Page 27 of Tempest Blazing (The Dragonne Library #3)

Tess

The familiar scent of cinnamon and books wrapped around me as I stepped into my suite, but it felt.

.. different. Like I was seeing it through a stranger's eyes.

The cozy reading nook by the window, my scattered notebooks on the desk, the rumpled bed where I'd woken up yesterday morning—it all looked the same, but something had shifted.

Like I'd been gone for years instead of hours.

A soft mew broke through my spiraling thoughts.

"Whiskey." My voice came out rough. Barely there.

My orange tabby padded toward me, his single eye bright with concern. He wound around my legs, purring loudly, and something tight in my chest loosened. I sank to the floor, gathering him into my arms.

"Hey, pumpkin," I murmured, burying my face in his fur. He smelled like sunshine and safety. Like home. "I missed you too."

He purred harder, kneading my thighs with his paws, and for the first time since leaving the arena, I felt like I could breathe properly. This was real. This was mine. No collars. No fighting ring. No demons trying to tear me apart.

A gentle knock at the door made me look up. "Come in."

Mason stepped inside, carrying a tray that smelled like heaven. His dark eyes swept over me sitting on the floor with Whiskey, and his expression softened.

"Thought you might be hungry," he said quietly, setting the tray on the small table by the window.

I stood slowly, Whiskey still in my arms. "You didn't have to—"

"Yes, I did." Firm but gentle. "When's the last time you ate?"

I tried to remember. Breakfast felt like a lifetime ago. "This morning, I think?"

He gestured to the chair. "Sit. Eat."

The food was perfect—some kind of stew with fresh bread, warm and comforting. Mason settled into the chair across from me, watching as I took the first tentative bite. The flavors exploded on my tongue, rich and satisfying, and I realized I was starving.

"Good?" he asked.

I nodded, taking another spoonful. "Really good. Thank you."

We sat in comfortable silence while I ate, Whiskey curled in my lap, purring contentedly. Mason's presence was like a steady anchor, solid and reassuring. But as the immediate hunger faded, other things crept back in.

The phantom weight of that collar around my neck. Demon claws raking across my skin.

I set down my spoon, suddenly nauseous.

"What is it?" Mason leaned forward, concern creasing his features.

"I..." I touched my throat reflexively. "I feel dirty."

His jaw tightened. "Tess—"

"I know I showered this morning, but..." I gestured vaguely, the words stuck somewhere in my throat. "I just... I feel like I can't get clean."

Mason was quiet for a long moment, studying my face. Then he stood, extending his hand. "Come on."

"Where?"

"Shower. If you need to get clean, then we get you clean."

I stared at his outstretched hand. Simple. Practical. But something in his tone made my heart skip. "Mason, you don't have to—"

"I want to." Low. Certain. "Let me help you."

The sincerity in his dark eyes undid me. I placed my hand in his, letting him pull me to my feet. Whiskey mewed in protest as I set him down, but he immediately found a sunny spot by the window to curl up in.

Mason led me to the bathroom, his large hand warm and steady around mine. He turned on the shower, testing the temperature with careful attention, adjusting until steam began to rise from the spray.

"Too hot?" he asked.

My fingers trembled as I reached for the hem of my shirt.

I caught my breath when Mason's gentle hands covered mine, stilling them.

We'd been intimate before, but this felt different.

More vulnerable. I wasn't used to... being taken care of.

Not like this. Usually I was the one in control, making decisions, leading the charge.

But here, with my hands shaking and my walls crumbling, I was just.. . fragile.

Mason seemed to sense my hesitation. He turned to face me, his hands gentle as they framed my face. "We don't have to—"

"I want to," I interrupted, echoing his earlier words. The truth was messy, complicated—I needed to reclaim something that felt stolen. Needed to feel like my body belonged to me again instead of being something that could be collared and caged. "I just... I need this. I need to feel clean again."

He nodded, understanding flickering in his eyes.

With careful movements, he began helping me undress, his touch reverent rather than sexual.

Each piece of clothing that fell away felt like shedding a layer of the day's trauma.

With each discarded layer, I felt a flicker of.

.. myself returning. Like I was piecing myself back together, shard by fragile shard.

When we stepped under the hot spray together, I nearly sobbed with relief. The water was perfect—hot enough to sting, washing away the phantom sensations clinging to my skin.

Mason reached for the soap, working it into a rich lather between his palms. "Turn around."

I obeyed, letting him wash my back with slow, thorough strokes.

His hands were gentle but firm, massaging away tension I didn't even realize I was carrying.

When he moved to my shoulders, his thumbs traced the curve of my neck with deliberate tenderness, and the soap-slick warmth of his palms seemed to soak deeper than my skin. Something inside me started to crack.

The tears came then, hot and sudden. All the fear and rage and helplessness I'd been holding back crashed over me. I pressed my face against Mason's chest, sobbing as the water cascaded around us.

He held me without hesitation, his arms strong and sure around my shaking frame. One hand stroked my wet hair while the other rubbed circles on my back, and he murmured soft words I couldn't quite make out over my crying.

"I've got you," he whispered against my hair. "You're safe. You're home."

I cried until I had nothing left, until the tears finally slowed to hiccups. Mason never loosened his hold, never tried to rush me through it. He just held me. Solid and warm and unshakeable.

When I finally pulled back to look at him, his dark eyes were fierce with protective love. Water droplets clung to his eyelashes, and his usually stoic expression was soft with concern.

"Better?" he asked quietly.

I nodded, then rose on my toes to kiss him.

It was meant to be gentle, grateful, but the moment our lips met, something ignited between us.

The kiss deepened, desperate and hungry, and I poured all my need into it—the need to feel alive, to feel pleasure instead of pain, to reclaim my body as my own.

"Mason," I breathed against his mouth. "I need... I need to feel good. I need to feel something other than what they made me feel."

His hands tightened on my waist, and I could see the war playing out in his expression—desire battling with concern.

"Are you sure?" His voice was rough with want and restraint. "After everything that happened—"

"Because of everything that happened." I pressed closer, feeling his body respond despite his hesitation. "I can let go like this because I'm in your arms. Because I feel safest with you."

Something shifted in his expression then, the protective warrior giving way to the man who loved me. His hands slid up to tangle in my wet hair, and when he kissed me again, it was with a reverence that made my knees weak.

"Then let me make you feel good," he murmured against my lips. "Let me remind you that your body is yours, that pleasure is yours to claim."

The hot water poured over us, steam wrapping around our bodies as Mason's mouth found mine again. His lips moved against mine with a possessive tenderness that made my heart skip.

One large hand cradled the back of my head, fingers tangling in my wet hair, while the other slid down the slick curve of my spine to press me closer against him.

I could feel the hard length of him against my belly, but he held himself perfectly still, letting me set the pace, letting me take what I needed.

I broke the kiss, gasping for air, and his mouth trailed fire down the column of my throat. He found that sensitive spot just below my ear**—the one that always made my knees weak—**and sucked gently.

"God, I missed this," I whispered against his shoulder, my voice barely audible over the spray. "Missed feeling like myself."

"You're perfect," he murmured back, his breath hot against my throat. "Every inch of you. Mine to worship."

A broken moan tore from my throat, echoing off the tile. His teeth grazed my pulse point, rough enough to send sparks down my spine.

Every touch was deliberate, reverent, like he was mapping territory reclaimed. His fingers traced the damp line of my collarbone, erasing the phantom memory of the collar's bite, before drifting lower.

He cupped my breasts, thumbs circling my nipples until they tightened into hard peaks. He groaned, the sound low and vibrating against my skin as he dipped his head. His mouth was magic—hot, wet, relentless.

I arched into him, a whimper escaping me, my hands flying to his broad shoulders for balance. "Don't stop," I breathed. "Please, Mason, don't ever stop."

"Never," he promised against my skin, his voice rough with emotion. "I'll never stop loving you like this."

Heat radiated outwards, building with each lick, each gentle bite.

Then those hands were sliding down, over the swell of my hips, gripping with gentle strength. I knew what he intended a split second before he moved. Mason sank to his knees on the wet tile.

His dark eyes locked with mine, fierce and tender. One hand slid down my thigh, calloused fingers rough against my soap-slick skin, gripping just above my knee to nudge my legs apart. The other palm flattened low on my belly, holding me steady. An anchor.

"Look at me, Tess," he murmured, the command soft but absolute. His voice rumbled through the steam, deeper than the water's patter on tile. "I want you to see who's loving you."

"I see you," I whispered, my fingers threading through his wet hair. "Only you. Always you."

He leaned in, his breath warm against the apex of my thighs, ghosting over the dark curls wet against my skin. My breath hitched, anticipation coiling tight in my belly. And then his mouth was on me—hot, wet, devastatingly precise.

His tongue claimed me with sure, hungry strokes. Not tentative, not exploratory. He knew me. Knew exactly how I needed to be touched.

Electric. Devastating. Circles and flicks and broad, flat pressure that built pleasure into a knot behind my navel. My fingers clenched in his wet hair. Not pushing, just holding on as the world narrowed to the feel of his mouth.

The water streamed over his broad shoulders, and my gaze caught on the powerful lines of his back—the raised, pale ridges of scars that mapped his history of standing between me and everything that wanted to break me.

Each one a testament. Each one proof.

He was on his knees, tasting me, giving me pleasure. But there was no submission here. Only fierce devotion. Only power, held perfectly still for me.

"Mason..." I gasped. "Oh god, right there... Please..."

"That's it, sweetheart," he murmured against me, his voice vibrating through my core. "Let go for me. Let me give this to you."

He hummed against me, the vibration shooting through my core.

His grip tightened on my hips, holding me firm as his tongue lashed my clit with swift, relentless strokes.

The peak built fast, terrifyingly fast. Pleasure tightened every muscle, coiled low and deep.

The thought of his strength, his scars, his unbreakable devotion—it was the final spark.

"I love you," I cried out, the words torn from somewhere deep in my chest. "God, Mason, I love you so much."

The coil inside me snapped. Pleasure detonated, white-hot and shattering. I cried out his name, raw and broken as my body convulsed against his relentless mouth.

Our bond flared—golden light bursting beneath my skin, visible even through the steam. It pulsed outward like a silent, radiant wave, gilding the air around us, amplifying every sensation, making the physical ecstasy feel like falling into molten sunlight. Like being remade.

Mason held me firmly, riding the wave with me, his tongue softening but never ceasing, drawing the ecstasy out until I was trembling, gasping, my legs barely holding me up.

He pressed soft kisses against my inner thighs as he worked his way slowly upward. The golden light beneath my skin gradually faded to a warm, contented hum.

His large hands slid up to cradle my face as he rose to his full height. He pulled me against him, my naked body pressed flush to his wet skin. The hard planes of his chest felt solid, real. Unbreakable.

I melted into him, boneless and trembling. The frantic edge of captivity, the lingering cold fear—gone. Crushed under the weight of the pleasure he gave, the safety he embodied.

"See?" he murmured, his lips against my temple. His voice was rough with satisfaction and something deeper—fierce pride. "You're here. You're mine. And nobody touches you without your choice ever again."