Chapter 39
THIRTY-NINE
CASSIA
They made love twice more before dawn.
The second time was slower, gentler—exploration rather than desperation.
He rolled her onto her stomach, trailing kisses down her spine while his hands mapped the curves of her hips, her waist, the dip at the small of her back.
When he slid inside her from behind, they both sighed at the different angle, the new sensations.
“You’re so deep like this,” she gasped, gripping the pillow.
“Too much?”
“Never. More.”
He gave her more—slow, deep thrusts that built pleasure in languid waves. His hand slid around to find her clit, stroking in time with his movements. She came with a shudder, and he followed moments later, groaning her name against her shoulder.
Afterward, she discovered he was ticklish behind his left knee, and he discovered that biting the curve where his neck met his shoulder made him completely incoherent. They filed away the information for future use.
They talked between rounds, lazy and content. He told her about the first storm he’d ever summoned—as a young dragon, barely a century old, trying to impress a rival who’d mocked his control. He’d accidentally caused a three-day tempest that flooded half a valley.
“So you’ve been dramatic since birth,” Cassia said. “Good to know.”
“I was young. Impulsive. I’ve gotten better.”
“Have you? Because the lightning during our first kiss says otherwise.”
He silenced her with a kiss that led, inevitably, to round three.
The third time was fast and urgent. She straddled him, sinking down onto his hard length with a moan that echoed off the cabin walls. He gripped her hips, guiding her rhythm as she rode him—harder, faster, chasing the pleasure that built with every roll of her hips.
“Fuck, you’re beautiful,” he groaned, watching her move above him. “The way you look right now—”
She braced her hands on his chest, nails digging in. “Less talking. More—”
He surged up, flipping them so she was beneath him again, and drove into her with renewed intensity.
The approaching dawn was a reminder of what waited beyond the cabin walls, and they didn’t talk about it.
Didn’t need to. The awareness was there in every thrust, every kiss, every whispered plea for more, harder, faster, please.
When they came, it was almost simultaneous—her crying out his name, him groaning hers into the curve of her neck.
This might be all we get, the urgency said. Make it count.
They had. They did.
Afterward, tangled in sheets that smelled like ozone and smoke—their combined scents, she realized, their magic leaving traces on everything they touched—Cassia watched the first light of dawn creep across the ceiling.
“I should go.” She didn’t move. “Get back to the cottage. Check on Gust. Prepare.”
“Probably.” Aero’s arm tightened around her waist. “In a minute.”
“You said that ten minutes ago.”
“And I’ll say it again in ten more.”
She turned in his arms, facing him. In the growing light, she could see every detail—the gray at his temples, the lines at the corners of his eyes (laugh lines, she was certain, though he probably hadn’t used them in decades), the way he looked at her like she was something precious.
“Whatever happens today,” she said quietly, “I want you to know—last night was worth it. All of it. The chaos, the property damage, and the near-death experiences. Worth it.”
“That’s supposed to be my line.” His voice was rough. “I’m the one who’s been alone for centuries. I’m the one who should be grateful.”
“Gratitude isn’t a competition.”
“Everything is a competition. I’m a dragon.” But he was smiling, and when he kissed her, it was soft and sweet and full of promises he couldn’t make out loud.
They lay there in silence as the sky lightened, neither willing to break the spell. The world outside was waiting—a siren’s vengeance, a wave that could destroy everything, a battle that might not end well. But for these last few minutes, none of it existed.
There was only warmth, and quiet, and the steady rhythm of a dragon’s heart beneath her palm.
“Aero?” she murmured.
“Mm?”
“For what it’s worth—you’re not terrible at this intimacy thing. Despite what you said.”
His laugh was quiet, almost disbelieving. “High praise from a woman who once called me an emotionally constipated disaster.”
“You are an emotionally constipated disaster. But you’re my emotionally constipated disaster.” She pressed a kiss to his jaw. “And I wouldn’t have you any other way.”
“Before you—before Haven Shores—I was content to spend another century alone. Collecting data. Avoiding anything that might make me feel something. Then you walked into my sight, and my dragon woke up for the first time in longer than I can remember, and nothing has been the same since.”
“Regrets?”
“None.” The word was immediate, certain. “Whatever happens today—I regret nothing. This night. These weeks. You.”
The dawn broke fully, painting the room in shades of gold and rose. Somewhere out in the Pacific, a wave was building. A siren was waiting. A battle was coming.
But not yet. For one more moment, the world could wait.
Cassia settled against Aero’s chest, listening to the slow beat of his heart, feeling the warmth of his skin against hers. Whatever came next—whatever horrors the day would bring—she would face them knowing this:
She was loved. Not in spite of being too much, but because of it.
For a woman who’d spent her whole life being told to be less, to contain herself, to make herself smaller—that was worth more than she had words to express.
And that was worth fighting for.