Yet she doesn’t fight, nor does she seem afraid.
She asked about my pleasure. She wanted me to take mine with her.
That’s the piece I turn over and over in my head as my beautiful little human slumbers beside me.
What does it mean? Is she simply a generous, giving female? Or does she feel something for me? How far does the mating instinct go in a human? On some level, she must recognize she belongs to me, but perhaps that level is embedded in the vessel, in her body. Her mind rebels against this attachment.
But no, she asked about my pleasure.
This is the loop I continue around until Tabitha falls into a deep sleep, and I quietly get out of bed and put on a robe. I scoop her into my arms with the blankets still around her soft, fragile form, and carry her back to her chamber.
I want to keep her with me in my tower–fate knows how much–but I don’t trust myself with her. My usual control slips when she’s close.
Frightening her now would be the worst move I could make. I don’t trust my dragon not to accidentally harm her. Better to play it safe until we’ve both had time to get used to each other.
4
Rafe
The bright sun bounces off the hard-crusted snow as I tromp up the pedestrian-only alleys between the shops of Taos. My destination is a cheerfully lit shop with a freshly painted door. I kick the frozen mud from my boots and reach for the gold latch. The bell over the door jingles and the warm scent of chocolate and coffee and caramel and all sorts of delicious things set my mouth watering.
Adele’s chocolate shop is her second favorite place on earth. The first is my bed, and I spend long blissful hours each night making sure it remains that way.
I step back to allow two female customers bundled up in hats and scarves to exit. They’re carrying white bakery bags filled to the brim with gold boxes of truffles, and they have big smiles on their faces.
When I step inside The Chocolatier, the heat hits my face along with the most delicious scent in the world. No amount of chocolate can compare to the scent of my mate. It's a little peppery today, a pinch of cayenne mixed into the sweetness. She's worried about something.
When she sees me, her big green eyes round. She starts around the counter. I meet her halfway, plucking her off the floor and setting her on the countertop. I plant my hands on the counter, on either side of her hips and lean in to claim her lips.
My beard scratches against her soft skin.
“Rafe,” she sighs against my lips. “You can't. The customers.”
“There’s no one in the shop.” I finger the hem of her wool skirt. “Are you wearing a garter belt today?”
She slaps my hand. “You’re not going to find out. Not here.”
I grip her hips to keep her from scooting off the counter and escaping. “We’ll see about that.
The bell above the door jingles. “Go away.” I bark without taking my eyes off Adele. “We're closed.”
There's a laugh. “I'll leave these packages outside then.”
“Rafe,” Adele wriggles in my hold. “I can't believe you. That could’ve been a customer!”
“I knew it was the mailman. I recognized his scent.” I nuzzle the hinge of her jaw where she dabbed a little lavender oil there this morning in lieu of perfume. I dig my fingers into her wealth of curls and hold her still, so I can taste the sensitive spot.
At the touch of my tongue, she gasps. “I need to make rent.”
I move so my big body blocks any view of us through the front windows. I kiss along her shoulder. She's wearing a sexy little one of her blouses and a sexy tight skirt. It takes too long to slide her out of the skirt. Easier just to rip it. Even if I face her wrath later.
“I'm sure your landlord will work something out with you.”
“That's not what I want.” She smacks my arm. I lick over the line of her collarbone.
She grabs my head and forces it back, and I let her. “This is inappropriate workplace behavior,'' she intones, trying to sound stern even as her lips twitch.
I lean back. “Baby, that’s the point.”
She rolls her eyes.
“I thought we could have lunch today,” I say. “I might be busy with work for the rest of the week.”
She hops down and flips the front door sign to “closed for lunch” herself.
I grin at her eagerness. We often eat lunch together. And by “eat lunch together,” I mean I feed her and then lay her down on the desk in the tiny room she calls an office and eat her pussy until her curls are mussed, and she’s half-drunk on endorphins.