EPILOGUE
Sylvie pulled into the driveway, doing her best to avoid the chickens strutting across the gravel like they owned the place.
Coming home to the farm—to her dragon—was easily the best part of her day. A grounding reset from the frantic sugar rush of the bakery. She caught sight of the massive white tent Rhavor had already hauled up for the next community event, the canvas snapping in the breeze like a large wing.
She killed the engine, grabbed her things, and slipped inside.
She dropped her bag and shoes by the door and wandered into the kitchen.
She stopped. Fresh meadow flowers nodded in a terracotta jar on a wooden table draped in fresh floral linen. Candles cast a dancing, amber glow over the heavy cutlery. Sylvie felt a slow, syrupy warmth fill her chest.
She was close to melting into a puddle over a bunch of daisies when the bedroom door creaked open.
Rhavor stepped out, and Sylvie’s brain performed a sudden, ungraceful stall. He was wearing an apron. Just an apron.
It was black, tied dangerously low on his hips, with the bold white lettering stretched across his massive, corded chest:
HAVE YOUR CAKE AND EAT ME TOO.
Sylvie bit the inside of her lip, holding in a laugh.
“Hi, my little berry,” he said.
His voice dropped into that rough, territorial edge that always made her toes curl.
He didn’t give her a chance to mock the kitchenware.
He stepped into her space, a wall of heat and muscle, and kissed her—slow, unhurried, and deep.
It was a claiming sort of kiss, entirely too confident for a man dressed like a suggestive pastry chef.
“You did bid on dinner with a dragon,” he murmured against her mouth, “And dragons have very long memories.”
“Oh,” she breathed, her hands hovering near his bare waist, fighting the urge to trace every golden inch of him. “Is the smoked ambience meant to lift the mood, or is your dinner burning?”
Rhavor’s nose twitched.
He swore under his breath and turned sharply toward the oven.
And that was when she got the full, unadulterated view.
Broad, sculpted back. Muscles flexing and coiling under golden skin with every stride. The apron strings were tied so low they were practically a dare, leaving his magnificent ass on full, shameless display. The fabric covered the bare essentials in the front and absolutely nothing in the back.
Holy mother of dragons.
Heat curled low in her stomach, sharp and insistent.
She leaned against the counter, arms folded, her gaze dragging shamelessly over the line of his spine.
She tracked the subtle shift of muscle, the way his wings tensed in a flicker of irritation, and the extremely distracting reality of his magnificent ass.
She wanted to reach out. To grasp him. To sink her fingers into that hard, draconic muscle and find out if he’d roar or purr.
“So,” she began, her voice smoothing out into something like warm honey. “If the dinner portion of this date has resolved itself…” she paused,“…are there any other plans for the evening?”
Her gaze dropped to the way the apron strings barely clung to the sharp flare of his hips.
“What exactly,” she asked softly, “did you plan for this part?”
Rhavor turned a slow, predatory grace in his movement. The burnt tray was forgotten on the counter as he caught her gaze.
“My little berry is impatient,” he smirked, the dry, masculine humor returning to his face.
Sylvie refused to admit that the sight of him in nothing but that ridiculous piece of fabric had her nerves humming like a live wire. He crossed the kitchen, towering over her until she was enveloped in his arms.
He made her feel small, priceless, and utterly, devastatingly his.
“It’s something very special,” he murmured, his breath ghosting over the sensitive skin of her neck.
“Oh really?” she teased, her voice hitching. “What could possibly be so special that you dressed for the occasion like that?”
He leaned down, his mouth brushing the shell of her ear, his voice dropping into a primal vibration that rattled her bones.
“It’s a dragon ride.”
The air left her lungs in a sudden, violent rush.
“There’s one condition,” he added, his lips curving against her skin in a wicked, shimmering promise.
“Oh?” she breathed, her hands finding the hard planes of his chest.
“You have to ride it naked.”
Sylvie swallowed, her voice coming out husky and thick.
“Naked, huh? Bold move for a dragon in a novelty apron.”
He didn’t offer a rebuttal. His massive hands gripped the hem of her shirt. He tugged it over her head in one smooth, dominant pull, tossing the fabric aside as if it were an afterthought. Her bra followed, the hooks snapping free under his practiced touch.
“Beautiful,” he rumbled, his pupils slitting as he took her in. He hooked his fingers into the waistband of her panties, sliding them down her legs until she stood before him, bared to his glowing amber gaze.
He scooped her up, and she clung to him, her thighs locking around his waist.
“Easy,” he teased, his voice a deep purr as he carried her toward the bedroom. “We’ve got all night for you to climb me like the dragon I am.”
He lowered them onto the mattress, settling back against the headboard and positioning her so she was straddling his lap. The apron rode up, and Sylvie gasped as she felt the heat of him pressing against her entrance through the thin cotton barrier.
She rocked against him, a slow, torturous tease.
“All night?” she breathed, her nails digging into the rough, golden skin of his shoulders. “You might not survive me, Rhavor.”
His laugh was dark and rich.
“Try me, little rider.”
He leaned forward, his mouth finding her breast. He sucked hard, his forked tongue flicking against the peak while his teeth grazed the swelling bud, sending jolts of electricity straight to her core.
“Rhavor… please,” she gasped, her hands grasping his horns, pulling his head closer.
She reached down, brushing the apron aside to reveal him. He sprang free—heavy, veined, and already weeping with his arousal. He was massive, his length ridged with the subtle, specialized textures of his kind. Sylvie bit her lip, positioning herself and easing down.
The stretch was intense, a sweet, burning fullness as her pussy yielded inch by inch to his girth.
“Fuck—you’re so tight,” he groaned, his head falling back as his hands found her hips. His fingers dimpled her soft flesh, anchoring her. “That’s it… take all of me.”
She sank lower, gasping as the ridges caught on her internal walls, dragging with delicious friction. She paused halfway, panting, her curves pressed to his heaving chest.
“More,” she demanded, her voice breaking.
Rhavor thrust up gently, helping her take the rest until she was flush against his thighs. The sensation was overwhelming; she was stretched taut, pulsing around him.
“You’re so perfect around me,” he grunted.
Sylvie began to move. She lifted her hips, slamming back down, rolling in a slow, hypnotic circle that made the ridges scrape every hidden nerve.
“Yes,” he groaned, his thumbs circling her hip bones. “Like that. Grind me into the mattress, Sylvie.”
She leaned forward, making her breasts bounce against his eager mouth, then rocked back to hit a new angle.
The pressure on her clit was maddening. His hands gripped her harder, guiding her rhythm, slamming her down for deeper penetration until his cock hit the very back of her, making stars burst behind her eyes.
“Yes—fuck, Rhavor, just like that!” she cried, her nails raking his shoulders.
She began to bounce, fucking him hard and fast, her breath coming in ragged sobs of pleasure.
“You feel incredible,” he growled, his hips bucking to meet every impact. “So wet. Come for me—milk me dry.”
The words pushed her over the edge. Her pussy began to clench rhythmically, milking him just as he’d asked.
Rhavor’s hands tightened on her waist, slamming her down one final time as he thrust deep.
Sylvie exploded—an orgasm crashing over her like a tidal wave, her walls spasming around his massive length.
He followed her with a roar that shook the room. His cock swelled impossibly as he came, hot, thick jets of seed flooding her, filling her to overflowing. It was raw and primal—the best release she’d ever felt.
They shuddered together, locked in the aftershocks, his tongue still teasing her nipple as her pussy fluttered around him. Eventually, she collapsed against him, utterly spent.
“Best ride ever,” she whispered, a lazy, self-deprecating smile curving her lips.
“This was only the test ride,” he smirked, his hand coming up to stroke her damp hair. His gaze softened, turning rare and vulnerable. “I love you, my little berry.”
He reached into the small front pocket of the apron and pulled out a small velvet box.
Sylvie’s breath caught. She opened it to find a ring, a glowing Drakoryte gem embedded in the band. It pulsed with a soft light.
“It’s your gem, Rhavor,” she breathed.
“You are my gem, Sylvie. You’re more precious to me than any gem in this world. I love you” He looked her in the eye, his gaze steady. “Will you be my dragon rider? The one and only”
“Do you mean… if I’ll marry you?” she asked, a small, watery laugh bubbling up.
“I wanted to be more creative,” he smirked, his thumb tracing her jawline.
“Yes,” Sylvie said, leaning in to kiss him with everything she had. “Yes. I love you, Rhavor. And I’m definitely keeping the apron.”