Dragon Passions: Three fiery & suspenseful paranormal romances!

by Anna Lowe

  “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 pan
ts. 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 the 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?

  Then he glanced up and—

  Mate, Tristan’s voice whispered in her mind.

  Mate, her inner dragon echoed.

  His lips glistened, and his hair hung low, giving him a decadent, bad-boy look. His hands stayed firm on her thighs like that was his turf, and everything about him screamed alpha male.

  He flashed a wicked grin, then ducked and licked her all the way over to her first orgasm.

  First of many, his hands assured her as her body shuddered wildly.

  The first ever, it felt like, because the sexual highs of her past seemed laughably amateur.

  Lightning flashed behind her tightly shut eyes, and blurry visions rippled through her soul. She’d thrown her arms back at some point, but her imagination turned them into wings, and she swore she saw a pair of dragons coupling in midair. One of them was Tristan, and the other one was…her?

  Afterward, she lay limp, panting at the ceiling as heat raged through her body and slowly, deliciously, subsided. She was unable to move, unable to think. Apparently, orgasms were neither overrated nor impossible. Just hard to attain without the right, er…stimulus.

  She laughed. Tristan was stimulating, all right. But, whoa. What about that dragon part? Was it just a sex-induced fantasy, or was it more?

  She snorted the thought away. Clearly, she’d spent too much time reading about dragons lately.

  Tristan cozied up to her again, lying along the length of her body, stroking her sides. At her chuckle, he raised one eyebrow.

  “What? Ça ne va pas?”

  She shook her head, not quite able to speak. Of course, it was good. But the vines of the ceiling’s delicate plasterwork were only gradually coming back into focus. An instant later, the embers of her desire flared again, and her eyes heated.

  “Nothing.” She chuckled. “Everything.”

  Then she tugged him up and wrapped her legs around his waist.

  “Do you have a condom?” she breathed, trying not to yowl. Because holy hell, there really was something about dragons that set off smoldering passion.

  Then it hit her. If she truly had dragon blood, then she and Tristan would really make sparks fly.

  The sultry voice inside her snorted. No wonder you’ve never felt such rapture.

  Tristan’s lips moved, and she worried that he might say No, I don’t have a condom. But after a moment of staring at her neck, he nodded and reached for the bedside table. Natalie closed her eyes. The dresser drawer rolled, and the sheets rustled. Foil ripped, and Tristan’s weight shifted. Natalie reached out, covering his hand with hers as he unrolled the condom. Then he resettled over her, drawing her arms over her head.

  She lay trembling, waiting for the painful push of his entry. But instead, his lips fluttered over hers. She opened her eyes, caught off guard. Power pulsed off every coiled muscle in Tristan’s body, but his fingers were gentle as he smoothed a wisp of hair aside.

  “Natalie,” he whispered, lending it that rising rhythm she loved, full of hope and promise.

  He might as well have lit her with a thousand bulbs, the way she beamed. Then she drew her leg along his in a hint.

  For a moment, he looked lost, as if he would be perfectly content just to admire her for a while. But then the glow in his eyes intensified. He nudged her legs apart, tightened his fingers around hers, and—

  Instead of plunging in, he eased in, rocking forward and back, giving her time to adjust. A bead of sweat formed on his brow, and she could sense him leashing his own power. He watched her face intently, making sure it was as good for her as it was for him. And then — only then — did he shift into another gear, going from slow slides to powerful thrusts.

  “Oh,” she cried out.

  The motion burned in the best possible way, and she rocked against him, begging for more.

  “Yes…”

  When she pulled her legs higher along his sides, Tristan reached back, pinning her knee against his hip. Then he went back to deep, sharp thrusts, making her howl. Eventually, he switched over to the other side, lighting up an entirely new set of nerves.

  By all rights, she should have come to a screaming orgasm right there, but something in Tristan’s face told her to hang on. So she did — barely — flexing her inner muscles, making him groan.

  Show him, that inner voice insisted. Show him what his mate can do.

  Natalie bucked upward, suddenly determined to prove something — to herself, not to him. That she wasn’t as plain as she’d told herself a thousand times. That she could rock a man’s world — even a man who’d experienced so many things. She could be the center of his world, and he the center of hers.

  Mates, her inner voice murmured. Now you know what it means.

  She wasn’t entirely sure about that, but she did know she belonged with him. So she pushed her shoulders back, p
umped her hips, and flexed one more time.

  Tristan groaned, and she watched as he came absolutely, utterly undone. His mouth opened in suppressed cries, and his biceps bulged. Then he made a garbled sound and reared back on his heels.

  “No,” she cried as they separated.

  But Tristan was already on his knees and lifting her hips off the bed. A split second later, he thrust in, and she cried out.

  Deep took on a whole new meaning at that angle, but damn, did it feel good. Blood rushed to her head, and a wave of emotion gathered within her, steamrolling everything away. Tristan bowed his head in total concentration. Then, when she thought she wouldn’t last a moment longer, he pumped in one last time.

  Her body shuddered, and her head spun with a thousand images, though none of them made sense. She was flying — no, soaring over the ground. Fire crackled around her lips, and the air around her heaved. A church bell tolled, and the green slopes of a vineyard blurred under her wings.

  Whoa. Wait. Under her what?

  Wings, that inner voice laughed.

  A shadow moved over her, and she knew it was Tristan with her in bed. But her mind reassembled the image, making him a dragon flying directly over her, spreading his wings and roaring into the night, daring anyone to come between them.

  Mate, she whispered. Or had Tristan said that?

  She opened her eyes slowly, and there they were, naked, sweaty, and wrapped around each other in bed. At first, Tristan’s eyes were vacant, as if he were living that scene too. But when he focused on her—

  She arched, hit by an aftershock of pleasure. Tristan tightened his arms around her, holding her as she shuddered. Then, when she was panting and exhausted, he settled her on the mattress and brought his lips to hers in a searing kiss.

  Her eyes flew open. That kiss was hot. Hot as…dragon fire?

  Tristan’s eyes remained closed, his lips sealed around hers. Really sealed, taking away her air, but giving her air at the same time. It filled her lungs, warming her from the inside. The heat spread through her chest, to her arms, and all the way to her toes. She found herself cupping his face, hoping he’d never let go. Because holy crap — what a kiss. One that was all the way over on the other side of the ecstasy meter from where she’d just been. One extreme was the sheer exhilaration of sex. The opposite was that kiss — peaceful and serene, yet every bit as intimate. If sex was an inferno, this was a warm, sensual bath, and she sighed, letting it sink in.