Fire Maidens: Paris

by Anna Lowe

  His dragon shrugged. I don’t care. I just know she’s mine.

  Tristan nodded. He was a fool to have denied destiny for so long — that, or he deserved a goddamn medal for resisting an urge rooted so deeply in his soul.

  No more resisting, his dragon swore. To hell with Alaric and the rest of them. She’s our mate.

  But, crap. What about his vow not to follow in his father’s footsteps?

  Easy, his dragon swore. We love her. Protect her. Cherish her to the end of our days.

  It sounded so simple, but could he be the man she deserved?

  Her hand was on his arm, her eyes wide and imploring. “Marcel didn’t hurt you?”

  Liam thumped Tristan hard enough to rattle his teeth. “It will take more than one snotty prep school dragon to whip this guy, right?”

  Then Liam chuckled into Tristan’s mind. But it only takes one pint-size human to melt your heart.

  She’s not pint-size, Tristan growled.

  But she does melt your heart?

  Tristan ignored him, because somehow, he and Natalie had ended up face-to-face and holding hands.

  “Nothing serious,” he whispered. “I’m fine.”

  Was he, though? Natalie had a way of taking his breath away at the least expected times. Like now, with her soft touch doing all kinds of crazy things to his body. Then there were her eyes, full of sparkles as bright as those illuminating the Eiffel Tower. A whole fascinating universe he could have studied forever.

  If it hadn’t been for Liam muttering, Man, you do have it bad, who knew who long he and Natalie might have stood there?

  “Let’s get you two home, shall we?” Liam finally sighed.

  Was the bastard hiding a smug smile? Tristan couldn’t tell. He didn’t care much either. Not with Natalie there, helping him along. Her scent was heavenly, and the whiff of worry in her fragrance slowly gave way to the sweet scent of arousal.

  “Home sounds good,” he said, struggling to keep his voice even.

  Very good, his dragon murmured, replaying his wildest fantasies. Vividly.

  He swore and counted to ten. Natalie didn’t want a caveman bastard.

  She wants me, his dragon promised.

  The hand she’d kept on his side started wandering up his chest, making that hard to deny. Was she as tired of resisting the electric attraction between them as he was?

  “Metro or cab?” Liam asked.

  Tristan pinned him with a murderous look, and Liam chuckled.

  “Right. A cab. Let me go find one. But don’t dawdle. It will be raining soon.”

  Which left Tristan alone with Natalie for a few blissfully quiet minutes, though he didn’t know what to say. I love you. I need you. I want you? He wasn’t sure it would come out right. You’re my mate was definitely out, as was I told you Marcel was an ass.

  In the end, he held his tongue and looped his arm over her shoulders, keeping her nice and close. Every breath he took brought him a whiff of her tempting scent, and his inner dragon refused to settle down.

  The approaching storm intensified that feeling, too. By the time they made it to the cab Liam had hailed at the end of the park, the clouds grew darker, and the distant sound of the jazz concert broke off. Natalie hurried ahead to open the door.

  “Here, let me help you.” She bent to help him maneuver his injured leg in. Then she hurried around the cab, got in, and slid all the way over to his side, fretting over him the whole time.

  Going soft, Monsieur Chevalier? Liam chuckled as he took the front seat.

  Tristan ignored him. Was it a crime to feel good? To enjoy a woman’s touch in a way he never had before? Her hands were so gentle, her voice so soft. And the silky wisps of her hair on his shoulder so…so…

  Tempting, his dragon growled.

  “Natalie…” he whispered, reaching for her hand.

  She laced her fingers through his and stroked his palm. At the same time, her chest rose and fell in a deep breath. One a lot like his — the kind you took to settle down.

  “We have to stop meeting like this,” she joked a moment later.

  He laughed. “Maybe I like meeting like this.”

  It was too dark to see her blush, but the heat rising from her face gave it away.

  “You like getting hurt?”

  He shook his head. “Call it my cheap excuse to get close to you.”

  She nestled closer, whispering, “Maybe we can find an easier way.”

  He grinned like a fool, admiring their reflection in the window. Him and her, so close and comfortable. Like a real couple without a care in the world.

  His dragon snarled away the little voice that wanted to point out they were anything but. Tonight, we are a real couple without a care in the world.

  Her knees rested against his thigh, and her hand lay over his heart. He kept his arm over her shoulders, and when her hair brushed his hand, he inhaled sharply. How good would it feel to run his hands through her hair — all ten fingers through the full length of those long, silky locks? How good would it be to feel her hand against his bare chest instead of through his clothes?

  You aren’t forgetting the forbidden part of what Alaric said, are you? Liam murmured into his mind.

  No, he was actively ignoring that order. All his life, something had been off-limits. Well, not his mate. Not tonight.

  Liam sighed. You know you smell like ash, right, champ?

  Tristan grimaced. Shoot. If Natalie got any closer, she’d back off, for sure.

  Told you not to spit fire. Liam sighed.

  Natalie nestled closer, not appearing to mind one bit.

  Streetlights flashed as the cab cruised along, casting them into alternating strips of darkness and light. Tristan’s reflection in the cab window was worn and haggard, and outside, rain started to splash the sidewalks. By the time the cab pulled up outside his building, it was pouring.

  Tristan leaned forward, speaking to the driver in French. “My friend will pay when you take him home.”

  “I will?” Liam protested.

  “Yes. Good night.” Tristan pushed the door open decisively. Liam owed him dozens of favors. Hell, he owed Tristan his life. The same was true in reverse, but right now, Tristan had a chance too good to pass up.

  Liam sighed and waved. “Have a good night, kids.”

  Oh, Tristan planned to, if he was reading Natalie right. A moment later, he and she were dashing through the rain.

  “Mademoiselle. Monsieur Chevalier,” the doorman murmured as they rushed through the lobby.

  “Bonsoir,” Natalie said, polite as ever.

  “Bonsoir,” Tristan growled, slamming the gate to the elevator closed. It took off with a lurch, climbing toward the top floor.

  They looked at each other, and an entire conversation passed in silence. Their eyes danced, while their nostrils flared, and raw, pulsing energy crackled between them. Then, a moment later—

  Tristan didn’t know who initiated the crash of a kiss they fell into next. Was it him, with his step toward her, or Natalie, who’d reached up to touch his cheek? Either way, they went from quiet yearning to hot-blooded action in the span of a heartbeat. Their lips met, their arms tangled, and he pressed her body against the elevator wall.

  “Please tell me you want this,” he murmured, barely breaking away from that breathless kiss.

  “Not obvious?” she panted, setting him off all over again.

  If he consumed her lips, she smothered his, and the way she squeezed her hips against his groin left no room for doubt. He tilted his head, kissing deeper and harder. Little whimpers escaped her lips while her hands traced the muscles of his back.

  “At first, I thought that was a dragon thing,” she panted at their next gasp for air.

  Tristan traced a line of kisses along her chin. “What was?”

  She waved at nothing in particular. “This fire. This need. This hunger for you that’s been driving me crazy.”

  Tristan retraced his kisses back to her lips. �
�Maybe it’s a dragon thing.”

  She shook her head. “No way. Marcel proved that. Total dud.”

  Tristan snorted. “Surprised?”

  She laughed, cupping his face in her hands. “Not really. I thought it was you, but I had to make sure.”

  He paused, still burning. “And now you’re sure?”

  Her eyes dropped to his lips. “It’s not a dragon thing, because I felt nothing around Marcel — except bored. And it’s not all shifters either. Take Liam…”

  Tristan stiffened.

  “—he’s funny and all, but no. Not a spark there.”

  Tristan exhaled.

  “So, it’s you. Just you.”

  He shook his head. “It’s us.”

  We’re mates, his dragon added, though he was glad she couldn’t hear.

  “Us,” she agreed.

  Then they were kissing again — not to mention groping and touching so desperately, his vision blurred.

  “Oh,” she cried, breaking away. “Your leg.”

  He shook his head and dove back into a kiss. “Already better.”

  All too soon, the elevator chimed, and they broke apart as if caught by a witness. But there was no one, just the ragged sound of their own breath.

  Still, Tristan hesitated, thinking of all the reasons he should try to resist. After all, Alaric had declared Natalie off-limits. But Natalie pushed the gate aside, erasing all doubt. She was his mate. And since there was no greater authority than destiny…

  He fumbled for his key, but getting it into the narrow slot was tricky, what with Natalie kissing him at the same time. When he finally threw the door open, Bijou stepped forward with a meow.

  Tristan groaned. Damn the cat, distracting Natalie.

  But Natalie only gave Bijou a rushed pat before sliding right back into Tristan’s arms. He held her, inhaling her scent, desperate for more but frightened of moving too fast. It was she who moved first, backing him from the corridor to the empty living room while nuzzling his chin.

  “You know how long I’ve wanted this?” she whispered.

  Rain streamed down the windows and tapped on the roof.

  “I know how long I’ve wanted this.”

  “So, there’s only really one question left.” Her voice was pure temptation, her smile a tease.

  “What’s that?”

  Bijou padded over, winding between their legs. But Tristan didn’t feel any pity. The cat had been sleeping in Natalie’s bed all week. It was his turn now.

  Natalie glanced right then left.

  “Your place or mine?”

  He looked between the velvet couch and his king-size bed. He had dozens of fantasies that played out in both places, which ought to make it hard to pick. But his dragon was already barking a reply.

  My woman. My bed.

  Which definitely had its appeal. It would be so easy to sweep Natalie up, carry her to his bed, and release every animal desire that had accumulated over the past week. But he was painfully conscious of the domineering jerk his father had been, so he turned the question around.

  “Lady’s choice.”

  Just please, please make it fast, his dragon begged.

  Her eyes sparkled, and he caught a brief glimpse of the fantasies playing through her mind. Like the two of them intertwined on the narrow red couch, or her splayed out on his bed while he explored every inch of her bare, beautiful body. Or even the two of them humping wildly on the floor in no-man’s-land.

  His pulse hammered in his ears when she leaned forward and whispered in his ear.

  “Your bed.” Her voice was raw with desire, her body calling to his. “I want you to take me to your bed.”

  A hallelujah chorus might as well have broken out in his ears, he was so relieved.

  “Just one thing,” she added with a smile that managed to be both shy and sultry.

  He cocked his head.

  “I wasn’t kidding about the take me part.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Natalie didn’t know what had come over her. Had Tristan’s raw, animal energy rubbed off? Or had that flood of irresistible desire welled up from a hidden part of her? Either way, she wanted him so badly, she ached.

  “Watch what you wish for,” Tristan murmured, stepping behind her so they both faced the huge windows.

  “Watch? I could get into that,” she replied, teasing shamelessly.

  In truth, she was shocked at herself. Where was the tame, quiet girl who kept her eyes shut during sex? Where was that virtuous side that steered her clear of any hint of dirty or wild?

  Gone, apparently, or superseded by a whole new side of her soul. Something deep inside that she’d only ever faced in her fantasies.

  But watching? Being taken? He was a dragon shifter, for goodness’ sake!

  Hell yes, a voice sounded in her mind. It was low and rough, like a barmaid who’d smoked too many cigars.

  Her eyes went wide. Maybe that was her dragon side. Maybe Paris — and Tristan — had awakened a part of her soul she never knew she had.

  But Tristan started kissing her neck at the same time, and when he drew lazy circles on her belly, she stopped caring about anything else.

  “Beautiful,” he murmured, sliding his hand along her ribs.

  She stuttered through her next breath, because he was gently circling her breast by then, and it felt so good. Her hips swayed, pushing against his. He pushed back, and the hard prod of his erection promised he enjoyed the sensation, too. Everywhere he touched tingled, and the nipping kisses he trailed along her neck throbbed.

  “Oh,” she cried out when lights sparkled through the rain.

  The hourly show at the Eiffel Tower must be going off again. That, or her blissed-out mind was projecting its own show.

  “Is this good?” he whispered, slipping his hand down the front of her jeans.

  She practically purred her answer. “Yes.”

  Then she inhaled, making space for his hand. But even that was too tight, so he popped her fly and zipper, then went back to caressing her in slow, masterful movements. The hand that cupped her breast moved to the same rhythm, and soon, she was rocking against him.

  “And how about this?” he whispered, slipping a finger between her folds.

  She tipped her head back. Penthouse views were very nice, but there were only so many sensations a woman could process at one time. Like his thick finger, touching her where she needed it most. His huge hand, lifting her breast. His warm breath, ruffling the hair by her ear.

  “Ma belle,” he whispered between kisses.

  Her heart raced. Not only was she his, she was beautiful? Then she giggled out loud. Maybe she wasn’t the only one operating in a sweet, sensual haze.

  “What?”

  She laughed. “I just feel good.”

  He snorted. “You’ll feel even better soon. I promise.”

  Natalie glanced at her faint reflection in the window in one of those Pinch me, I’m dreaming moments. The man of her dreams was not only touching her, but promising her more?

  Yes, please, that low, feminine voice purred in her mind.

  Her eyelids drooped as he reached deeper, stroking her most sensitive spots. Her nipples peaked, and her breath came in pants. The lights of Paris became a blur, like they would if she were speeding past in a car.

  Or flying really, really fast, that inner voice chuckled.

  Part of her felt deliciously drowsy, as if her human side were nodding off while her dragon woke from a long, satisfying slumber. Opening her eyes, she focused on her reflection, superimposed on the lights of Paris. Her top and bra were gone, her hair drifting back over Tristan’s shoulders. She looked — and felt — like a sensual model in the studio of a master painter. A little blurry, like one of Degas’ dancers crossed with one of Picasso’s demoiselles, thanks to the way she held her arms up and back.

  When she wiggled her hips, Tristan caught the hint and worked her jeans and panties down to her ankles, then pushed them aside. He did t
he same with his pants, and when he took off his shirt, layers of muscles rippled along his abdomen and sides.

  “No fair,” she mumbled, turning slowly in his arms. “I get all the pleasure.”

  He chuckled, making her hair stir. “If you believe that…”

  When their eyes met, he trailed off, and a moment later, they were locked in another kiss. Natalie wrapped her arms around him, drinking in her own sculpted masterpiece. His back was lined with its own ridgeline. His abs were a washboard, marked by a few battle scars. And below…

  He stiffened as her fingers brushed his cock, and when he pulled back from the kiss, his eyes were glowing a pure, golden color.

  Our mate likes our touch, her inner voice hummed.

  Natalie gulped and looked down.

  “What are you doing?” Tristan asked in a voice gritty with need.

  That second self — that vixen inside her — made her chuckle. “I’m watching what I wished for.”

  A split second later, they both burst into laughter, though she didn’t stop stroking him. Then Tristan released a low, growly sound, lifted her right off the floor, and rushed her toward his bed.

  “We did say my place, correct?”

  She barely had time to nod before they sprawled over the mattress, so desperate, they couldn’t coordinate their kisses properly. But that was fine, because wherever Tristan’s lips landed sizzled. He kissed her chin…her neck…her collarbone. There, he hesitated like a man choosing from a vast menu of options.

  She trembled in sheer need. Up to that point, any sex she’d had was always a straightforward affair. A little kissing, a little groping, and eventually, a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it climax. But Tristan drew it all out, speeding ahead then slowing down. And nothing — absolutely nothing — he did could be called little. His kisses made her dizzy. Wherever he touched her, bonfires seemed to erupt. Then his eyes flared, and he ducked, lips reaching for her nipple.

  Whatever little groans Natalie had let out so far were whispers compared to the cries she could no longer hold back. And when he shifted lower…

  Watch what you wish for, the vixen’s voice whispered in her mind.

  She dragged a pillow over, propped it under her head, and watched, fascinated. Was that sleek, bare body really hers? Was Tristan really bobbing between her legs and his tongue doing the most exquisite things to her core, or was it all a fantasy?