Page 48 of Border Control

Oh, this guy. “Enough of that. You're going to get cared for, whether you're used to it or not.”

His mouth drops open. Then a small smile spreads across his face. “Yes, Law-rah.”

I could melt in the adoring gaze he gives me, as worshipful as the most devout attendant.

His large hands slide up my arms, the callouses gently scraping along my skin, waking every nerve in their wake. “The spikes are gone. Good,” he says.

“Spikes?” I glance down at my arms, but there are only goosebumps there.

“Your mood has changed.” His grin turns warm. “Perhaps fighting off inept humans improved your aura?”

“Mm, no.” I slide closer to him. My energyhaschanged: I'm still worried for Arabella and the inquiry, and pissed I haven't figured out how to deal with Morgan yet, but these fade into the background a little against the lure of Dom's wide, open arms. While everything is chaos right now, at least he's not hurt, and I'm so glad I could cry.

Or kiss him.

His smile freezes as if I said that last part out loud, and if I thought his eyes were molten before, now they’re burning magma, melting through my defenses. He tips his face toward mine, lips questing, still uncertain but willing to leap into the breach.

I press my lips to his, then pull back quickly. “I, uh… You need to tell me what you want.”

Those lilac eyes search mine. “What do you want, Law-rah?” When I don't respond, he brushes my hair back from my face. “What do you need, Law-rah? Talk to me.”

I lean toward him, taking in a deep, steadying breath and breathing him in. Do I dare say what I'm thinking right now?

“I want you,” I say, but then fear flares up. Shit, that was way too desperate! “I want you to put your arms behind your back.” Phew, quick cover.

He obeys, muscled arms sliding away from me. I have to be careful of his shoulder, because no matter what he tells me itlookspainful. As he didn't get hit below the waist I straddle his hips, wrapping my legs around him.

He watches me but not in a tense way, seeing what I'll do next, and the place where our bodies press together heats.

I grind myself against his lap to see if he squirms, and he does so, arching beautifully.

I run my thumbs up his throat and along his sharp jaw, as chiseled as the stone cliffs of the Avon gorge. My fingertips bump over tiny scales, and his eyes slide closed slightly, like a contented cat. He's so in his skin right now, openly showing me his feelings.

No mask. No protective front. Just him, pure and simple, honest and true.

That honesty gives me the strength I need to throw myself into the moment. I press my lips to his, stroking gently along the curve of his upper bow and then down across the plush pillow of his lower lip. His lips are scaled but smooth, softening as heat gathers under them, hotter with every heartbeat as he rises to meet me.

He stills at first, holding his breath, letting me explore. Then, curious, he experiments, pressing back, mimicking the rhythm of my mouth with hesitant precision. I smile against his mouth at his earnestness, and in that instant, he grows bolder. Histongue flicks against mine by accident, a startled sound escaping him.

I draw back just enough to whisper, “That’s okay. Try again.”

He does, tentative, deliberate. A slow stroke of his tongue against mine that makes me shiver. He tastes faintly metallic, strange and new, but also achingly sweet. His hands clamp to my waist as if the act of kissing could unmoor him, and a ragged hum vibrates in his chest.

He’s learning as fast as I can show him, testing angles, pressure, deepening when I do. His tongue slides and retreats, curious, playful, as though every brush is a question:Do you like this?

I do. Hell yes, I do.

I loop my arms around his neck, pulling him closer, surrendering to the reckless experiment of us. Our kiss grows messy, wet, a little too much tongue—and then perfect again as he adjusts, adapting instantly, delight flickering in his low growl when I gasp against his mouth.

My shirt snags suddenly on the edge of his injury, and I jerk back with a squeak. “Your broken scales!”

“They don't hurt.” His eyes are fully blown out, utterly entranced.

He’s completely mine, waiting for me to lead us through this dance. “What do you want to do?”

“Everything.”

I give him a wicked smile. “Maybe.”