Chapter 5 #2
"Arms up." He bracketed mine with his, chest pressed fully against my back now.
I could feel every ridge of muscle, every breath he took, and—gods help me—the growing hardness pressing against my lower back.
"When someone strikes, you redirect here—" His hand guided mine through the motion, our bodies moving together in a way that made heat pool low in my belly.
"Focus," he commanded, but his voice had gone rough. Through the bond, I felt his struggle—the instructor fighting against the male, the promise of control battling the urge to claim.
"I am focused," I said, deliberately pressing back against him.
His growl vibrated through both our bodies. "Brat."
But he didn't step away. Instead, he guided me through more forms, each one requiring more contact.
His hand on my inner thigh to adjust my stance.
My leg sliding between his to practice a sweep that brought our hips together.
The moment when he demonstrated a shoulder throw and I ended up pressed against the wall, his body caging mine, both of us breathing hard.
"You're not trying to hurt them," he explained, but his eyes were fixed on my mouth. "You're using their aggression against them. They push, you pull. They pull, you become immovable."
"What if they pin me?"
The question changed something in his expression, made those crystalline veins pulse faster. "Let me show you."
Before I could prepare, he moved. One moment I was standing, the next I was on my back on the padded floor.
He'd controlled my fall completely—no impact, no pain, just the sudden reality of his weight above me.
My wrists were captured above my head in one of his hands, his grip firm but not painful.
His other hand pressed against the mat beside my head, keeping most of his weight off me while still making escape impossible.
"This isn't about fighting," I whispered, hips rolling up against him instinctively.
The movement brought my core against the hard length of him through our clothes, and we both groaned.
He was so thick, so impossibly long, and the friction sent sparks through every nerve.
My body clenched around nothing, desperate to be filled, and through the bond I felt his answering need—the urge to tear away the barriers between us and claim what we both wanted.
He ground down once, just once, but that single movement sent spasms of pleasure through me that made my back arch off the mat. The angle was perfect, the pressure exactly what I needed, and if he just moved like that a few more times—
"Everything is about power," he said, voice strained as he fought for control. "Who has it. Who yields it. Who earns the right to wield it."
His face was inches from mine, close enough that I could see the flecks of gold in his copper eyes, could count the beats of his pulse in those crystalline veins. Through the bond, his control splintered like ice under spring sun—fracturing, melting, about to give way completely.
"I want to yield it," I breathed, and felt him shudder above me. "Want to give you that power, Daddy."
The word shattered something in him. His grip on my wrists tightened, and he pressed his forehead against mine, breathing harsh.
Through our connection came wave after wave of need—not just physical but emotional, spiritual, the dragon's recognition of its mate warring with the man's need for consent and control.
"You don't know what you're asking for," he ground out.
"Then show me." I wrapped one leg around his hip, pulling him closer, feeling him throb against me through the layers of fabric. "Stop being careful. Stop holding back. Show me what it means to be yours."
His eyes blazed with heat that made my insides liquify. For a moment, I thought he would. Thought he'd tear away our clothes and take what we both desperately wanted. The tension between us had reached a breaking point, the air itself seeming to crackle with barely restrained power.
"Three days," he said, but it sounded more like a prayer than a reminder. "We agreed to three days."
"Fuck the rules," I breathed.
The words hung between us like a challenge, like permission, like the key to a door we'd both been pressing against. His control balanced on a knife's edge, and we both knew it. One more word, one more movement, and the careful boundaries we'd set would shatter like glass.
His mouth was so close to mine I could taste his breath—mountain stone and dark desire.
Something in Garruk snapped—I saw it happen, felt it through the bond like a dam giving way after centuries of pressure. His mouth crashed down on mine with the force of an avalanche, and every thought I'd ever had about kissing shattered into irrelevance.
This wasn't a kiss—it was claiming, possession, centuries of loneliness and want poured into the contact between our mouths.
His tongue swept past my lips without asking permission, and I moaned at the taste of him—stone and storm and something wild that made my hindbrain recognize predator even as my body arched into him.
He swallowed my sounds like a man dying of thirst, his hand leaving my wrists to tangle in my hair, angling my head so he could deepen the kiss. Through the bond, his need crashed into me in waves—not just physical but soul-deep, the dragon's recognition of its mate finally given permission to act.
My freed hands went straight to his chest, fingers tracing those crystalline veins that pulsed frantically under my touch. They did feel different—smoother than skin but warm, almost alive, and when I scraped my nails across one, he growled into my mouth in a way that sent heat straight to my core.
"Please," I gasped when he moved to my throat, his teeth scraping against the mica marks that had become so sensitive. "I need—Daddy, please—"
His control, already fractured, shattered completely.
His hands were everywhere at once—pushing up my training shirt to find heated skin, gripping my hips hard enough to bruise, sliding under the waistband of my pants with desperate purpose.
Each touch left trails of fire, the bond amplifying every sensation until I couldn't tell where I ended and he began.
"Mine," he growled against my collar, and the possessive made me writhe beneath him. "My mate, my little one, mine to protect and pleasure and—"
My hands found his pants, tugging with graceless urgency. I needed to feel him, needed the barriers gone, needed what we'd been dancing around since I first saw him in that cave. He lifted his hips just enough for me to push the fabric down, and then—
"Oh gods," I breathed.
He was impossibly thick, longer than anything that should reasonably fit inside a human body. The head was already slick with need, and when I wrapped my hand around him—barely able to close my fingers around his girth—he thrust into my grip with a sound that was pure dragon despite his human form.
"You'll destroy me," I whispered, but my body was already adjusting, already preparing, the bond somehow making what should be impossible feel inevitable.
"Never," he said roughly, tearing my training pants down with one hand. The fabric gave way like paper, leaving me bare beneath him. "The bond prepares you, changes you. Makes you perfect for me."
His fingers found me wet and ready, and when he touched my clit with his thumb, I nearly came just from that simple contact. Everything was too sensitive, too much, the bond singing between us with increasing intensity.
"So wet," he marveled, fingers exploring with reverent precision. "Is this all for me, little one?"
"Yes, Daddy, yes, please, I need—"
Stone ground against stone in the corridor—that distinctive sound of an elemental moving with purpose. We both froze, him buried maybe two inches inside me, both of us panting like we'd run for miles.
No. No, this couldn't be happening. Not now, not when we were finally—
The elemental appeared in the doorway, its molten core pulsing with what might have been embarrassment if rocks could feel such things. But its message came out in those grinding tones that brooked no delay:
"Urgent message. Lord Rovik sends a missive requesting his documents. He threatens your domain. The Dragon Lords convene immediately."
Garruk snarled with frustrated fury that made the temperature spike twenty degrees. The sound was pure dragon—possessive and aggressive and absolutely murderous. For a moment, I thought he might ignore the summons, might finish what we'd started regardless of politics or threats.
"Rovik." Garruk's voice had gone deadly flat. "That animal."
He helped me to my feet, steadying me when my legs threatened to buckle. Through the bond, I felt him compartmentalizing—shoving down his need, his want, everything we'd almost done, and replacing it with the cold calculation of a Dragon Lord whose territory was being threatened.
But underneath that control, I felt something else. A promise. This wasn't over. What we'd started would be finished, and soon.
The elemental turned and ground its way back down the corridor, its message delivered. Garruk touched my face with surprising gentleness, thumb tracing my swollen lips.
"This is not how I wanted—" He stopped, jaw clenching. "We will wait until we are joined by the pact. If we are joined."
There was something else in his expression now—not just frustration but genuine worry.
"Do you think Rovik wants me?" I asked.
"It doesn’t matter what he wants." The words were soft, but the menace in them made my bones ache. "He'll learn what happens when someone tries to take what belongs to a dragon."