Page 47 of Fated to the Dragon Alien
His pulse thudded in his ears as he let out a soft growl. His hands splayed across her hips like he had every right. Maybe he did. They were well past pretending he didn’t ache for her in every way imaginable.
He lowered himself between her legs, inhaling the rich scent of arousal as he dipped his head and placed a broad, open-mouthed kiss across her slick folds.
She jolted, hands fisting in the blanket, heels digging into the mattress. He didn’t lift his head—just delved deeper, licking herwith long, slow strokes. Again. Again. Until her thighs trembled and she whispered his name like it hurt to hold it in.
When his tongue flicked her clit, purposefully slow, she cried out, hips bucking up to meet the pressure of his mouth. He held her there with one arm braced below her hips as he pushed his tongue harder against her, lapping in firm, deliberate flicks until her breath caught and her chest arched off the bed.
“Stars,” she gasped, her voice gone, wrecked and needy. “You—you feel—”
He nipped her inner thigh and slid one finger inside her, slow and deep, feeling how she clenched around him, how her body trembled in response. She was soaked. Hot. Unbelievably tight.
“Fekkingperfect,” he muttered, more to himself than her.
He pumped slowly, working his tongue over her clit while his finger moved in and out. Her body twitched, every breath broken now, her hand clasped over her mouth to stifle the sounds that came too loudly.
But he didn’t want her quiet.
He wanted to hear every moan, every gasp, every needy whimper. He slid in a second finger, stretching her gently as he sucked her clit with the slow, wet hunger of a male unravelling at her taste. Her inner walls fluttered wildly around his fingers and when she cried his name again—broken, pleading—he went harder.
That did it.
She cried out as her control broke. Her whole body went rigid. Then she shattered around him, back bowed, pretty cries spilling from her lips as she came hard on his tongue, hips grinding into his face like she never wanted him to stop.
The sound of her moaning his name like it hurt to let go would be carved into his memory forever. He slowed, kissing her inner thigh, lingering there, memorizing the shape of her. Then the sharp curve of her hipbone, where golden freckles scatteredover dusk-warmed skin. His mouth chased those freckles, reverent and aching. Every spot felt like a secret she’d hidden from the world, and now, she’d given those secrets to him.
His lips brushed her waist, then her abdomen, soft and slow. Each kiss was a vow. A prayer. His hands spanned her hips, firm but awed. He couldn’t quite believe she’d let him hold her this way.
When he finally looked up, her eyes were dark and glassy with want. He moved with patient purpose, crawling over her body, muscles tense with restraint. Sweat kissed his temple. His breath was heavy and uneven, not from exhaustion, but from emotion—raw and unfiltered. His heart pounded against her chest as if it wanted to sync itself to hers.
Cerani didn’t break eye contact. Her hand found his cock the second he leaned down, the movement smooth, confident, and slow. She curved her fingers around him, thick and hot in her grip. He hissed through his teeth and nearly dropped his weight on top of her.
“Stars, Cerani,” he breathed. “Is it…am I…?
He didn’t have a chance to finish his question as she guided him, aligning him with her entrance, and their eyes held for a suspended moment of truth.
“You are perfect,” she breathed. “Take me, Stavian. Make me yours.”
His vision went white for one mind-bending moment, as he absorbed her words. Her complete acceptance of him, then he thrust inside.
One stroke. All of him.
She gasped. Her body arched up in a ripple, drawing him deeper. He groaned, guttural and full-chested. His mouth opened in a sound that broke against her neck. The world narrowed to the slide of skin and the sudden, perfect fullness of connection. Him—inside her. Finally.
He stilled, buried to the hilt, arms locked on either side of her. Her legs lifted and wrapped around his waist, holding him hostage and home all at once. Her breath stuttered, and she reached for him without speaking, dragging her palms over his chest, his shoulders, then finally wrapping around the corded muscle where his wings met his back.
He moved first—shallow, tentative, like he was afraid too much of him would break her. She was tight, small, and he felt too big for her. But her sighs and gasps were not of pain. She met the thrust of his hips with the rise of her own, demanding more. He obeyed. His wings flared, trembling with restrained force, and curved around her like a barrier from the world—as if even the stars through the window above them couldn’t be allowed to see what belonged to only him.
The rhythm found them—deep, steady, hungry. He pumped into her, slow strokes at first, savoring the way her walls clutched him like she didn’t want him to leave. But need built fast between them, and control was no longer a luxury.
“Fek,” he murmured, his mouth hovering over hers. “You feel like…like I was made for you.”
His hand slid down between them, palm cradling her jaw again before it trailed down her throat, over the top of her chest. He cupped her breast, thumbing her nipple until she arched with a stammered cry, then he trailed lower, over her belly, down to where they were joined. He wanted to feel her there—slick, hot, trembling around him—and when he did, it stole the last of his breath.
“I love you,” she said softly, like it was the only truth left in the room.
“Say it again.”
“I love you.” It came out rough and low—confession and possession—and it shattered him.
