Page 16 of Devilishly Hers (Monster Mountain Romance #1)

Chapter Fifteen

B lair

I wake up disoriented—this isn’t my chamber, these aren’t my blankets. Then awareness floods back as I register the warm weight draped across my body, the leathery wing creating a protective cocoon around me, the steady rhythm of Dante’s heart beneath my ear.

We fell asleep fully clothed, his protective instincts drawing me close even in slumber.

Sometime during the night, our bodies sought deeper connection.

My leg has slipped between his, my arm curled possessively around his waist. Heat pools low in my belly as his chest presses against my back, his masculine scent making my pulse flutter against my throat.

I should move away. Create appropriate distance. Reestablish proper boundaries after allowing emotional vulnerability to temporarily cloud my judgment. Yet my body refuses to comply with logical imperatives, instead pressing closer to his warmth.

Through the haze of half-sl eep, I register a hardness against my hip that sends unexpected heat coursing through me.

The mate bond pulses between us, amplifying awareness of every point where our bodies connect.

Scientific curiosity mingles with something more primal as I catalog his body’s responses even while my own body betrays similar reactions.

His breathing changes, the steady rhythm of sleep giving way to something quicker, more deliberate. I feel the moment consciousness returns to him—the slight tensing of muscles, the careful stillness of someone trying not to disturb another’s rest.

“I know you’re awake,” I whisper into the darkness, my voice husky.

His tail, which had been curled loosely around my ankle, tightens. “So are you.” The words rumble through his chest beneath my ear, vibrations traveling directly to my core. “We should probably—”

Whatever suggestion of distance or propriety he might have offered dies as I shift against him, scientific methodology abandoned in favor of direct experimentation. The hard length pressing against me twitches in response, and his sharp intake of breath provides immediate data confirmation.

“Probably what?” I ask, emboldened by darkness and the lingering vulnerability of sleep. My hand moves before I make a conscious decision, fingers tracing the ridges of his abdomen through his shirt.

“Blair.” My name emerges as both warning and plea, the conflict in his voice mirroring the tension in his body. “You don’t… we shouldn’t… ”

“Empirical evidence suggests otherwise.” My analytical framing doesn’t quite mask the desire beneath. “Physiological responses indicate mutual attraction despite recent conflicts.”

His quiet laugh vibrates against me. “Only you would analyze arousal patterns in scientific terminology.” But his tail winds more securely around my leg, betraying emotions his words try to control.

“Observable data provides a framework for understanding complex emotional variables,” I explain, fingers continuing their exploratory path across his chest. “For instance, your current temperature elevation and accelerated heart rate suggest—”

His movement surprises me—swift yet controlled as he shifts our positions, rolling until I find myself beneath him, his wings creating a private world that blocks out everything except us.

The crystal light filtering through his wing membranes casts his features in an otherworldly glow, emphasizing both his inhuman beauty and the very human desire in his eyes.

“What does your data suggest now, Dr. Andrews?” His voice drops to that register that makes something molten pool low in my belly.

Scientific vocabulary momentarily deserts me as his proximity overwhelms my senses.

His spicy, masculine scent fills my lungs.

The weight of him above me, carefully balanced on his forearms to avoid crushing me, feels like sanctuary rather than confinement.

His rigid cock is nestled between my legs.

Without conscious decision, my thighs spread to garner more of his delicious pressure.

“Inconclusive results,” I manage finally. “Further investigation required.”

The curve of his mouth—pr edatory yet tender—sends electricity racing along my nerve endings. “Very thorough research methodology.”

When his lips finally meet mine, the contact feels inevitable—as though all our conversations, all our circling of truth and secrets, have been leading to this moment of surrender.

His fangs graze my lower lip with exquisite care, the danger inherent in their sharpness only intensifying the connection between us.

My hands rise to trace the curves of his horns, finding that sensitive spot at the base that makes his skin shift to that beautiful iridescent shade I’ve documented so carefully in my research.

His quiet growl vibrates against my lips, the sound more felt than heard as his kiss deepens from tentative exploration to something hungrier.

“We should stop,” he murmurs against my jaw, even as his mouth traces a burning path toward my neck. “Before this goes too far.”

“Probability of successful cessation approaching statistical impossibility,” I counter, arching into him as his fangs scrape gently along my throat. “Given current intensity of stimuli.”

His quiet laugh warms my skin. “Making scientific observations during seduction should not be this arousing.”

“All observational data indicates otherwise.” My fingers card through his hair, careful of his horns as I guide his mouth back to mine. “Though further testing would provide more conclusive results.”

The kiss that follows aband ons tentative exploration for something deeper, more raw, more urgent.

His hand slides beneath my shirt, claws carefully retracted as his palm burns against my bare skin.

“I need you,” he growls against my lips.

“It’s been too long since I’ve tasted you, touched you properly.

” His other hand cups my breast through my shirt, thumb circling my nipple until it peaks beneath the fabric.

“Then take me,” I whisper, raw need running through me like a raging wildfire. “Right here, right now. I don’t care if someone hears us.”

His tongue teases mine with deliberate skill that sends fire racing through my veins. My body responds with unexpected intensity, back arching to press more fully against him, legs parting further to cradle him even tighter.

Through layers of clothing, I feel every hard plane of his body against mine.

This should terrify me—wanting something this much, this fast. But when his claws trace my spine, careful despite their sharpness, I arch into the danger of him like I’m already addicted.

When his clawed hand slips beneath my shirt to trace patterns across my ribs, I can’t suppress the moan that escapes me.

“Tell me to stop,” he whispers against my collarbone, voice rough with restrained desire. “If this isn’t what you want.”

“Do your enhanced senses detect any hesitation?” I challenge. “Any reluctance in my physiological responses?”

His skin darkens to deeper crimson, tail coiling possessively around my thigh. “Always my analytical Blair.”

“Not always,” I admit. Vulnerability is easier in this private world, created under the shadow of his wings. “Not with you.”

His primitive satisfaction mingles with so much tenderness, it makes my chest ache with emotions too complex for any spreadsheet to capture.

The sound that rumbles from deep in his chest vibrates through me, sending liquid heat pooling between my thighs as his claws trace delicate patterns along my spine.

His movements grow more deliberate as he systematically dismantles my carefully maintained control.

“I want you to see me,” I whisper, my scientific composure completely gone. “Not the researcher. Just me.” His eyes darken with something beyond desire. “I’ve never seen anything but you, Blair. From the moment I carried you to safety.”

With surprising dexterity, his claws undo buttons and fastenings, each inch of exposed skin met with the focused attention of his hands and mouth. Scientific detachment gives way to raw sensation as he explores me with the same meticulous care I’ve applied to my studies of him.

“Your skin tastes like honey and sea salt,” he murmurs against my stomach, tongue tracing patterns that make me tremble. “I’ve wondered for weeks what you would taste like.”

“You’ve thought about this?” The question emerges breathlessly as his claws trace the curve of my hip with devastating precision.

“Extensively.” His admission carries no shame, only honest desire that makes my pulse race faster. “I’ve imagined cataloging every sound you make when pleasure overtakes scientific composure.”

“That’s…” My breath catches as his mouth finds the sensitive skin of my inner thigh. “Very thorough research planning.”

His quiet laugh vibrates against my skin. “I learned from the best.”

He eases slowly downward, taking his time in such a controlled manner that I moan with unquenched need.

When his tongue finally makes contact with the center of my desire, analytical thought becomes impossible.

He laps at me with deliberate strokes, his forked tongue finding every sensitive nerve ending as his claws grip my thighs, holding me open for his feast. The triple sensation of his tongue parting my folds while his fangs graze my inner thighs and his claws gently prick my skin sends electricity crackling through every cell in my body.

My fingers clutch at his horns, finding purchase as pleasure spirals through me with unexpected intensity. Each stroke of his tongue sends shockwaves racing through my core, my back arching off the bed as he devours me with single-minded focus.

“Oh God, Dante,” I moan, my voice breaking on his name. “Don’t stop, please don’t stop. Your tongue—it feels so good, so perfect.” The words spill from my lips without conscious thought, scientific composure shattered by the exquisite torture of his attentions.