Page 50 of The Warlord's Secret Heir

I lift her off her feet, her legs wrapping around my waist, and carry her out of the pit like I’m claiming a throne.

No one stops me.

No onedares.

The door slams behind us like thunder.

I catch her shoulder, pin her to the wall, heat searing through me. My mouth drags down her throat, tongue tasting her pulse, my claws grazing the sweat-slick curve of her back.

She gasps, nails digging into me. “This isn’t smart.”

“Never was,” I rasp, voice raw, “Never cared.”

She shoves me—just enough—so I can tear at my belt. She stares me down, defiance bleeding through fear. “Don’t pretend this means anything.”

I grunt. “I wouldn’t dare.” With a surge I lift her, carry her to the bed like she weighs nothing—like her body was always meant for mine.

We fall into the mattress together, sheets crumpling, hearts racing. Gravity doesn’t need time to catch up.

The first time is rough. Violent. My arms and chest press, pin her. My mouth claims hers harsh and hungry. I taste her — copper, salt, need. Her cry breaks through me. I thrust, harder, punishing, wanting to obliterate every barrier between us.

Her back arches, nails clawing into me, trying to anchor.

Then I pause, my breaths ragged. I meet her gaze, search for something tender under the fire.

We don’t stop there.

The second time is slower. Deeper. Every move measured though still urgent. I guide her, hold her, listen to her moans. Her name is the only word I know how to speak.

Jaela.

I slide in again, inch by inch, letting her feel me, holding nothing back. Her body folds around my cock, warm and tight and needy.

The rhythm builds. We merge skin to scale, bone to bone. My missing limbs ache with presence. Every thrust pushes me into her, and she into me.

“Kyldak…” she whispers.

“Yes,” I growl, “All of you.”

I hit deeper, sliding fluid, stamping each thrust with need. Her moans echo off the walls, her breath hot against my neck.

When she comes, it’s a blaze. She cries out, muscles clenching, pussy pulling me in, milking me. I roar, releasing inside her, filling her.

After, she curls into me, silent. Her breathing is ragged, heart pounding against mine.

I press my lips to her temple.

“Liar.”

She doesn’t deny it this time.

I hold her closer, letting the silence speak.

CHAPTER 15

JAELA

Iwake with his arm heavy across my waist—golden scales catching the faint pink of dawn filtering through the canvas slats. The tent is warm, too warm, thick with the scent of sex and blood and metal. My thighs ache. My throat’s raw. There’s a smudge of dried blood on my shoulder—his or mine, I don’t know.