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Chapter Twenty-Five

I t sounds so fucking romantic the way he says it.

Especially with the last of the golden sunlight pooling on the floor around us, the long honey-amber shadows cast by the tumbles and towers of books.

It was almost like being on the ramparts of a castle, the stone spires and high walls sheltering a pair of lovers from the hateful gaze of the enemy far below, held back by their passion, and the moat.

It is romantic.

It would be romantic, under literally any other context.

Because he still looks desperately unhappy. That's what I keep circling back to.

It's like he's playacting. He's putting on a show of what is expected of him, not what he wants.

I'd had the thought while clocking his plain boring proscribed landscaping, his plain boring proscribed house.

And now here he was, too terrified or ashamed to look me in the eyes, plain and boring, and proscribed in his terrible, bland suit.

Wearing the uniform of a good, professional, genteel man of society instead of just getting to be one.

He's playing a part thrust on him, when the real Dav is wild, and unfettered, hedonistic and passionate.

He loves hugely, so much so that it spills out into every interaction with everyone around him, translates into his joyful desire and cell-deep need to ensure that everything he does pleases and brings joy to whomever happens to enter his orbit.

He enjoys things with an immensity of satisfaction that I've never seen before, savoring each bite of food, each sip of coffee, each heady kiss.

He takes pleasure in the simplicity of a clear blue sky, or the comforting tap of rain against the glass, the softness of a gorgeous fabric, or the warmth of my pinkie finger curled around his own.

And this is what Lt. Gov. Fucknuts is trying to squash. To regiment. To rule .

To keep me away from.

Well, screw that guy.

I free my hands from my pockets and reach up to cup Dav's face. My whole body is quivering, but not from anxiety this time.

Dav licks his bottom lip, leaving it plump and shiny and so very fucking tempting.

His tongue is split and purple. Usually when Dav loses control of the shift, and some of his more serpentine traits slip out, it's the precursor to funtimes.

Right now, though, I think it's the possessiveness, his desperate draconic need to hold, and protect, and please coming to the fore.

His ears have elongated a little, the pointed ends sticking out of hair that has turned into a golden-red halo by the last of the sunset.

Tiny, ruby scales freckle his hairline. When he shifts his grip on my arm, his nails are sharp and the beds dark, but not quite talons.

"Please let me keep you," Dav whimpers. "Colin, I couldn't bare it if you came all this way, and didn't want--"

I kiss him.

Partially, because it's all I've been thinking about since I saw him standing there in that pool of light like something out of a cinematographer's wet dream.

But partially because I don't know if I can answer his request the way he wants me to.

I don't know if I'm capable of just... being his.

Like that. With no information, no clarification, no understanding of what it is that he's actually asking for, or telling me.

And this is easier.

Falling into bed with him is so easy.

And I missed him. Fuck , I missed him.

Missed his warmth, the taste of his skin, the smoky-amber scent of his happiness filling my nose, the weight of his body on top of mine, the rumble of his purrs under my cheek as we laze together in the afterglow.

We've been away from each other so long, I can only imagine how hard he must be fighting the urge to shove me down onto the floor and pin me there for a few hours.

Actually, that sounds like the perfect way to deal with both of our nerves.

Sex doesn't make you mine, any more than it makes me yours, he'd said.

But it would go an awful long way toward settling the nerves that were making our words stilted and our touches tentative.

It would bring us back to where we were before we were forced apart, forced to hurt one another, forced to have to start over.

Look at me, being all introspective and shit. Dr. Chen would be proud.

Decision made, I ball my hands in the fabric of his horrible boring vest, and tip us backward.

Dav realizes what's happening quickly enough to get his hand behind my head, toppling a small stack of tomes to make room for us on the carpet.

He digs his fingers into my hair immediately, tugging my chin up so he can get a good look at my face.

"Colin, darling, what are you--"

"I missed you," I tell him, because it's true, because it’s echoing through the chambers of my heart with every pump of my blood, and because he deserves to hear it. "You left me behind, and I'm still really fucking mad about that, but you're here now, and I want you to be here ."

"I want you very badly, Colin," Dav groans, sliding forward until his knees are on either side of my hips, propping himself up on one elbow and sinking down into a filthy, filthy kiss.

"You can have me," I pant back into his mouth, when he leans back so we can breathe a small eternity later.

"I want to keep you," he adds. When I don't answer immediately, he pulls back to check my expression, eyes roving over my face. "Colin?"

"We'll talk about that later," is what I finally settle on.

"Are you sure that is wise? Should we not… before we—"

" Later ," I insist, and punctuate the decision by cupping the distracting bulge in his terrible, boring black trousers.

"Cheat!" Dav makes an obscene sound, grinding down into my grip and dropping his head to press the blunt flats of his teeth against my neck, just shy of actually nipping. "Tease. Minx ."

"Fuck me," is how I reply.

It's not teasing if I mean it.

Dav sucks in a breath, startled and incredibly turned-on sounding.

Or at least, I assume he is, because I definitely am.

Then he drops his body down on top of mine— finally —slotting us together from knees to nose.

His thighs are a hot brand along the outside of mine, stomachs and chests pressed together, arms cradling my shoulders, hands carding hair made wild by his own explorations off my face.

"I have nothing to ease the way," Dav whispers hotly in my ear. "Unless you were very optimistic about our reunion and have stashed something in your pockets?"

"What, no extra bottle of lube hiding between the stacks?" I ask, chuckling, and grabbing a double handful of his arse to make it clear that I have no intention of letting him go long enough to check.

"If I have hidden some in the library, it would have been so many decades ago that even if I could remember where the bottle was, it would have dried up by now. It has been..." he hesitates, then huffs and finishes with a soft: "Many, many years."

"Plan B, then," I say, wriggling a hand between us to get at his fly, then mine.

He gets with the change of plan fast. While I'm working on our pants, he leans up just enough to strip off first his waistcoat, then his shirt, only undoing enough buttons to allow him to escape inelegantly, before wrestling me out of my Henly.

Neither of us bother with our shoes, just bunch our pants down to our knees and call that good enough.

I play my hand over Dav's bare chest. He winces a bit as my fingers brush his abused nipples. Not feeling contrite exactly, but sorry that they hurt, I lean up to mouth apologetic kisses over both. Dav groans and arches his back, pressing into the sensation, hands scrabbling at the carpet as if he’s still afraid to touch me.

Afraid to hold me close, to covet and to keep me, the way I've already told him he can.

Well, that won't do.

I have no illusions that I am anywhere near strong enough to manhandle Dav, but he reads my intent well enough from the tense and flex of my arms, and lets me flip us over.

I shove myself into vee of his thighs as best I can with the fabric between us, grab his hands, and press them firmly to the meat of my ass.

His talons prick deliciously, but don’t break skin.

"Hold on," I warn him, and then make a filthy show and get my hand as wet as possible with my tongue.

" Annwyl dduw, " he groans, a verbal keysmash of a sound, pupils growing round and consuming the gold of his iris as he stares up at me. The look on his face is... it's worshipful, captivated, besotted, it's...

It's too much .

I look away, my own face burning, his expression somehow far more intimate than the fact that we're both nude from the knees up with our cocks out.

My mouth goes dry, tongue sticking to the roof, throat clicking when I try to swallow enough to produce spit to say something about the way he’s looking at me. I croak, very unsexily, and decide instead to apply myself to another mode of responding instead.

I take both of us in my wet hand, both relieved and a little shamed at my own emotional cowardice when that look on Dav’s face shatters, his eyes roll back, and he thunks his head back against the floor.

The long, pale column of his throat is far too tempting, so I give in and curl down to suck a love-bite into the peachy flesh.

If I have to wear his token, he can damn well wear mine right back.

Dav doesn’t even wait for me to start stroking before he’s lifting his hips, rolling into the hot wet grip around us, kneading my ass like a kitten and making those sweet little dragony noises I love so much.

The rumble of his happiness vibrates through his chest, sinking deep into my bones in all the places where we’re touching. Which is a lot of places.

"Colin, Colin!" he moans around the purrs. " Fy nhrysor , please ."

I do as he begs and speed up my pulls, adding a little thumb flick to his dewy slit with every upstroke.

He shivers and shakes, holding himself back, and I am struck with the revelation that this powerful and handsome creature is laying back because I want him to.

That he’s letting me touch him, fuck him with my fist, because I desire it.

He is obeying me. He is submissive to me. Not because I’m demanding it of him, not because I’m imposing it on him like all the other dragons who think they can control him through fear and terror, but because he wants to please me.

Me.

A funny-eared, overly-anxious, directionless dreamer like me.

That’s enough to tip me over the edge.

The hot splash of my spend sliding between my fingers and all over his velvety length sends him straight over after me.

It takes a few long, panting, wonderful moments for me to come back to myself. I’m laying smooshed against his shoulder, our softening pricks and my messy hand trapped between our warm bellies. Dav is nuzzling at the hair behind my ear like an affectionate kitten.

"I’m gonna get sticky soon. Don’t you usually have a hanky somewhere in that posh outfit of yours?"

"No. Pocket squares are apparently out of fashion." Dav frowns, that moue of distaste putting a furrow between his eyebrows. "And I have been informed that my usual mode of dress is perhaps a bit flam—"

"I love it," I interrupt, already seeing that I’m going to have to spend some time undoing whatever fucking bullshit has been shoved at him since he was taken away from me.

"I love your colour coordinating hankies, and your stupid fucking cartoon socks, and how you make a suit that should only look good on a runway look even better, because it’s on you.

You have the right to dress as joyfully as you want, and fuck whoever told you otherwise. "

Dav’s sweaty face flushes an adorable pink as he buries it shyly between my clavicles.

"No lube," I chuckle, to distract him from whatever turmoil is rolling through that pretty head of his. "And now no hanky. What are we supposed to clean up with?"

"Allow me," Dav whispers, his voice a deep growl. He pulls my hand up to his mouth.

Jesus Christ, that split tongue of his!

I will never get tired of it.

Once Dav has finished his indulgences, we hike our pants back up, but don’t make any move toward the rest. Dav seems too clingy right now to want to let me go, and to be fair, while the floor isn’t as comfortable now as it was in the throes of passion, I’m not in any hurry to abandon it for the world outside just yet.

"So now what?" I venture, running my hand through his sparse chest hair, and grimacing at the gray smear of book-dust clinging to the cooled sweat there.

The sun had well and truly set, and the magic of the pooling sunlight had vanished, leaving the room bathed in a night-cool hush.

"Hmm," Dav says, considering the question.

He turns his head, presses his temple to the carpet to meet my eyes.

His pupils are still fat with desire, leaving a golden ring around the outside, glimmering with satisfaction.

A deep thrum rumbles under my palm, nearly inaudible unless one is straining for it.

He licks his kiss-bruised lips, and the fire in my own belly flares up as I watch the pink tip trace the peaks of his cupid's bow.

"Now, I suppose, we try to figure out how we make this work. For us ."

"For us," I agree, still unsure, but at least hollowed out of the simmering anger that had taken root when he'd walked out the door. "But I was thinking more about the immediate future."

"Immediate?" Dav asked.

My stomach growled in lieu of my response, and Dav chuckles.

"Dinner it is," Dav says, and curls up onto his feet so swiftly and easily I barely have time to realize he's upright before he's offering me his hand.

"Dinner," I agree, and let him pull me up onto my feet and into his arms, like it's where I was always supposed to be.

Maybe it was.

"Dinner," I say again. "And then you can tell me exactly what 'your property’ means.