There was also the fact that he was a dragon and had told her so. Had turned into one in front of her.
And then there was this, even more undeniable than the evidence of her own two eyes. She loved him too.
Theo said, “I know you might not feel the same way—”
“But I do,” Jillian said, surprising herself with the clarity and definitiveness of that.
A slow, heartstopping smile spread across his face. “You do? Even though you can’t know?”
“Last night, I just kept thinking—you’re the best thing to ever happen to me.” She put her hand on his chest, spreading her fingers out across his heart. “I never thought I’d get swept off my feet. Don’t take it as a character flaw, I’m begging you, I’m usually very level-headed.”
“Noted,” Theo said. His smile had now gone from striking to outright goofy, and she almost liked that better.
He had, she decided, the most kissable mouth in the world.
“It’s like a fairy tale,” she said. “That makes sense, right? With you being a dragon?”
“We’re not actually wild about fairy tales.”
No, they wouldn’t be, would they? Dragons were always the bad guys, the way a Marcus was always the bad guy: paint as many as possible with the same ultra-wide brush. She didn’t know if the dragons in books were ridiculous caricatures or as close as Theo’s ancestors had to recorded history, but at the moment she wasn’t going to ask. Whether it was truth or fiction, it wasn’t Theo.
Except family was inescapable. Her being here to meet him at all proved that much. And he had said “we.”
She guessed no one’s history came in black and white and no one’s life came separate from the people they loved. Like hers wouldn’t be separable from his, in the future.
Thinking that, she looked at him and felt desire uncoil in her belly and warm her between her legs. When she shifted her weight, the cotton of her shorts rode up a little and rubbed at her, and even that sensation felt like it had the potential to overload her circuits.
The smell in the air was syrup-sweet, the temperature warm and sticky.
“Theo,” she said hoarsely, hoping he would see the need in her eyes.
He did. He kissed her, his mouth hot and open, and in another moment, had sat her up on the counter beside the bowl of French toast batter.
“This is not at all sanitary,” Jillian said, and then his long, elegant fingers were against her lower belly under the waistline of her shorts and then they were between her lower lips. Kitchen standards became the last thing on her mind.
She felt like she was dissolving. She opened her legs wider and eased back onto her hands, holding herself up so he could wriggle her shorts down and onto the floor.
“I was promised breakfast,” she whispered.
Theo kissed her shoulder, his teeth a teasing pressure against her skin. “This will be better than breakfast.”
“This is already better than breakfast.”
“Besides—” He went back to stroking her, caressing her on her inner folds and around her entrance, eventually sliding his fingers inside her. She could feel herself gripping him, each bit of penetration simultaneously overwhelming and not nearly enough. “The freckles on your shoulders are like cinnamon. You smell better than any vanilla. You’re all I want to taste. I’m starving for you.”
She would have loved to have had some clever retort to that or even some honest, heartfelt response about how she was starving for him too, but she came then, gratifyingly and almost embarrassingly quickly. She had never gone off like that. It was like he had lit a rocket at the center of her. She tilted her head back, crying out as the wave hit her and she tightened around him. She could feel his fingers inside her and against her clit. She could feel his eyes on her.
For the first time in her life, she understood what made someone wanton. She had needed so little from him. Just having him close felt like it would drive her crazy.
“You could burn me up,” Theo said.
“You breathe fire,” Jillian said, breathless.
“Even so.”
She slid down from the counter, her legs orgasm-weak and unsteady. “I want you.”
“You’ve got me,” Theo said.