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THE SCENT OF HER AROUSAL drove him crazy, storming his senses and laying waste to his caution, his good sense, his plans. He clung to control by the thin tether of knowledge she was too fragile to handle all he wanted to do with her.
She is human.
She is human.
Perhaps if he repeated the mantra often enough, the burning would subside. It was all he could do to remain seated and eat his dinner. Hot need flared and curled, snapped and exploded, shooting streams of molten lust through his veins. His cock ached. His balls hurt. Had she noticed his hand had shaken as he’d fed her morsels from her plate?
He wondered now if she’d donned that particular garment to torment him. Orange—the color of fire, of mating, of sex. The pique she wore, her flashes of irritation, aroused him even more. Was there anything better than angry sex?
Sex with one’s mate? the dragon suggested.
He pretended to not hear.
They’d strolled through the ship, her scent enflaming his lust, while their conversation engaged his mind. Her genuine curiosity with Draco and its culture enticed him to share his life with her. Draconians did not reveal emotions through facial movement, so her reactions fascinated him. Her delighted surprise as she sampled the dinner almost made him jealous of the food. He wanted to create those expressions on her face.
She’d been wary after he’d revealed she’d eaten reconstituted lava worms, and he’d feared she would not eat enough to sustain herself. The dragon had urged him to pick up the fork and coax her. The flashes of her tongue, the movement of her lips, her mmmm sounds, the dainty way she chewed contrasted sharply with how females from his planet tore into their food like ravenous beasts. Helena savored her meal. He wanted to savor her—and pound into her like a ravenous beast.
Draconians didn’t kiss, although he’d caught Princess Rhianna and his brother doing it once. He’d been repulsed. Watching her eat, seeing her soft pink lips move stirred urges he’d never had before.
Claim her now. The dragon shot him a vision of T’mar sweeping the dishes from the table, bending her over the white linen, shredding her clothing, and mounting her from behind. T’mar gripped the table edge until his talons gouged the wood.
Stop it! With difficulty, he blocked the sexual images.
She wants us! We want her, the dragon argued.
Her arousal perfumed the air, and that orange shirt she wore screamed sex. She lifted a forkful of moctaw to her lips and chewed. Her pink mouth moved, and he almost lost his grip on the table and his self-control. What would her lips feel like pressed to his?
Find out!
Or around his cock?
Even better!
Her human teeth were blunt. There would be no worries about sharp fangs. She speared a morsel on her plate. Her lips moved as she chewed. She swallowed, the food sliding down...he gouged a divot in the table.
She dabbed her mouth with a napkin. “Do I have food on my face?”
“No. Why?”
“You’re staring at me.”
“I’m not,” he denied.
“I smell a lie.”
That shouldn’t be possible. “You smell that?” Could she smell him? His desire? His need? His indecision?
She licked her lips, causing his temperature to soar. “Figure of speech. No, I don’t smell anything—other than the food, but it’s obvious you’re staring.”
“Sorry.”
“You’re still doing it.”
“I want to kiss you.” Sacred fyre! Had he really said that? But even as he castigated himself, he sprang from his chair. Two steps, and he grabbed her wrist and pulled her to her feet.
“What are you doi—” She curled her fingers into the fabric of his jumpsuit. “This is a bad idea.” The scent of arousal blossomed.
“I smell a lie,” he whispered, shifted closer to man form for a better fit, and claimed her mouth. She parted her lips, and her tongue touched his.
He groaned, the scent and taste of warm honey flooding his senses. She made a little hitching noise in her throat and melted against him. He tangled his hands in her fiery hair and found it silky soft; she was soft everywhere—her lips as they moved over his, her cheeks as they brushed his skin, her breasts melded to his chest, and her tummy pressed tight against his aching cock.
His tongue slid over hers, savoring texture and taste. Her breath, like ambrosia, caressed his senses, enflaming them. He cupped her ass, pulling her close and tight, rocking, grinding against her. His heart thudded, his cock throbbed, his fyre burned! His dragon, for once, remained silent.
How could a human taste and smell so good? Feel so good? He broke away, dragging air into his lungs.
She stroked his cheek. “Your scales are softer than I imagined.”
She’d been thinking about him? He growled in triumph. “My scales can be harder or softer, depending on the shift.” The harder they were, the greater the protection; the softer, the greater the sensation. He felt her touch like a teasing whisper over his skin.
She pulled his head down and rose on tiptoe to kiss him. She dragged her fingernails down his back, the sensation registering as a slight scraping.
He completed the transformation to man form to make himself smaller so she could reach and he could better feel. She lacked sharp talons; her human fingernails could do no harm.
This time when she scratched, he felt it. “Harder,” he growled.
She dug in and raked her nails down his spine.
Fire coiled in his belly and shot to his cock. “Need you now. Can’t wait.” He cupped her breast, pinching the beaded nipple through the fabric of her shirt as he pressed his lips to her throat. He sucked, shuddering with the need to bite. No bite. No bite. Fucking, yes. Biting, no. She was human, not a potential mate.
He jerked away before willpower dissolved and he bent her over the table.
Her chest heaved with her ragged breathing. “The waiter...what if somebody...if somebody comes in?”
“Then he dies,” T’mar growled, only half joking.
“What!”
“Or I could seal the door.” He snapped his wrist at the ship and followed through with a long sweep that cleared the table. Dishes and cutlery hit the floor with a crash.
“T’mar!” Helena gave a half-shocked, half-amused laugh, but the scent of her desire spiked.
He extended a talon from a fingertip, hooked the waistband of her pants, and sliced them off.
“Are you crazy? I have to wear those!” She squealed.
The orange shirt could stay. He liked it, but her undergarment fell away when he sliced through it. He scooped her up, deposited her onto the table, and sank to his knees, unable to resist tasting the arousal he’d been smelling. He buried his face in her pussy.
Sacred Fyre! She was sublime.
She moaned, her hands tugging his hair, the pulls of pain ratcheting up his lust. He licked and lashed her sex, attention to the nub at the apex eliciting deeper moans, so he focused his attention there. Her nectar coated his fingers, teased his tongue, infused his blood.
Leaping to his feet, he ripped his uniform open to free his erection. Then he positioned her over the table. There was a picture of a device on the shirt back, along with some Earth lettering. Byte Me. Did it mean what his translator said it did? Was she inviting him to... He shuddered with the need to sink his teeth into her flesh. Can’t. Can’t.
He kicked her legs apart, brought his cock to her entrance, and plunged inside. Her muscles closed around him, squeezing him tight. She arched her spine and thrust her buttocks out, taking his cock deeper.
He cupped her mound, his fingers finding the nub that seemed to bring her pleasure. He thrust. Hard. Fast.
“Don’t stop. Don’t stop. Oh god, don’t stop,” she cried.
His fingers moved faster, his hips harder.
She tossed her head. Her hair fell over her shoulder, baring her nape.
Bite. Bite. No bite. Can’t. Human, human. Can’t. His fangs came down. His fyre snapped and curled, flaring. Shooting out tendrils. Seeking...seeking...seeking...
She cried out, her pussy rippling around him. His body responded to her ecstasy, and he convulsed in orgasm, his cock contracting, releasing his essence. Growling, he flung his head away from her neck. He squeezed his eyes shut as the inferno consumed him.
When there was nothing left but ashes, he disengaged. Facedown on the table, Helena panted. Her orange shirt with the provocative invitation had ridden up to expose smooth skin. Unable to resist, he slid his palm from her shoulder to her rounded buttocks. She still burned in his blood. It would take many more couplings to rid her from his system.
Why did you not bite her, claim her? the dragon demanded.
Because she is not our mate.
She is. You kissed her.
Kissing females doesn’t make them our mate.
She is the only one you have kissed.
Because Draconians don’t kiss. She is human.
You fucked her.
I fuck a lot of females. Although not lately.
You fed her.
I provided her with dinner. She is still unfamiliar with the replicator.
No. You fed her by hand, announcing the intention to claim her as our mate.
Sacred fyre! He had fed her, offered bite after bite for her to try. You tricked me! You told me to coax her to eat so she would know the food was safe. You deceived me into hand-feeding her!
It’s not my fault you weren’t paying attention.
No, he’d been focused on Helena’s honeyed arousal, her facial expressions, her voice, her laughter.
This means nothing. He had fed her! Fucked her. Had come very close to biting her.
Helena was standing, staring at him with those big green eyes. His scent clung to her. Her lips were swollen from his kisses. “Is everything all right?”
No. “Yes.” He turned away, pretended to stare into the expanse, fighting the urge to soothe her uncertainty by kissing her and then bending her over the table again. He doubted he could fuck her again and not bite her. He didn’t trust himself—didn’t trust her. This female was more dangerous than all the humans on Earth combined. She had the power to ruin him. I fed her! How could I do that! It had happened naturally, instinctively. Her pleasure had been his pleasure.
“Get dressed. I’ll take you back to your quarters,” he said.
