Page 17

I don't like hearing Dav talk about what he's not allowed to do. Since I can't fix it, I ask him to order dessert. The raspberry cheesecake arrives with two spoons and an unexpected chocolate sauce swizzle on the plate.

"I'll send it back," Dav says.

I've had enough wine to feel like throwing caution to the wind, and frankly, I'm still keyed up over the fact that I should have had an allergic episode and haven't.

"Colin!" Dav hisses when I swipe my finger through the sauce and pop it in my mouth. I'm not going for sensual, though I realize as soon as I lick my finger that maybe I should have.

Do you have to seduce someone when they're already a sure thing? I guess it's only polite to put in some effort. Too late now.

I don't like the taste of chocolate. It reminds me of too many hours spent heaving until there's nothing left to come up but thin, frothy bile. But this goes down smoothly. There's nothing.

Nothing .

"Shit," I say softly. "This is weird."

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah? I just don't know why ."

I have the sudden fear of a delayed reaction, of puking on Dav's shoes as he moves in for a goodnight kiss, and regret testing myself. We finish the cheesecake together, and I pick around the chocolate, deciding that I’ve tempted fate enough for today.

The conversation about food allergies and my Mum's advice takes us through to the bottom of a second bottle of wine, and I am more than tipsy enough to lean heavily on Dav as he walks me home.

"Do dragons get drunk?" I ask, watching my footing on the uneven sidewalk.

"Of course," Dav says, bending in closer to my ear to whisper. "But not on so little."

I snort at the thought of Dav sitting at the table in the fancy Italian Bistro drinking wine out of the bottle with a crazy straw.

Dav favors me with an indulgent smile that I want to taste. He paid, too, and wouldn't let me leave anything but our tip, and only when I argued that it's not fair to the power balance of our relationship if he's going to be the one handling all the expenses. He's pouting now, actually pouting.

I want to bite his lip.

"C'mon, man." I butt his shoulder with my forehead and give him my best Bambi-eyes. "Stop moping."

"I understand your concerns," Dav protests.

He's taller than me, but only by enough for my eyes to be exactly level with his mouth.

He licks his lips and a hot thread of desire unspools from the base of my neck, curling into my pelvis.

"But Colin, please. I am wealthy, with little to do but to figuratively sit upon it.

I am happy to stimulate the local economy. And, of course, it's satisfying."

"Feeding me all day is satisfying?"

Does he mean sexually?

It'd be weird if he meant sexually, right?

That should be a turn off, a red flag, potentially a sign of a controlling partner.

Unless it's kinky?

"Colin, you remember what I said about serving."

It is kinky.

Also, turns out, not a turn off.

"I remember. It's just... I don't want you to serve me."

He flinches, neck scrunching unattractively and I wonder what that little fat roll tastes like. Salt and brimstone? I could push him under one of the trees lining the sidewalk, get my tongue under his ear and if the shadows are thick enough, flick open his fly and—

Down boy.

"Not like that," I add, when the hurt look flashes in his eyes again. "Not like… ugh. I don't want you to think you have to serve to be around me."

"I like it, though," Dav says. "Draconic instincts dictate—"

"No, I get it." I pull us to a stop now, at the bottom of the crooked cement porch that leads up to my rental. I take one step up. It makes him have to tilt his chin up, and I like this angle. It's intimate, as if I was sitting on his lap.

I want to invite him in. I don't know if I should, though. I like him too much to want to have sex with him on the first date.

Does that make sense?

I'm going to decide that it makes sense.

"I don't think you do."

"I want you to like spending time with me. Not because your draconic instincts tell you that you're supposed to provide for me. But because you want to be here."

Dav's free hand brushes my arm where the punctures were, lingering. Then he cups the side of my face, the tip of his thumb tracing the outline of my bottom lip. His eyes are on my mouth, but he's not doing anything.

He's listening .

He's giving me space to finish my thoughts.

Fuck, that's sexy.

"I don't want you because you're a dragon," I whisper in the quiet evening darkness.

I set my palms on his hips, under his jacket.

"I don't want the pile of gold, or the perks of being on your arm.

" I wish I was feeling bold enough to slip my fingers up under his waistcoat, feel the warmth of him through the thin material of his shirt. "I just want Dav."

"Good Lord," Dav whuffs out, as if I've punched him in the gut.

I don't have time to ask him what he means, because then his mouth is on mine.

Finally .

His lips are soft, and he slides both of his hands across my cheeks to cup the back of my head, to direct the kiss, and I let him because it's so good .

I don't know how long I've wanted this but it must have been longer than I thought.

Since before the hospital waiting room and his posh voice reading me a love story, since before the ambulance and giggling while a paramedic glared at us, since before burned metal and fire and blood, since before rude words at a door.

Maybe even since before I ever met him.

Because this feels right , and his tongue is wet and soft when he licks my bottom lip carefully, once. I open up to him, invite him inside, but then the absolute bastard lets go and takes a step back. I try to cling to his belt but he's too quick, and my fingers are kiss-stupid.

"Whuh?" I manage to say, ever so intelligently, cranking my eyes open.

Dav is rumpled. His mouth is wet and red. I lean in to keep going, to give at least as good as I got, but he ducks his head and chuckles.

"Good night, Colin. See you tomorrow."

"You could see me more right now," I whine. I have completely changed my mind about not wanting to have sex with him tonight—now I like him too much to let him go.

"No," he says gently. He takes my hand and kisses the back of it , and then he's off down the street, strolling towards where I assume he parked his car.

"You're an asshole and I hate you!" I call after him.

"No, you don't!" he calls back, raising one hand in a fond salute.