Flame (Dragon Triad Duet Book 2)

into him, extending every moment—his touch, his taste.
But right before the inferno can truly take hold, I draw back.
Good, a part of me urges. You should stop. You have too much to worry about. Branden. The program. Everything. This can only distract you for so long…
Rafe tenses as if expecting me to voice that very conclusion.
But around him, I can’t even predict myself anymore. A question escapes my mouth without any input from my brain, “Is the bed off-limits?”

Chapter Three
He frowns, his eyes narrowing. Abruptly, he snatches my wrist, pulling me down the hall and up the stairs into his apartment. We cross the living room, heading straight for an infamous door that he doesn’t hesitate to push open.
The bedsheets are still rumpled from when I last slept in here, the room otherwise unchanged. I cross the threshold as a dominating figure steps into me from behind. His hands return to my thighs, gripping them tightly before inching up to my shirt. He drags the fabric along with his ascent, baring my body to the cool air.
Removing my skirt is his next task. Warm, his fingers curl around my wrists after, guiding me to the end of the mattress. He leans into me from behind, forcing me onto my stomach beneath his weight. The firm flesh of his chest rasps over my bare back as his lips settle into the crook of my shoulder.
“You want this, bunny?” he asks near my ear.
Eager, I reach back, digging my nails into his skin without remorse, relishing the dangerous sound that revs up in his chest. He doesn’t need a violent invitation, anyway. A part of me shivers beneath the ominous knowledge of what’s coming, but he surprises me by drawing out the gentleness a moment longer. His fingers dip between my legs and stroke me luxuriously, as if he’s just a normal man, and this is a normal roll in the hay.
I almost believe it. I let myself go limp, shuddering on the edge of an orgasm, my lips pursed to smother any sound I might make. The first shudders begin to wrack my body when he flips me over onto my back and settles on top of me. Cool air replaces his hand while he rakes his nails over my torso. Hard.
“Watch.” There’s a dark note in his tone, and I tremble with recognition. The man who bathed my wounds is gone. A dragon comes to life in his place, its hot breath igniting my skin. Aware of where his gaze is traveling, I struggle to prop myself on both elbows and stare. My breath catches at the sight of his fingers between my legs, the knuckles threatening to push inside me. He’s hunched over, his expression unashamed as he takes me in, sweeping his gaze along the naked length of me. “Don’t look away.”
He strips his shirt, and the lines of his tattoo consume his forearm, leaving snippets of golden skin. It makes him seem as wild and untamed as the creature on his back. Ethereal.
I can sense the restraint he uses to guide my legs further apart, leaving himself enough space to crouch down between them. Then his fingers return, dipping inside me one after the other. So damn carefully, it’s like he knows I’ll shatter beneath too much pressure.
Watch.
I can’t seem to tear my gaze away, but the sight doesn’t affect me nearly as much as the sound. The soft groans he grits out between clenched teeth. The way his breath catches when I arch my hips, urging him deeper. The creak of the mattress, protesting under our combined weight.
“Lie on your back.”
I comply without complaint, and my eyes are on the ceiling when he slides two fingers inside me. Quick. Hard. The fullness is an entirely new sensation, burning painfully and pleasurably at the same damn time. I fumble for a fist full of the bedsheets and grab hold, just as he begins to thrust. In and out—more forcefully each time.
My thoughts splinter. My body quakes. Fire sweeps through my veins, and it’s almost enough to make me forget.
Everything.
“Rafe…” His name is a prayer, but I don’t know for what. For less? More? As if to punish me, he draws out the last thrust, forcing me to feel every inch of his presence. The firm ridges of each knuckle. The callouses. The scars. I’m drugged with the sensation of him, feeling his touch translate to the words he doesn’t voice out loud—I own you this way—only me.
I gasp out loud when he finally withdraws them, and his hand approaches my mouth. “Open.”
Disgust and alarm converge into a refusal that springs to the tip of my tongue—but then I see his face. Those eyes, burning with a fire that leaves me senseless.
My mouth opens, and he swipes the slick pad of a thumb along my lower lip. My tongue drifts up before I can help it, catching the edge of his nail. He lets me lap at his fingertips at first, while darkness consumes what remains of his irises. When the last drop of humanity finally fades, he shoves them all in so hard I nearly choke.
Gagging, I struggle to suck, tasting myself on him, along with sweat. Maybe a hint of blood. I don’t feel as disgusted as I should. Perhaps I’m not at all. I can’t make up my mind before he pulls his hand away, leaving a moist trail that splatters my chest, and rears back on his knees. Taking the back of my calves in either hand, he spreads my legs.
The muscles in his arms ripple as he wrenches down his sweatpants, and I take him in with greedy glances, grateful for the fading sunlight seeping in. The golden glow gives me just enough light to appreciate the definition in the muscles of his upper thighs as he finally settles over me and pushes in.
I bite my lip. He’s still going slowly, and I’m grateful for the reprieve, almost as much as I’m