Tempest Rising (The Dragonne Library #2)

Chapter 27

Tess

The water cascaded down Mason’s broad shoulders, glistening over his dark skin. He loomed over me, a primal force tempered by an almost reverent gentleness.

“Tess,” he murmured, his deep, gravelly voice vibrating through me. “You’re everything to me. I’ve waited so long for this—waited so long for you.”

His large hands framed my face, his thumbs brushing the corners of my lips as though memorizing every inch of me. Before I could respond, his lips captured mine in a kiss that was both tender and possessive, a contradiction so uniquely Mason. I melted against him, clutching his shoulders for balance as a cascade of feelings—desire, love, longing—swept me under like a tidal wave.

He pulled back just enough to let me breathe, his molten gaze never leaving mine. “You’re mine, Tess. Say it.”

"I'm yours, Mason." The words came unbidden, but they felt right, like a truth I'd always known. "I've always been yours."

The growl that rumbled from his chest sent a shiver through me, a delicious thrill that only grew stronger as his massive hands roamed my body—slowly, reverently, as though I were something precious.

His lips captured mine again, hungry and demanding this time. The kiss was deep, passionate, his tongue sweeping into my mouth as his hands pulled me closer against his hard chest. I melted into him, overwhelmed by the heat of his touch and the intensity of his desire.

Mason's hands, calloused and strong, roamed over my back, pulling me impossibly closer. His touch ignited a fire within me that no amount of shower water could quench.

His lips moved from mine, blazing a trail down my neck, each kiss a brand that claimed me as his. I gasped as he nipped at my earlobe, sending shivers down my spine. "Mason," I whispered, my voice a mixture of plea and prayer.

He growled in response, the sound a primal vibration that resonated with the deepest parts of me. His hands found my breasts, cradling them with a reverence that made my knees weak. His fingers teased my nipples into hard peaks, each tweak sending jolts of pleasure straight to my core.

"So beautiful," he murmured, his gaze locked onto mine as he continued his exquisite torment.

I could barely breathe as he sank to his knees before me, the water cascading over his muscular form, plastering his hair to his head. Even with his pants still on, the sight of this powerful man kneeling at my feet was intoxicating.

His hands gripped my hips, his fingers digging into my flesh with a need that mirrored my own. "I need to taste you, Tess," he said, his voice a low rumble that I felt in the very marrow of my bones.

Before I could reply, he buried his face between my thighs, his tongue darting out to explore me with a hunger that left me trembling. The sensation of his hot mouth on my most sensitive spot was almost too much to bear. I threaded my fingers through his wet hair, holding on as waves of pleasure crashed over me.

"Oh, god," I moaned, my voice echoing off the tiled walls.

Mason's only response was to intensify his efforts, his tongue circling and flicking with expert precision. I could feel the buildup of tension deep within, a coiling spring that threatened to unravel at any moment.

"You taste so damn good," he groaned against me, the vibrations sending me even closer to the edge.

I was lost in a sea of sensation, each stroke of his tongue pushing me further into the abyss. My hips moved of their own accord, grinding against his mouth as I chased the release that was just out of reach.

"Mason, please," I begged, not even sure what I was asking for.

He knew, though. He always knew. With a final, devastating flick of his tongue, he sent me spiraling into oblivion, my cries of ecstasy mingling with the sound of the rushing water.

Shell-shocked, I could barely stand as Mason rose, turning off the water. I barely noticed as he removed the rest of his clothes and gathered me in his strong arms, carrying me to where the towels waited.

“You’re so soft,” he murmured. “So fragile. And yet... so damn strong. My mate.”

He finished drying me and carried me to the bed, laying me down with infinite care. His gaze traveled over me, dark and hungry, but his touch was featherlight. He ran his fingers along the curve of my hip, tracing patterns against my damp skin that made me shiver.

Mason's lips found mine again, and this time, his kiss was fierce and demanding, filled with the raw intensity of his need. The sight of his wings emerging, faintly trembling, sent a thrill through me. They stretched behind him, their stony texture catching the light and casting shadows across the room. They were so big, so powerful, so inherently masculine that it took my breath away.

As I looked up at him, my gaze drank in the sight of his beautifully sculpted chest, the defined ridges of his abdomen, and the broad expanse of his shoulders, all etched with the strength and grace of a warrior. His skin, a warm shade of dark brown, seemed to glow in the soft light, highlighting the contours of his muscles. My eyes traveled lower, and I couldn't help but notice the impressive size of his cock, thick and hard, just like the rest of him. It was intimidating, yet the thought of him inside me made a heat pool deep in my belly.

He caught my lingering gaze and a low, rumbling chuckle escaped his lips. "Don't worry, it will fit," he murmured reassuringly, his voice a deep, resonant sound that vibrated through me. "You're my mate." The certainty in his voice was unshakeable, a testament to the bond that tied us together.

Mason’s lips found mine again, his touch both tender and demanding. His kiss was fiercer this time, filled with the raw intensity of his need, a need that mirrored my own. His hands roamed over my breasts, his thumbs teasing my nipples into hard peaks before they continued their exploration downward, tracing the curve of my waist and hip until they reached the apex of my thighs.

He slid a finger inside me, then two, stroking and curling with a maddening rhythm that built the tension until pleasure coiled tight in my core, a sensation so exquisite it bordered on pain.

"Don't stop," I gasped, my fingers digging into his shoulders. "I'm so close, Mason. Please... please don't stop."

“Don’t worry,” he growled. “I’ll take care of you.”

I arched against his hand, the pleasure building to a crescendo that left me panting and desperate for more. "Mason," I breathed, my voice barely above a whisper, "I need you. Now."

"Are you sure, Tess?" he asked, his voice gruff with need. "Once we do this, there's no going back."

"I've never been more sure of anything in my life," I replied, my voice steady and full of conviction. I was ready to take this final step, to solidify our bond in the most intimate way possible.

He positioned himself at my entrance, the tip of him nudging my slick folds. I tensed slightly, realizing the extent of his size, but I trusted him completely.

As he pushed forward, I felt the stretch, the delicious mix of pressure and pleasure as he filled me inch by inch. The feeling of fullness was intense, bordering on too much, but the ache was quickly overtaken by a rising tide of ecstasy.

"Are you okay?" Mason's voice was strained, his muscles coiled with the effort of holding still. "Tell me if it's too much."

"It's perfect," I managed, drawing him closer for a searing kiss. "You're perfect. Please, Mason, move."

He did, withdrawing slowly before plunging back in, setting a deep, powerful rhythm that rocked my entire body. Each thrust sent sparks through my nerves, stoking the fire building inside me. I met him thrust for thrust, my hips rising to take him deeper.

The room filled with the sounds of our lovemaking—the slap of skin on skin, our mingled groans and sighs, the creaking of the bed beneath us.

“You’re mine,” he growled, his voice rough with passion. “Mine to protect. Mine to love. Forever.”

“Yes,” I gasped. “Forever.”

The pleasure built until it crested, wave after wave of ecstasy crashing over me, dragging Mason under with me. We came together, our bodies shuddering with the force of it, our voices mingling in a final cry of completion. In that moment, I felt our bond snap into place, a tangible thread tying us together, heart and soul.

Afterward, we lay tangled together. My cheek rested against the broad expanse of Mason’s chest, rising and falling steadily with his breaths. The hard planes of muscle beneath my fingertips were a sharp contrast to the softness in his dark eyes as he gazed down at me. There was something unreadable in his expression, something that made me ache and yet feel whole at the same time.

“So…” I began, my voice barely above a whisper, “this mating thing. It’s official now, right?”

The corners of his mouth lifted into a small, crooked smile. “It’s official,” he rumbled, his voice low and gravelly, a sound that sent a shiver cascading down my spine. “You’re mine now, Tess. My mate.”

His words should have felt possessive, maybe even suffocating, but they didn’t. Instead, they felt like an anchor, something solid I could hold onto as the storm of my life raged around me. “Yours,” I murmured, testing the word on my tongue as a smile tugged at my lips. “I like the sound of that.”

Mason’s hand came up to cup my face, his thumb brushing against my cheek in a gesture so gentle it made my chest tighten. “And I’m yours,” he said simply, as though it were the most natural thing in the world.

I swallowed hard against the lump rising in my throat. “What does it mean, exactly? Being your mate, I mean.”

He shifted slightly, propping himself up on one elbow so he could look down at me. The movement made the sheets slip lower on his torso, revealing more of the intricate tattoos that traced across his dark skin. His wings, still partially unfurled from earlier, cast faint shadows across the bed.

“It means a lot of things,” he said, his tone thoughtful. “For Gargoyle Shifters, it’s... instinctual. Once we find our mate, our wings manifest for them—like they did for you earlier. It’s a sign of our bond. A part of me recognizing you as mine.”

My eyes widened as I remembered the moment from earlier that night. His wings had burst forth in a display of raw power and beauty, wrapping around me like a shield. “Your wings,” I said softly, my gaze flicking back to them. “They’re incredible, Mason. Can I... can I touch them?”

“Of course. They’re yours to touch.”

I sat up, the sheet pooling around my waist, and turned to get a better look. The massive, stone-gray wings stretched out behind him, their surface marked with intricate patterns that seemed to shift and glow faintly in the soft light. They were breathtaking. Tentatively, I reached out, my fingers brushing the base where they connected to his back.

Mason sucked in a sharp breath, his entire body tensing beneath my touch. “They’re... sensitive,” he admitted, his voice tight.

I froze, panic flaring in my chest. “Oh no, did I hurt you?”

His lips quirked into a small smile, though his eyes had darkened with something I couldn’t quite name. “Not hurt,” he said, his voice rougher now. “The base is... kind of an erogenous zone.”

“Oh.” My cheeks heated, the flush spreading down my neck. “Good to know.”

He chuckled softly, the sound low and rumbling, and reached out to take my hand in his. “Don’t stop,” he murmured, his voice dropping into a growl that sent warmth pooling in my stomach. “I like it.”

Tentatively, I let my fingers explore the surface of his wings. They were smooth yet firm, like polished stone warmed by sunlight. The markings shifted subtly under my touch, and I leaned closer, marveling at their beauty. As I traced one of the patterns near the base, Mason’s breath hitched, his wings trembling faintly in response.

“These markings,” I murmured, my voice soft with awe. “They’ve changed, haven’t they?”

He nodded, his dark eyes locked on mine, a quiet intensity in his gaze. “They do,” he said, his voice low and steady. “When we mate, they shift. It’s not just a reflection of the bond—it’s a part of me... changing for you.”

The weight of his words wrapped around me, heady and profound. I leaned forward, pressing a kiss to one of the shifting patterns, my lips brushing against the warm, solid surface of his skin. “They’re beautiful,” I whispered, my voice barely audible.

Mason’s expression softened, his wings curving slightly inward as though to shield us from the outside world. “It’s not just decorative,” he said quietly, his tone reverent. “The bond changes us both. Our connection strengthens our physical abilities—sharpening senses, enhancing strength. Even my Gargoyle form... it will be larger now, more powerful because of you.”

A flicker of wonder fluttered through me at the enormity of what he was saying. This wasn’t just about him; it was about us. The bond we’d forged had altered us both, drawing us closer in ways I was only beginning to understand.

As my gaze drifted downward, I caught sight of the faint scars crisscrossing his chest and sides, barely visible against the rich dark tone of his skin. My breath hitched, my heart aching at the sight of them. I reached out, my fingers brushing lightly over one of the marks, tracing its jagged path. “These...” I said, my voice thick with emotion. “They’re from the fighting ring, aren’t they?”

Mason’s jaw tightened, and though he didn’t speak immediately, his silence spoke volumes. The scars told a story of pain, survival, and resilience—a part of him that he carried silently, just as I carried my own. It was a reminder of everything he’d endured, and yet here he was, steady and unyielding like the stone he could so effortlessly become.

“Yeah,” he finally said, his voice low and gravelly, as if the words themselves hurt to say. “They’re from a long time ago.”

I could see the weight he still carried—the shame that lingered in his dark eyes, the way his broad shoulders tensed as if bracing for judgment. But judgment was the furthest thing from my mind. All I felt was gratitude—gratitude that he had survived, that he was here with me, whole and alive. My chest ached, and I couldn’t stop myself from leaning closer.

Without hesitation, I pressed my lips to one of the scars on his chest, a soft kiss meant to soothe. Then another, and another, each kiss carrying the words I couldn’t quite say aloud. His body tensed beneath me, the muscles in his chest coiling like a spring, but he didn’t pull away.

“Thank you,” I whispered, my lips brushing against his skin. “For surviving. For fighting your way out of that hell and finding your way to me.”

Mason exhaled sharply, the sound almost a growl, his large hands coming to rest on my arms. His touch was warm, grounding, but there was a tremor in his fingers that betrayed the storm beneath his calm exterior.

He shifted closer, his thumb tracing a slow, deliberate path along the curve of my neck. The subtle pressure sent a shiver cascading down my spine, my breath catching in my throat. Heat pooled low in my stomach, anticipation coiling tight—until a different warmth bloomed beneath my shoulder blade, distinct from the pleasure Mason's touch ignited.

It started as a faint pulse beneath my shoulder blade, spreading outward in steady waves that made the rest of the room feel colder by comparison. It wasn’t unpleasant—far from it—but it was impossible to ignore. I shifted uncomfortably, reaching back with my hand, my fingers brushing against the spot like I could somehow soothe it.

Mason’s sharp eyes caught the movement instantly. He sat up straighter, the bed creaking softly under his weight as his dark gaze locked on me.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, his voice low and gravelly, with that quiet intensity that always made me feel seen.

I hesitated, my fingers pausing where they pressed against the heat. “It’s… my tattoo,” I said softly, glancing over my shoulder at him. “Something’s happening. It feels… different.”

His brows furrowed, and without another word, he shifted closer, the mattress dipping beneath his weight. “Let me see,” he said simply, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Swallowing hard, I turned my back to him and tugged the sheet down from my shoulder, exposing the mark. Cool air kissed my skin, a stark contrast to the pulsing heat beneath the tattoo. The room was silent except for the faint rustle of fabric and the sound of Mason’s measured breathing, deep and steady, though I sensed the tension he was trying to suppress.

His touch came a moment later—warm, calloused fingers brushing lightly against my skin. I flinched, not from pain, but from the sheer intensity of the sensation. His hand stilled immediately.

“Does it hurt?” he asked, his voice softer now, almost a whisper.

“No,” I said, shaking my head. “It’s just… intense.”

He resumed his exploration, his fingertips tracing the lines of the coiled dragon etched into my skin. His touch was deliberate, reverent even, and I couldn’t suppress the shiver that rippled through me. Somewhere deep inside, I felt a faint hum, as if the mark itself were coming alive beneath his fingers.

“It’s changing,” Mason murmured, his voice tinged with awe. He leaned in closer, his breath warm against my skin as his thumb brushed over the mark. “There’s… a flame now. Dark gray. Like a stone.”

I turned my head slightly, trying to catch his expression, but his focus was entirely on the tattoo. “Dark gray? What does that mean?” I asked, my voice shaking just enough to betray the nervous energy coiled in my chest.

He didn’t answer right away. His thumb lingered on the mark, and I felt a faint ripple of energy beneath my skin, like the tattoo itself was responding to him. Finally, he exhaled, his breath brushing against my back.

“It’s my flame. A part of me… tied to you,” he said quietly, the words heavy with meaning. “ But there's another flame here. A shadow.”

I froze, my heart skipping a beat. I pulled the sheet back up over my shoulder and turned to face him, the vulnerability I felt mirrored in his dark, searching eyes.

“It started with Ciaran,” I admitted, the words tumbling out before I could stop them. My cheeks burned as I looked away, unable to hold his gaze. “The mark first appeared when we kissed.”

His hand stilled, his brows furrowing slightly.

“Ciaran?” he asked, his voice calm but carrying an undercurrent of something I couldn’t quite name. “Who’s Ciaran?”

“He’s my mate... supposedly,” I admitted, my cheeks flushing with heat.

Mason’s brow furrowed, his lips pressing into a thin line as he leaned back slightly. “Ciaran… haven’t heard him.”

I couldn’t tell what he was thinking, and the uncertainty gnawed at me. The silence stretched on, and I couldn’t stop the nervous words that tumbled out of my mouth.

“I—I didn’t know what it meant at first,” I said, my voice trembling. “And I didn’t know how to tell you. I was scared you’d be… upset or—”

“Tess.” His voice cut through my rambling, quiet but firm. The sound of it steadied me, as if he’d reached out and physically pressed a hand to my shoulder to ground me. He turned to face me fully, his eyes softer now, though still unreadable. “I’m not upset. And I’m not angry.”

“You’re not?” I blinked, my heart stuttering in my chest.

He shook his head, a small smile curving his lips. “No. It’s unusual for a human, I suppose. But polyamorous relationships aren’t exactly uncommon in our world. And… if anything, I’m relieved.”

“Relieved?” I echoed, confused.

He reached out then, his hand cupping my cheek with a tenderness that made my chest ache. The heat of his palm seeped into my skin, grounding me in the moment. “Because it means you’ll have more people to protect you. To care for you.” His thumb brushed against my cheekbone, and I leaned into his touch, my eyes stinging with unshed tears.

The knot of tension in my chest loosened, and for the first time in weeks, I felt like I could breathe. He wasn’t angry. He wasn’t walking away. He was… accepting. Maybe I wasn’t as broken as I thought. Maybe I wasn’t asking for too much after all.

“But…” His smile turned playful, a spark of mischief lighting his dark eyes. “My gargoyle side? He’s not too thrilled about sharing you just yet.”

I let out a breathless laugh, the tension dissolving into something lighter, warmer. “Oh, really?”

He nodded, his expression growing more serious as he leaned closer, his voice dropping to a low rumble that sent a shiver down my spine. “Gargoyles are… possessive by nature. It’s in our blood. And right now, my instincts are screaming at me to make sure you know exactly how much you mean to me.”

My breath hitched as his hand slid from my cheek to rest on my waist, his touch firm but gentle. “Mason—” I began, but my words were swallowed by his lips as he kissed me, tender and demanding all at once.

His weight pressed me into the mattress as he rolled us over, his large frame enveloping me. “I’m not done worshipping you yet.”