Page 31 of Davoren
"This is where I was born," he said quietly. "Not born as humans understand it, but where I became. Where I first took form from the mountain's fire and the sky's breath." His ember eyes found mine, and in them I saw millennia of memory. "This is the only place sacred enough for what we're about to do."
A natural staircase descended from our precipice, carved by centuries of lava flow before cooling into perfect steps. The stone was smooth under my feet, warm but not burning, each step taking us closer to that impossible nest of crystallized flame.
The obsidian floor, when we reached it, was even more perfect than it had looked from above. My reflection stared back at me from its surface, but changed—not distorted but enhanced, showing not just what I was but what I was becoming. In that black mirror, my golden marks looked like veins of precious metal, my collar like a crown, my eyes holding flecks of fire I hadn't noticed before.
Davoren led me between the crystalline formations, each one singing a different note as we passed, as if our presence activated something dormant in their structure. The heat grew more intense as we approached the center, but never uncomfortable. It was the heat of transformation, of metal being forged, of new things being born from flame and will.
The nest, when we finally stood at its edge, was even more impossible up close. The solidified dragon flame moved despite being solid, shifting and reshaping itself constantly while maintaining its basic form. It looked soft as silk, warm as summer, inviting as a lover's bed. The light it gave off wasn't harsh but gentle, like candleflame filtered through honey.
"Every dragon has such a place," Davoren said, his voice dropping to something intimate. "A sanctuary where we're most ourselves, most powerful, most vulnerable. This is mine. And now, it's yours."
The weight of that—of being brought to his most sacred space, of being included in something so private that no other being had seen it—made my throat tight with emotion I couldn't name. This wasn't just about sex or dominance or even the bond. This was about trust, about showing me the deepest part of himself and inviting me to share it.
"Are you ready, little one?" he asked, turning to face me fully. The lava's light turned his eyes to molten gold, and his marks blazed with anticipation that echoed through our bond. "Ready to be claimed in the place where I first drew breath? Ready to shatter where the mountain meets the sky?"
My answer was wordless—a nod, a breath, a trembling that had nothing to do with fear and everything to do with need. I was ready. Had been ready since he'd first denied me, since Solmar's interruption, since perhaps the moment I'd first seen him in that cave. Ready to be transformed one more time, not by magic but by pleasure so intense it would remake me at levels the bond hadn't touched.
Davoren stepped back from me with the slow deliberation of someone beginning a ritual. His hands moved to his shirt. Each button came undone with maddening precision, revealing copper skin that the lava's light turned to living bronze. The golden marks on his chest blazed brighter as each inch was exposed, creating their own light show against the caldera's glow.
His pants followed, and when he stood naked before me, I understood why humans had once worshiped dragons as gods.
His cock was impossible and perfect, that scaled texture catching the light like precious metal, the golden precum that beaded at the tip literally glowing with its own inner fire. The tiny flames that danced along his length didn't burn—I knew that from before—but seeing them here, in this sacred space where he'd first taken form, they seemed more real. This wasdragon fire at its most intimate, creativity and destruction given the same root, the force that could make life or end it.
"You're staring," he said, and his voice carried amusement and heat in equal measure.
"How could I not?" The words came out rough, honest, making him smile in a way that transformed his austere features into something devastatingly beautiful.
He moved toward me with that liquid grace, and I thought he would undress me, but instead he lifted me—just lifted me like I weighed nothing, one arm under my knees, the other supporting my back. The gesture was so tender, so at odds with the sexual tension thrumming between us, that it made my chest tight with emotion I couldn't name.
When he lowered me into the nest of solidified dragon flame, the sensation defied every expectation. It was soft—impossibly, inexplicably soft, like being laid on clouds that had been woven from light itself. But more than soft, it was warm in a way that went beyond temperature. The dragon flame recognized what I'd become, welcomed me like I'd always belonged here, and I felt it adapting to my body, cradling every curve, supporting me perfectly.
The dress had to go, but Davoren didn't rush. He traced the neckline first, fingers following the edge where fabric met skin, and even that light touch sent cascades of need through me. When he finally pulled the silk up and over my head, the exposure felt like revelation. Here, in his most sacred space, naked except for the collar that marked me as his, I felt more myself than I ever had.
"Look at you," he breathed, and the reverence in his voice made tears prick my eyes. "My fierce little mate, transformed and perfect, wearing my marks like you were born for them."
He joined me in the nest, and the solidified flame adjusted to accommodate us both, creating a perfect cradle for two bodiesabout to become one. But he didn't rush to claim me. Instead, he kissed me—really kissed me, not the demanding possession of before but something deeper. His lips were soft against mine, moving with a tenderness that spoke of millennia of loneliness finally ending. I tasted copper and flame on his tongue, felt the rumble of his dragon nature in the way he hummed against my mouth.
The kiss went on and on, deep and drugging, until I was dizzy with it. His hands framed my face like I was something precious, thumbs stroking my cheekbones with devastating gentleness. Through the bond, I felt his emotions—not just lust but something profound, something that had been sleeping for eons and was finally waking up. Love, maybe, though that word seemed too small for what moved between us.
When he finally pulled back, we were both breathing hard, and his eyes had gone from ember to molten gold.
"Let me worship you," he said, and it wasn't a question.
His mouth traced the path of the golden lines on my skin, starting at my collar and working downward with methodical precision. His tongue was hot—dragon-hot, almost burning but not quite—and everywhere it touched sent sparks through my nervous system. He followed the marks down my arms, across my collarbones, between my breasts. He spent long minutes on each nipple, sucking and licking until I was writhing beneath him, my hands tangled in his white hair.
"Please," I gasped, but he was far from done.
His worship moved lower, tongue tracing the golden lines that spiraled across my stomach. He found sensitive spots I didn't know existed—the hollow of my hip, the crease where thigh met pelvis, the soft skin of my inner thighs. Each discovery made him hum with satisfaction, the vibration traveling through his tongue directly into my skin.
When his mouth finally found my center, I nearly came from the first touch alone.
Three denied edges had left me so sensitized that his tongue felt like lightning. He worked with the same patience he'd brought to everything else, but now I could feel his control fraying through the bond. He wanted this as much as I did—wanted to taste my pleasure, to feel me shatter against his mouth. His tongue circled my clit with devastating precision, then pressed flat against it, alternating patterns that had me pulling at his hair, my thighs trembling uncontrollably.
"That's it," he murmured against me, the words sending vibrations through already oversensitive flesh. "Let go, little one. Let yourself feel everything."
He slid two fingers inside me, curling them to find that spot that made my vision white out. The combination of his fingers and tongue working in perfect rhythm was too much. The pressure that had been building since our first interrupted scene came roaring back, concentrated and powerful and impossible to resist. I was climbing, climbing, almost there—
"Look at me," he commanded, and when I forced my eyes open, his gaze held mine with intensity that went beyond physical. "Fall for me, my mate. Shatter."
