Which left him with little choice.
He wanted Hope. The goddess believed he should have her, so forget about walking away. He’d take what she offered. Stake his claim. Make Hope his. Pray to God he didn’t hurt her and it all worked out in the end.
Arm throbbing in agony, Hope hovered on the edge of panic. Any moment now, she’d plunge back in—freak out, scream some more, and run. Only one thing stopped her flight back into terror—Forge. He held her steady, hands cupping her face, nose an inch from hers, eyes the color of amethysts grounding her as seconds ticked into minutes.
It felt like hours instead. As though time had stopped, suspending her in hell.
A shudder raked her, making her teeth rattle.
She couldn’t shake the chaos. Could still smell the scorched scales and burning flesh. Could still hear the shrieking battle cries. Still felt pain across her rib cage with every breath she took.
Horrifying images bombarded her. Like a well-shot horror movie, gory pictures winged across her mind. Death. Destruction. Blood. Oh God. Fresh tears welled. There had been so much blood. Hers. Forge’s. Hope didn’t know anymore. She couldn’t keep anything straight. The screenshots kept merging, preventing her from splitting the experience into two distinct halves. She couldn’t separate herself from the whole. Or tell where she ended and the dragon began.
Hope squeezed her eyes shut.
More tears fell.
“Eyes on me, Hope,” Forge murmured, tone firm, yet somehow gentle. The combination cut through her fear, cleaning the suffocating stench of sulfur away. “Look at me.”
She obeyed and met his gaze.
“There’s my lass. Stay right here with me, okay?”
“Okay.” Excellent plan. Particularly since he was right. She was safe here . . . with him. How she knew that, Hope couldn’t say. Nothing proved the assertion. Empirical evidence had yet to surface, and still, she understood it was true. Forge equaled safety, at least for her. “Forge?”
“Aye?”
“I don’t like this,” she whispered, her voice hoarse.
“I know, jalâyla,” he said, anchoring her in reality, interrupting the pain. “Take a deep breath for me.”
For him. His request thumped on her mental door. Hope swallowed past the lump in her throat and . . . okay. Good enough. Despite the lockdown and her inability to move, she could do that, try to obey, do as he asked and—
He encouraged her with a murmur.
Her chest expanded. Air filled her lungs so fast the infusion of oxygen made her lightheaded for a moment.
“Good lass. Now—another.”
She took a second breath.
With a hum of approval, Forge continued talking to her, praising her efforts, wiping her tears away, the sound of his voice becoming a lifeline in the quiet. Another breath. More life-sustaining oxygen. Her mind sparked, pushing panic aside. Flat on her back on the floor, blinking into the gloom, Hope forced her eyes to adjust in the dark. The surroundings bled through the edge of awareness.
Faint light.
The rise of shadowy bedposts.
Forge straddling her hips, crouched above her and—
An odd shimmer sparked in his eyes. The glow expanded, cascading like twin waterfalls through his irises. Hope frowned. Strange. Extraordinary. All kinds of beautiful, but . . .
She raised her hand. One hand gripping his wrist, she set the other against his face, touching the corner of his eye with her fingertip. “You’re glowing.”
“Trick of the light.”
“I don’t think so.”
The corner of his mouth curved. “You think I’d lie tae you?”
“In a heartbeat,” she said, voice soft, but full of conviction. “Especially if you thought you could get away with it.”
He huffed. “You’ve had a shock, lass. You’re imagining things.”
Possible. Her mind, after all, remained mired in the dream. She shivered. “It was awful. I’ve never had a dream like that before.”
“I know. I’ll make sure it doesnae happen again.”
“How?”
“Trust me.”
Trust him. Hope frowned. Was she really ready to do that? All right, so she already felt safe with him, but trust? Such a big word. A huge leap as well, one that required both faith and courage in equal measure. “I don’t know if I can.”
“Bullshite. Of course you can. Who’s the therapist here anyway?”
Amusement trickled through her. She snorted. “I study psychology. Never said I was any good at it.”
He laughed.
The corners of his eyes crinkled, enchanting her, disarming her. As though the slight release of tension signaled her surrender, Forge pressed a soft kiss to the tip of her nose and leaned back, giving her more space. He didn’t leave her, though, or shift position.
He played instead, one hand stroking her hair as he lifted the other from her cheek. His fingertips caressed her jaw before slipping beneath her head. He cupped her nape, his grip firm enough to hold her attention. Heat poured from his palm. A strange buzz erupted between her temples. Prickles raced along her scalp, then turned tail to ghost down her spine. Chasing the odd vibration, Hope turned into his touch.
“That’s it, jalâyla,” he murmured. “Feel the flow, take all you want.”
Peace washed in like the evening tide. Rush and retreat. Roll in, pick up the slime coating her insides, push back out again. With each pass, the current intensified, taking out mental trash, rinsing her clean, shaking the nightmare’s grip. Her heartbeat slowed. Fear uncurled its claws, losing the power to hurt her.
“Feels so good.” Hope sighed. “Like a hot spring.”
“You want me tae run you a bath?”
“No. Just keep talking.”
His eyebrow hitched. “About what?”
No clue. Didn’t matter. Let him figure it out.
Hope didn’t want to think anymore. She wanted her brain to switch off, to float in the sea of feel-good while Forge held her. She drew in a shaky breath. God, he was something. Gentle. Comforting. So warm his body heat tunneled into her muscles, invaded her bones, sending prickles of relief through her. The mesmerizing wash eased her tension. Her mind blurred. She blinked, a slow up and down as coherence fled, becoming a distant memory and . . . huh. Wasn’t that odd? The question shimmered on the periphery of her mind.
She tried to nod in agreement.
Her body refused to cooperate, closing her eyes, making her go boneless beneath Forge. So relaxed. Not a care in the world. She was past fuzzy-headed, as though she’d been downing tequila shots for hours. Which was—Hope smiled—pretty darn nice. Slaphappy drunk. Sloshed. Hammered. Blitzed . . . whatever. Label the condition and get her another glass full of awesome. The buzz was bliss filled. Fantastic and fun. Pure perfection.
Someone should really figure out a way to bottle it.
Wanting more, she sank into the stream, immersing herself in the current.
“Lass?”
“Such a great accent,” she said, her voice slurring as relaxation dragged her deeper. “I love the way you sound.”
He paused mid-caress. A heartbeat passed before he stroked her again, fingers moving over her in light passes. “Anything in particular you want tae talk about?”
The amusement in his voice registered.
Hope meant to answer. She really did, but well . . . crap. She didn’t know how to react—be annoyed he laughed at her or grateful he kept touching her. A total toss-up. A real quandary. One that might, on some level, involve her pride. Hope pursed her lips. She should probably do something about that, but honestly—what did it matter? The slow glide of his hands soothed her. And every word he spoke, the timbre of his baritone, set her adrift, widening the distance between her and the dream.
“Hope?”
Her eyes drifted open. “Hmm?”
His lips twitched. “I’m still waiting for a topic.”
Confusion broke into her bubble. “A topic?”<
br />
“Aye. If you want me tae talk, I need a topic.”
“Oh well . . . anything. I could listen to you for hours.” Releasing her grip on his wrist, she lifted her hand. So heavy. Her arm weighed a ton, as though cement had replaced the marrow in her bones. After what seemed like forever, her fingers touched down, grazing over day-old whiskers before reaching Forge’s mouth. She traced his bottom lip. “Totally kissable. Bet you taste good.”
Surprise lit in his eyes. He drew a quick breath.
Tilting her head, she considered his need for a topic. An idea flashed through her mind, lighting her up like a lightbulb. Oh yeah. She smiled. Awesome. Best plan ever. “Read to me. You got any books in here?”
Expression serious, he shook his head. “Architectural Digest. A tome on fine whiskeys.”
“Ugh,” she said, disappointed. She’d been hoping for something more interesting, like say, The Bourne Identity. “You like whiskey?”
“Love it. I’m building a cellar for my collection in the underground lair.”
“Can I see it?”
“Aye, if you like.”
“In the meantime, we still need a book.”
His gaze dropped to her lips. “I have something else in mind.”
“Something I’ll like better?”
“Absolutely.”
Oh wonderful. Excellent, in fact. “What?”
“This.”
Cupping her chin, Forge dipped his head and invaded her mouth. Shock held her still. She sucked in a breath. His tongue slid over her teeth, flicked at hers, urging a response and . . . holy Mary, mother of God. She’d been wrong. So completely wrong. He tasted better than good. He was delicious, pure delight buried inside an impossibly gorgeous man. One who felt far too right.
The thought sent alarm bells clanging inside her head.
She should stop him. Right now. This instant. Before she went too far, allowed too much, and couldn’t pull back. And yet, she didn’t turn away. She welcomed him instead, opening wider, kissing him back, letting her hands roam and her libido out to play.
He groaned her name.
She whispered back, caressing his shoulders, burying her hands in his hair, asking for more. For everything, all he wanted to give her.
Bad plan. Big, big trouble.
Making love with Forge was a terrible idea. The worst, a fifteen on a scale of one to ten.
Hope knew it. Deep down where propriety lived, all the reasons to say no bubbled to the surface. A long list—practically endless—one she should heed, but . . . nope. Not today. She didn’t want to listen. She wanted to wallow instead—burrow in, accept the pleasure, and make a home in his arms. She longed for him. His acceptance of her need. Hot, hard, unapologetic lust. Desire at its most ferocious. And as Forge offered it to her, she surrendered, giving him everything he asked, addicted to the rush in her veins—the unshakable sense of connection—as he settled heavy against her.
His weight pressed her into the rug.
Hooking her knee over his hip, Hope hung on hard, allowing him to settle between her thighs, scraping her nails over his scalp, egging him on without words. Forge deepened the kiss. She moaned in delight. More, she needed more—harder, faster . . . naked. Yes, please, naked. It couldn’t happen fast enough. She needed to be skin-to-skin with him—to touch and taste, to serve herself up for his pleasure and reap her own in return. It had been so long, too long, since she’d given herself to a man. Since she’d wanted so much and been held so well, so . . .
Forget about right. Here, right now, was all about wrong.
Forge desired her. She craved him. So yeah. She would take what she wanted. All the reasons it was a bad idea would have to wait. She was jumping in feetfirst. To hell with the consequences.
Chapter Fourteen
Forge needed to stop kissing her. He shouldn’t be holding her. Shouldn’t have his hands anywhere near her gorgeous arse either. And caressing her petal-soft skin? Oh, so not a good idea. He ought to be shot. Drawn and quartered. Hung from the nearest rafter. Or something. Maybe then his brain would kick over and order him to do the right thing. Wanting her wasn’t the issue. Taking her—making Hope his—didn’t qualify as the main problem, but . . . good Christ. He shouldn’t be doing it like this, with her reeling, punch drunk from the healing energy his dragon half continued to feed her.
An honorable male would back off.
Think.
Assess.
Sit her down and talk it out.
Which made it official. He should pull away, explain the way things worked while he made his position clear and let her decide. Only two options existed for females in his world—accept his dragon half, become his mate, or run like hell. Clear cut. Concise. No room for misinterpretation. And yet, as her tongue tangled with his and lust unfurled, Forge wanted to ignore the rules. Screw the handbook and the arsehole who’d written it. He wanted to be selfish and remain where he was—on top of Hope, hips cradled between her thighs, chest pressed to her breasts, mouth fused to hers.
With a groan, he shifted to one side.
He needed access. More of her body available to him.
Taking his time, he stroked her, each touch light, giving her time to come to her senses and push him away. His fingertips ghosted over her stomach, then paused, hovering above her skin. Wait a moment. Draw it out. Let the anticipation of his next caress build as he lifted his lips from hers. Questions must be asked and answered. He needed to make sure she wanted him as much as he did her before—
“Please,” she whispered, desperation in her voice.
“I know what you want.” Goddamn. Did he ever. Energy-fuse gave him a direct line to her thoughts. Erotic images floated through her mind, invading his and . . . God have mercy. Talk about X-rated. Her imagination outdid his, pushing into porn star territory. She wanted to be naked in his arms, spread open, on display, her body available for whatever he wanted, just as long as he mastered her in the end.
Eyes closed, Hope arched, begging for his touch. “Please.”
“Donnae worry, luv.” Dipping his head, he licked her bottom lip. “I’ll give you what you need.”
Eager to keep his promise, he slid his hand beneath her shirt. Soft skin brushed his palm. Cotton rose, baring her midriff, bunching against his forearm. Wanting to look, but needing her mouth more, he kissed her again. And again. Over and over. Light caresses. Deeper possessive forays. A game of taunt and tease, gifting her with his taste, treating himself to hers, arousing her as he tried to get his fill. It would never happen. He knew it without proof. One kiss, and she’d ruined him for other females. Corrupted him with her sweetness. Destroyed him with her willingness to please him.
With an impatient whimper, she twisted beneath him.
Turning his hand, Forge stroked over her hip, the dip of her waist, slipping over her rib cage, worshiping her curves before releasing her mouth. He grabbed the hem of her T-shirt, and with a hard tug, pulled it over her head. Her hair caught on the fabric, then broke free, tumbling over her shoulders. His breath caught. Holy shite. He should’ve realized. No bra, which left her bare, on display in the low light. Exposed to his gaze. Ready for his hands. In need of his mouth to warm her in the cool air.
He traced the underside of her breast.
Color bloomed in her cheeks. Her lips parted on a moan as she rose to meet his next stroke. So pretty. Incredibly sensitive. A gorgeous, round handful, the perfect fit for his palm. Watching her face, he played, cupping her firmly, letting her feel him before brushing his thumb over her peak. Her eyelashes fluttered. A shiver shook her. Pleasure rumbled through him. Hot. Needy. Beautiful in his arms. Hope was a dream come true, his siren song, the one he’d been waiting for all his life. The female he needed above all others.
The thought registered.
His sense of fair play squawked, splitting his attention. Shite. Again with his ethics. Bloody scruples. Terrible fucking time to be interrupted by principles.
With a growl, Forg
e steeled himself, preparing to pull away. No matter how incredible Hope looked in his arms—or how much she made him feel—making love to her was wrong, the absolute worst way to start a relationship. Forge knew it. And even if he didn’t, his conscience refused to let him forget. The bloody thing kept screaming—stop, stop . . . STOP! The warning flashed like a neon sign inside his head. Not hard to guess why. Hiding the truth from her would only lead to problems later on. Honesty was a factor. His need to protect her from all comers—himself included—was another. She needed to know about Dragonkind before he claimed her. Which meant he should tell her everything, starting with—
His dragon half stirred, waking from pleasure-bound oblivion.
The beast snarled in warning.
Forge flinched and turned his focus inward. A steely-eyed glare met his and . . . ah, hell. Not good. Terrible, in point of fact, given his territorial side didn’t agree with the plan. The greedy bastard despised principles. Cared even less for honesty. Or that Hope wasn’t quite herself at the moment. The beast wanted what it wanted—to claim his female, bind her to him so hard and fast she’d stay even after she learned the truth.
Bad idea. His conscience told him so.
He must refocus . . . fast. Things needed to go a certain way. Hope deserved the truth. All his consideration. Every bit of his patience. She needed to be clearheaded when he took her the first time. Not fucked up, drunk on his essence, deep in the pleasure of her first energy feed. Great thought. Absolutely right. Being up-front, giving her a choice, was the decent way to go. Forge nodded. All right, good. Problem solved. Now all he needed to do was stop kissing her.
Fury of Surrender (Dragonfury Series Book 6) Page 19
