Chapter 11
Bianca
Learning that Kevin might be alive was barely relevant when Isárr suddenly unleashed all that passion on me—I knew he’d been holding back.
Like a dam breaking when I kissed him, he became a man possessed, and I was all too happy to go along with it.
Was it crazy to let him undress me in the freaking snow?
Perhaps. Was it crazy to do this outside, where anyone could just walk up to us?
And was it perhaps craziest of all to believe that being with Isárr was exactly what my life had always been headed for? Fate?
My North Star pendant felt hot against my chest, where it dangled between breasts my dragon was pawing as if they belonged to him. It felt as though it were telling me, Yes, this is exactly right. This is where I guided you to go.
I clung to his narrow hips with my legs, but that made it almost impossible to pull my pants down enough for him to cup my folds with bare, calloused fingers.
Somehow, he managed, and I shouted, wet from the previous, unexpected release and so sensitive.
It was almost like coming again, but not quite, and then he slid a finger home, curling it just so.
I shattered like ice, breaking apart and reshaping in his capable hands—remade by an artisan.
“Dragons don’t share,” ísarr growled. I didn’t want him to; I wouldn’t share him either.
His zipper was loud, matched only by my panting as I clung to him, his finger still embedded deep inside me.
“Last chance to run, Elskling,” he said, as if I ever would, after I’d just sworn to him I wouldn’t.
I wriggled, heels digging into his ass, the tree harsh against my back.
There was no cold, no ice, no risk of frostbite, because he held all of it back, protecting me.
“Do it,” I moaned, my eyes locked on the slightly blue cock he’d freed from his pants.
Thick, veined, so pretty and enticing, even shaded such an unnatural color.
“Take me, ísarr. Now.” Probably I would wonder what had possessed me later, but I highly doubted I’d regret any of this for even a minute.
ísarr seemed to think this was the moment to pause and just take in the scenery—the scenery being me.
His eyes fastened on my folds and the way the thick head of him looked as he slicked it through them.
I bucked, but in his arms, pinned against a tree, there wasn’t very much I could do.
“Now?” he asked, as if teasing me were suddenly far more important than keeping me at arm’s length.
No, now that the wall had gone down, it had gone down, and hard.
He was hot where he touched me, the head of his cock like silk as it brushed along my clit.
Pleasure burst through my veins, but it wasn’t enough—not even close.
“Now, damn it,” I said, and I didn’t even notice how we’d almost done a role reversal.
He was the one smiling, patient, while I was practically growling with need.
“Are you sure?” he drawled, and in response, my nails dug into the back of his neck.
He hissed, and then he was the one bucking.
Pressing against me, cock sliding through my folds.
When he withdrew, it was to line the head up with my opening, and then he was pushing in—hard, fast, none of that dancing around now.
He sank deep on the first thrust, and I ached, burned for him as he stretched me.
What followed was probably the wildest, most passionate round of sex I’d ever had—in the wilds, exposed and pinned to a tree in the most primal fashion.
He pushed in and out of me with force, and each time, my nerves lit on fire and the next orgasm was that much closer.
He was rough, and I loved it, didn’t even care that his fingers might leave impressions on my thighs.
He was bigger than any guy I’d ever been with, and I felt it.
Stretched around him, taking him deep, touched in ways it felt like I’d never been.
When my orgasm came this time, it was bright and hard, my entire body clenching tightly around him, toes curling in my boots, my body trembling, fingers slipping from his shoulders.
He had me, though, not once dropping me, riding me through the waves of pleasure with the fiercest scowl on his face, jaw gritted, his blue hair caught in a cold breeze I didn’t feel.
As the last wave ebbed through my flesh, it crashed into him. He came with a roar, his head tossed back, cock kicking deep inside of me. I thought perhaps I could even feel the fierce jet of his seed as he exploded.
He held me tightly in the aftermath, hugging me between his body and the tree.
His breathing was rapid—but so was mine.
I felt sheltered, cherished—which, given our location, might seem odd; it was anything but romantic.
But this was ísarr, and he was all about keeping me safe at any cost. He just went about it in the most brusque, noncommunicative fashion, but I had him figured out now.
Sighing against his chest, I hugged him back just as tightly, and then I whispered the one thing I knew might convince him: “In the throes of passion, you still didn’t freeze me.
You never will. In fact, you didn’t even let me get cold, not for a minute.
” When he lifted his head and gazed from the tree to the snow and the chiming icicles above our heads, something settled in his pale gaze.
“You know what? I think you’re right… That means there’s no leaving my mountain, not ever.
” His mouth turned up at the corners in this sinfully sexy smirk, and I felt my body respond to it, clenching around his cock, which was still lodged deep.
He groaned, shifted against me, and I shivered in pleasure.
“Mountain? It’s a small hill at best,” I told him. That made him laugh, head thrown back, throat bobbing. He was beautiful, and for the first time since we’d met, he sounded truly happy.