Page 33 of Fire’s Resonance (Hearts on Fire #1)
This time is different—slower, more deliberate, but no less intense. Where our first joining was claiming, this is exploration. I take my time discovering every inch of her body, learning what makes her gasp, what makes her moan, what makes her cry out my name.
Her body has already changed since our first mating—her temperature higher, her skin more resilient against the friction of my scales, patches of copper-red scales more pronounced along her spine and hips. Made to withstand a dragon’s passion. Made for me.
I trail my mouth down her body, tasting the salt of her skin, the sweetness of her arousal. When my tongue finds her core, she arches off the bed with a sharp cry of pleasure. Every flick of my tongue, every caress of my fingers reveals exactly what brings her the most pleasure.
“Raak,” she gasps, fingers tangling in my hair. “Please—I need—”
“I know what you need, female,” I growl against her inner thigh, the taste of her driving my dragon half wild. “And I’ll give it to you. All of it.”
When I finally slide into her again, the fit is even more perfect than before, her body fully adapted to mine now. Our minds meld as completely as our bodies. Images flood between us—not just memories now, but futures, possibilities, dreams we’ve never shared with anyone else.
I see myself through her eyes—powerful, protective, worthy of trust and loyalty. She sees herself through mine—fierce, beautiful, a perfect complement to my strength. The mutual admiration, the complete acceptance, breaks something open in both of us.
This climax builds more slowly but crashes through us with even greater force, solidifying our connection with each shared pulse of pleasure. When it finally subsides, leaving us gasping and trembling in each other’s arms, I know with absolute certainty that nothing will ever separate us.
“Mine,” I murmur against her temple, scales shifting to cushion her softer skin. “Forever mine.”
“Yours,” she agrees, voice drowsy with satisfaction. “And you’re mine. Don’t forget that part.”
My dragon half rumbles with approval at her possessiveness. Strong female. Worthy mate. Ours.
As we lie together, memories rise unbidden between us. The past unfolds in vivid detail—my childhood trauma, her abandonment, our parallel paths of isolation and determination.
The memory surfaces without warning—a vulnerable youth, standing in the training arena, eager to show my developing flame to the elders.
The pride in my young heart, the certainty that I would produce the strongest, brightest fire in my age cohort.
The shock when gray flame emerged instead of the expected crimson or gold.
The horror on the elders’ faces, quickly masked with false concern.
“Something is wrong with the boy.”
“A mutation, perhaps.”
“Can it be corrected?”
The words they thought I couldn’t hear, the decisions made about my future without my knowledge or consent. The systematic destruction of a child’s confidence, replaced with shame and determination to overcome a “defect” that was never a defect at all.
I flinch, instinctively trying to shield those memories from her. “You don’t need to see that,” I growl, embarrassed by the vulnerability, the weakness those memories represent.
“Yes, I do,” she insists, her small hand coming up to cup my face. Her touch is gentle but firm, her eyes holding mine without flinching. “Your pain is part of you. And all of you is mine now.”
The simple claim undoes me.
In all my years, no one has ever wanted all of me—the strength and the weakness, the power and the pain. They wanted the warrior, the enforcer, the weapon. Never the wounded child beneath the scales. Never the full truth of me.
But she does.
I feel her acceptance—complete and unconditional. Her anger at those who hurt me. Her pride in the strength that carried me through. Her determination to stand with me against whatever comes next.
Something breaks open in my chest—a wall built over decades of isolation crumbling beneath the force of her acceptance. For the first time since childhood, tears burn in my eyes, a vulnerability I would show to no one else.
My dragon half doesn’t roar in protest at this weakness. Instead, it curls protectively around the exposed wound, acknowledging the pain without shame. This too is part of us—the hurt that forged our strength, the isolation that prepared us for this unique bond.
“Mine to protect,” she whispers, her fingers tracing the path of a tear I couldn’t quite hold back. “Mine to defend. Mine to cherish.”
I pull her against me, overwhelmed by emotions I’ve never allowed myself to feel. Her smaller body fits perfectly against mine, her head tucked beneath my chin, her heartbeat synchronizing with my own.
Her own emotional wounds unfold before me—the abandonment of her childhood, the constant struggle to prove herself, the loneliness that mirrored my own.
“We’re not alone anymore,” I whisper into her copper hair, the realization both terrifying and exhilarating. My arms tighten around her, scales shifting to cushion her softer skin. “Never again.”
She nods against my chest, relief, wonder, and belonging flowing between us. We lie there in silence, not needing words, learning each other’s souls in a way that transcends mere physical joining.
I trace patterns on her bare shoulder, following the swirls of newly emerged scales, fascinated by the opalescent quality they take on in the firelight. Her skin is warmer now, closer to my own temperature—another change brought by the bond’s completion.
When she shifts slightly, moving just an inch away from full contact, a jolt of physical discomfort surprises me. Something pulls tight between us, demanding reconnection. Her gasp tells me she feels it too, and she immediately presses closer again, the discomfort easing as our skin reconnects.
“Did you feel that?” she asks, her voice tinged with surprise.
“Another aspect of the new bond,” I explain, running my hand along her spine, feeling the subtle ridge of scales there. “Physical separation will be uncomfortable for a while. The texts mentioned it—newly bonded pairs need constant contact until the connection stabilizes.”
She laughs softly, the sound vibrating against my chest. “So I’m literally stuck with you.”
“And I with you,” I agree, not at all displeased by this development. My dragon half practically purrs with satisfaction at the idea of keeping our female close at all times.
“What happens now?” she asks softly, her fingers drawing idle patterns across my chest. “With us, with the sanctuary, with everything?”
I consider her question, weighing honesty against protection.
In the end, truth wins out. “The clan won’t accept this easily,” I tell her, my voice rumbling low in my chest. “A Guardian Bond with a human female—even one with dragon heritage—will challenge everything they believe about our isolation, our superiority.”
“They don’t have much choice,” she points out, propping herself up to meet my gaze. “The bond is complete. It can’t be broken.”
“No,” I agree, a fierce satisfaction in the word. “It can’t be broken. But that won’t stop them from trying to control it, to use it for their own purposes.”
I watch her mind working, analyzing possibilities, weighing options, formulating plans. The strategic intelligence behind those amber eyes continues to impress me, to strengthen my certainty that she is exactly the partner I need.
“We need allies,” she says. “Not everyone in the clan can be against us. There must be those who see the potential in dragon-human cooperation rather than fearing it.”
I nod, my hand trailing along her spine.
“Bramwell. Nyra. Perhaps Blaze himself, though his position as clan leader complicates matters.” My thoughts turn darker.
“And we need to understand what happened with The Sundering. Why the sanctuary’s power has been failing ever since.
But first,” I say with a smirk, “we strengthen the bond more.”