliding under her shirt, fingertips tracing the ladder of her ribs while she gasps into my mouth. Her skin burns under my touch, dragon heat calling to dragon heritage in a feedback loop that makes scales shimmer across my forearms.
Her shirt vanishes, fabric whisper-soft as it pools at our feet. Then mine joins it, baring scars and muscle to her exploring fingers. She traces damage I’ve carried for years—the curved blade mark on my left arm, the thin line over my eyebrow, dozens of smaller stories written on flesh.
“Beautiful,” she breathes, lips against the hollow of my throat.
No one’s ever called me beautiful. Dangerous, efficient, lethal—those I understand. But the way she looks at me, touches me like I’m worth something instead of just a weapon that kills for money… it rewrites everything I thought I knew about myself.
We stumble toward the bedroom, hands and mouths never breaking contact. Her jeans hit the floor beside the bed, mine following seconds later. When she stands before me wearing nothing but moonlight, something shifts in my chest.
Perfect. She’s perfect, and somehow, she’s mine.
The bed gives under our combined weight as I settle over her, supporting myself on forearms that shake with restraint. Need claws at my control, begs me to claim and be claimed, to seal this bond that’s been building since the moment I failed to pull that trigger. Chose to step away from the only life I’d ever known.
But this matters too much to rush.
I worship her with hands and mouth, reveling in every gasp that escapes her lips, every arch of her spine that presses her closer. Her shadows dance around us both, cool against overheated skin while my fire answers in kind. Power flows between us, dragon calling to dragon in a harmony that shouldn’t be possible.
She returns the attention with interest, fingernails tracing paths down my chest that leave fire in their wake. When her mouth finds the scar across my ribs, when her tongue follows the mark left by a blade meant to kill me, I lose what’s left of my famous control.
“I need you,” I rasp against her ear. “Need to feel you alive.”
Her response is to guide my hand between her thighs, to where heat and wetness wait. She’s ready for me, has been ready since we stumbled through the door driven by desperation and instinct and something deeper than either.
I let my dragon rise to the surface, scales glimmering on my shoulders, the shimmer of gold in my eyes answering to the flames in hers. She arches up against me, nails biting into my lower back. Slipping my hand between us, I guide my cock to the wet heat of her core and slide into her, inch by inch, surrounded by her slick tightness.
Her hands dig into my back, and her hips tilt up to take me deeper, a low cry escaping her throat. My muscles stand out with strain as I push forward, deeper, wanting to possess her fully.
Then she’s there, her inner muscles fluttering around me as her walls embrace me, a sensation so perfect it steals my breath. I hold myself still for the barest second, both of us feeling the connection of body and soul. Her legs wrap around my waist, and she arches up, hitting that sweet spot that makes her cry out, eyes going wide and unfocused. I pull back just a bit and thrust again, and she goes wild under me, demanding more.
Our bodies move together, answering the driving rhythm of the mating dance. The room fills with the scent of dragonfire, bodies sliding in perfect rhythm, flames reaching higher with each stroke. Her walls clench around me, a velvet caress that breaks my control.
“Now, Riven!” she gasps. “Please, now. Come with me!”
“Yes,” I hiss. My body tightens, pleasure pouring through me, before I release myself into her, a pulsing rush that empties my mind of everything except this perfect, flawless joining.
