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A sharp gasp escapes me, my body arching instinctively toward her.

"Tell me," she murmurs against my skin, lips dragging lower, down my stomach, a path of fire and ruin left in her wake. "Did you want me to burn him alive for looking at you?"

Her words coil around me like a vice, tightening, intoxicating.

My head spins as her mouth continues its descent, as her fingers splay possessively over my hips, keeping me exactly where she wants me.

"Or did you like it?" she muses, pressing an open-mouthed kiss just above where I need her, teasing, tormenting.

I exhale sharply, my smirk lingering despite the haze of anticipation thrumming beneath my skin. "Jealous, are we?"

Her nails dig into my thighs, parting them wider, her breath hot as it ghosts over my aching center.

"Jealous?" she repeats, her voice dark, dangerous, deliciously slow as she rises to her feet. "No, little siren. Possessive."

And then—gods—she kneels.

Right there, at the edge of the bed, Nyxara, the feared Dragon Queen, the scourge of kings and conqueror of realms, is on her knees before me.

My breath falters, my pulse a riot in my veins.

She spreads my thighs further apart, her hands strong, commanding, her fingers leaving faint indentations in my flesh. A shiver races down my spine as she leans in, her mouth a whisper away from where I burn for her.

Then, her tongue flicks out, teasing, tasting.

A strangled sound escapes my throat. My hands fist in the silk sheets, my entire body going taut as she drags her tongue slowly up my slick folds, a deliberate, devastating stroke.

"Fuck," I whisper, my voice trembling.

She hums in satisfaction, the vibration sending shockwaves through me. Her fingers flex against my hips, holding me still as she delves deeper, her tongue swirling, pressing, teasing, devouring.

The pleasure is slow at first—cruel, measured—like she is savoring every reaction, every breathless gasp, every shudder that racks my body.

And then she speeds up.

Her tongue works me open, her lips sealing over my clit, sucking just enough to make my back arch, my nails clawing at the sheets. Her fingers slide up my inner thigh, tracing fire along my skin before slipping inside me, pressing deep, curling just right—

I shatter.

A sharp cry rips from my throat as my body locks, pleasure slamming through me in waves, my thighs trembling against her shoulders. But she doesn’t stop.

No, Nyxara is relentless.

Her tongue flicks, her fingers thrust, dragging me through another peak before the first has even faded. My body writhes, the pleasure too much, too sharp, too overwhelming.

"Nyxara—" I pant, barely coherent.

She pulls back slightly, her lips glistening, her emerald eyes dark with something savage, something hungry. "Not so defiant now, are you?" she murmurs, pressing a final, torturous kiss to my inner thigh.

I try to catch my breath, but it’s useless, because she is still touching me, still stroking, still keeping me teetering on the edge of pleasure and ruin.

But then, I feel it.

Heat.

The metal cuffs around my wrists have grown warm, my body, her magic, the sheer force of energy between us weakening their hold.

A little more.