Daring the Drakarn Warrior Lord (Drakarn Mates #7)

Chapter 1 Terra

TERRA

The clang of training blades rang in my ears.

My muscles burned. Sweat dripped down my spine, soaking through the thin shirt I wore. But I didn't stop moving. Couldn't stop. Not when Darrokar circled me like this, wings half-spread, golden eyes tracking every shift of my weight.

I lunged.

He parried, the screech of metal on metal singing through the cavern.

The impact jarred up my arms, but I used the momentum, spinning away before his tail could sweep my legs.

The heat crystals overhead cast everything in shades of fire and shadow, turning the smooth patches of floor into mirrors of light.

"Better," he said, voice rough. "But predictable."

I bared my teeth. "Then stop me."

He moved.

God, he was fast for someone his size. Seven feet of scaled muscle and lethal grace, closing the distance before I could blink.

I brought my blade up, angling it to redirect rather than meet his strength head-on.

The training sword was blunted, but still heavy as hell and it slid along his with a shriek that made my ears ring.

Then his free hand caught my wrist.

I twisted, using a joint lock I'd drilled a thousand times, but his grip was iron. Scaled, heated iron that sent sparks racing up my arm. Not pain. Something else entirely. Something that made my breath hitch even as I drove my knee toward his midsection.

He blocked with his thigh, and suddenly we were grappling, blades forgotten as we fought for position. His chest pressed against mine, and I could feel every breath he took, every rumble building in his throat. The scent of him, smoke and stone and mine flooded my senses.

I hooked my foot behind his ankle and shoved.

It almost worked.

Almost.

But then his wings flared, balance perfect, and he turned the momentum against me. The world spun. My back hit the floor, firm enough to knock the air from my lungs. His weight followed, pinning me, one hand catching both my wrists and pressing them above my head.

"Yield," he growled.

I bucked against him, testing his hold. Solid. Unmoving. Heat radiated from every point of contact, seeping through my clothes, into my skin. My heart hammered against my ribs, and I couldn't tell if it was from exertion or the way he was looking at me.

Like he wanted to devour me.

"Make me," I said.

His eyes flashed. The hand not restraining my wrists slid down my side, claws catching on fabric. Not tearing. Not yet. Just a promise of what those talons could do.

"Careful what you demand, luvae."

The endearment wove around me tight. Low and possessive, wrapped in that gravelly tone that made my stomach clench.

I should have been thinking tactically, looking for an escape, a reversal.

Instead, all I could focus on was the press of his hips against mine, the way his scales felt against my overheated skin.

"I'm not afraid of you," I said, and it was true. I'd never been afraid of him. Not even in the beginning.

"I know." His head dipped, breath hot against my throat. "That's the problem."

Then his mouth was on my neck, fangs grazing the sensitive skin there. Not biting. Just pressure, just the threat of it, and a sound escaped me that was definitely not tactical.

Screw it.

I arched into him, and his grip on my wrists tightened. The rumble in his chest deepened, vibrating through me. His tongue, long and clever and absolutely sinful, traced the line of my pulse, and I felt the exact moment his control started to fray.

"Terra." My name sounded wrecked. "We’re supposed to—"

"Shut up and kiss me."

He did.

His mouth claimed mine with a hunger that stole what little breath I'd regained. No gentleness, no hesitation. Just raw need and the taste of him flooding my senses. I kissed him back just as fiercely, biting his lower lip, feeling the sharp points of his fangs against my tongue.

His hand released my wrists, but I didn't pull away. Instead, I buried my fingers in the thick hair at the base of his skull, holding him to me. His claws found the hem of my shirt, and this time he did tear, the sound of rending fabric loud in the quiet chamber.

Cool air hit my skin for a heartbeat before his palm covered my breast, scaled and hot and perfect. I gasped into his mouth, and he swallowed the sound, his kiss turning deeper, more demanding.

I got my hands on his chest, feeling the hard planes of muscle beneath his own training shirt. I needed to feel his skin. His scales. The contrast of textures that never failed to undo me.

He broke the kiss long enough to yank his shirt over his head, wings shifting to accommodate the movement. The sight of him, bare-chested, eyes molten, lips swollen from my kisses, sent a fresh surge of want through me.

"You're wearing too many clothes," he said, voice like gravel.

"Fix it."

He did, with an efficiency that would have been impressive if I wasn't so focused on getting my hands back on him. My shirt joined his somewhere to the left. My pants followed, his claws making quick work of laces and fabric until I was bare beneath him.

The stone floor should have been cold. It wasn't. Heat radiated up from it, the same geothermal warmth that kept all of Scalvaris livable. Or maybe it was just us, burning hot enough to warm the rock itself.

Darrokar's gaze raked over me, and I felt it like a touch. Possessive. Hungry. Reverent.

"Mine," he said, and it wasn't a question.

"Yours," I agreed, reaching for the laces of his pants. "Now get these off before I rip them."

His laugh was dark, pleased. He stood just long enough to strip, and then he was covering me again, skin to scales, heat to heat. The weight of him should have been crushing. Instead, it felt right. Like this was exactly where I was meant to be.

His hand slid between my thighs, and I stopped thinking entirely.

The pads of his clever fingers, careful because of the claws, found exactly where I needed him. I bit back a moan, but he felt the tension in my body, the way I trembled under his touch.

"Don't hide from me," he murmured against my ear. "I want every sound."

Then he did something with his fingers that made me cry out, back arching off the floor. He made an approving noise, deep and rumbling, and did it again. And again. Building a rhythm that had me writhing, chasing the pleasure he offered.

"Darrokar." His name fell from my lips like a prayer. A curse. A demand.

"I have you, luvae." His thumb found the bundle of nerves that made stars burst behind my eyelids. "Let go."

I shattered.

The orgasm crashed through me, stealing my breath, my vision, everything but the sensation of his hands on me and his voice in my ear, murmuring words in his own language that I didn't need to understand to feel.

Before I could fully come down, he was moving, positioning himself between my thighs. The blunt head of his cock, already slick with that fluid his body produced, pressed against my entrance. I looked up at him, meeting those golden eyes, and saw my own need reflected back.

He pushed in, slow and careful, giving me time to adjust. The stretch was intense, pleasure-pain that made me gasp. The scales at the base of his cock rasped against my sensitive flesh, and the ridges along his length dragged in all the right ways.

But it was the tip, that independently moving piece of flesh that seemed designed specifically to drive me insane, that made me moan. It flexed inside me, seeking, stroking, finding spots I hadn't known existed.

"God," I breathed.

"Just me," he corrected, voice strained. Then he was moving, pulling out and thrusting back in, setting a pace that had me clinging to his shoulders.

The training chamber filled with the sounds of us, skin on scales, harsh breathing, the wet slide of our bodies joining. His tail wrapped around my thigh, holding me open for him, and I couldn't have closed my legs if I'd wanted to.

I didn't want to.

I wanted it, the overwhelming fullness, the drag of his cock against my inner walls, the way that flexible tip curled and stroked with each thrust. I wanted the weight of him above me, the heat of his breath on my skin, the possessive grip of his hands on my hips.

"Harder," I demanded, nails digging into his shoulders.

He complied with a snarl, hips snapping forward with enough force to make me see stars. The angle shifted, and suddenly, that clever tip was pressing against a spot that made my entire body lock up.

"There," I gasped. "Right there, don't stop—"

He didn't. He drove into me with single-minded focus, hitting that spot with every thrust, and I felt the pressure building again. Faster this time. Sharper.

His fangs found my shoulder, not breaking skin but applying pressure, and that was it. I came with a cry that echoed off the stone walls, clenching around him, body shaking with the force of it.

He followed with a roar, hips jerking as he spilled inside me. I felt every pulse, every wave, the heat of him filling me as that flexible tip continued to stroke, drawing out both our pleasure until we were both trembling.

He collapsed beside me, careful not to crush me, wings spread across the floor. For a long moment, we just lay there, chests heaving, skin cooling in the chamber's heat.

Then he reached out, pulling me against his side. I went willingly, tucking myself against him, one leg thrown over his hip. His tail curled around my calf, a casual possessiveness that made me smile.

"I should let you win more often," I said when I could speak again.

His laugh rumbled through his chest. "You didn't let me do anything, luvae. I earned that victory."

"Keep telling yourself that."

He nipped my ear in retaliation, and I grinned. This, the teasing, the ease between us, was almost as good as the sex.

Eventually, we had to move. The stone floor wasn't exactly comfortable for extended lounging. Darrokar stood first, offering me a hand. I took it, letting him pull me to my feet, and tried not to wince at the pleasant ache between my thighs.