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I believe I’m wanted.

And when he lays me down and shows me how it feels to be touched like I matter, I let go.

Of my fear.

Of the past.

Of every single lie I’ve ever been told about my body and my worth.

And in his arms, with his voice whispering how good I taste, how soft I feel, how right this is—he makes me believe I was made for this.

For him.

For this.

And for one perfect, breathless, moaning, melting night—I swear, I see heaven.

CHAPTER ELEVEN-ZEKE

She’s soft beneath me.

Warm.

Wet.

Willing.

And mine.

The air between us crackles—hotter than fire, thicker than smoke.

I press my lips to her skin like I’ve been dying of thirst, hungry and empty for centuries, and only she can satisfy the ache.

And maybe that’s the truth.

Maybe I have been waiting lifetimes to taste her. To have her.

And now she’s here, moaning beneath my mouth as I worship every inch of her with lips and tongue and hands that shake from the effort of not losing control.

My Dragon is pacing in the back of my mind, molten and wild.

Watching.

Growling.

Wanting.

He sees her just as I do—glowing, perfect, threaded with power she doesn’t even know she has.

He whispers to me to take. To mark. To claim.

But I don’t.

Not yet.

Not without her knowing what it means.

Still, I can’t stop the way I devour her.