Chapter 12
Mercy's lips crashed against Zane's with all the desperation of a drowning woman finally finding air.
She tackled him back against the couch cushions, her hands fisting in his shirt as she straddled his lap. The kiss was messy, urgent, nothing like before. This was need and fear and relief all tangled together, pouring out through the press of her mouth against his.
He tasted like danger wrapped in silk. His lips were soft, but his kiss was anything but gentle.
When she nipped at his bottom lip, he groaned deep in his chest, the sound vibrating through her entire body where they pressed together.
Heat radiated from his skin, not quite human warmth but something fiercer, more elemental.
Dragon heat. The heat that had turned her attackers to ash but left her untouched.
Her mind reeled, trying to process the impossible duality of him. This man, who baked bread and played cards with her, who cleaned her galley until it sparkled. The same man who could transform into a creature of legend and rain fire from the sky.
But right now, with his arms wrapped around her and his mouth moving against hers, he felt like he was all hers.
Zane's hands tangled in her hair, angling her head to deepen the kiss.
His tongue swept into her mouth, claiming and exploring, and she moaned against him.
Fire raced through her veins, pooling low in her belly.
Every nerve ending sparked to life, her body going liquid with want.
She needed more. Needed to feel him, all of him, needed to confirm he was real and solid and here.
Her hands traced over his shoulders, mapping the broad expanse through expensive fabric. Muscle shifted beneath her palms, coiled strength that had carried her to safety. She could feel the power thrumming just beneath his skin, barely leashed.
No one had ever come for her before.
The thought made her kiss him harder, pouring all her confusion and gratitude and want into the connection. Her fingers found the hem of his shirt, tugging impatiently. She needed skin. Needed to feel the heat of him without barriers.
Zane pulled back just enough to look at her, and she gasped. There was literal fire dancing in his eyes, flames flickering in brown irises like embers in a hearth. Another reminder that he was more than human, more than she could fully comprehend.
But she didn't care. Not now. Not when her body was singing with need and her heart was still racing from terror and rescue and the impossible fact that she was alive.
Her hands shook as she pulled at his shirt, fumbling with fabric that suddenly seemed far too complicated.
She needed to touch him, needed to confirm he was real and whole and here.
That they'd both survived. That those mercs hadn't dragged her away to whatever fate awaited girls with bounties on their heads.
"Easy," he murmured, his voice rough with barely controlled want. His hands covered hers, steadying them. Together, they worked his shirt over his head, and then her palms were finally, finally on his bare skin.
He burned like a furnace, heat radiating from every inch of exposed flesh.
Her hands mapped the planes of his chest, feeling the way his muscles tensed beneath her touch.
Scars marked his skin here and there, thin white lines that spoke of a life less pampered than she'd assumed.
Her fingers traced each one, learning this new landscape of him.
"I need to see you," he said, and his hands were gentle as they found the hem of her shirt. So different from the rough grip of the mercs, the violence of being grabbed and scanned like cargo. Zane's touch was reverent, careful, giving her every opportunity to pull away.
She didn't want to pull away. She wanted to fall into him and never surface.
Her shirt joined his on the floor, and then his hands were on her skin, warm and sure.
He traced the bruises on her ribs with heartbreaking gentleness, the chemical burns on her fingers, the scrapes from her time with the pirates.
Each touch felt like an apology, a promise, a claim all rolled into one.
When his mouth followed his hands, pressing kisses to each injury, she thought she might shatter. No one had ever touched her with such care. Like she was precious. Like she mattered.
"Beautiful," he murmured against her skin, and she believed him. In this moment, with his hands and mouth worshipping every inch of her, she felt beautiful. Felt wanted.
The rest of their clothes disappeared in a blur of desperate hands and tangled limbs.
She needed to feel all of him against all of her, skin to skin with nothing between them.
When they were finally bare, she pressed against him with a soft cry of relief.
The heat of him chased away the lingering cold of fear, warming her from the outside in.
He was magnificent.
All lean muscle and controlled power, strength that could level buildings channeled into gentle touches. Her hands couldn't stop moving, needing to touch and claim and confirm. This impossible man who was hers, at least for now.
At least for this moment stolen from chaos.
"Let me," he said, and she wasn't sure what he was asking but she nodded anyway. Trust, she realized with a start. She trusted him. This dragon who'd hidden his nature, who'd saved her life, who looked at her like she hung the stars.
His mouth traced a path down her body, and she surrendered to sensation. Let herself stop thinking, stop analyzing, stop planning for once in her life. There was only feeling as he mapped her with lips and tongue and careful teeth.
Only the building pressure as he found every sensitive spot and lavished it with attention.
When his mouth finally found her center, she arched off the couch with a cry. Pleasure sparked through her like lightning, sharp and bright and overwhelming. Her hands fisted in his hair, holding on as he took her apart with focused intensity. The vulnerability of it should have terrified her.
But this was Zane. Zane, who'd burned for her, flown for her, offered her sanctuary without asking for anything in return. She could be vulnerable with him. Could let down her walls and just feel.
The pressure built and built until she shattered with his name on her lips. Waves of pleasure crashed over her, leaving her boneless and gasping. He worked her through it, gentle now, until she tugged at his hair to bring him back up to her.
His eyes still held traces of fire as he looked at her, and she could feel the hard length of him pressed against her thigh. Ready. Waiting. Letting her decide what came next even though she could see the strain of holding back written across his features.
She pulled him down for a kiss, tasting herself on his lips. "Please," she whispered against his mouth. "I need you."
The words were inadequate for what she actually needed. Not just his body, though she craved that with an intensity that surprised her. She needed the connection, the affirmation of life after facing death. Needed to feel claimed and cherished and whole.
He entered her slowly, carefully. The stretch and fill of him made her gasp, her body adjusting to the intrusion. But it was good, so good, like coming home to a place she'd never known she'd been searching for.
"Perfect," he growled, and there was something inhuman in the sound. "You feel perfect."
She couldn't form words to respond, too lost in sensation. He filled her completely, the heat of him warming her from within. When he started to move, slow and deep, she wrapped her legs around his waist and held on.
This was nothing like her previous experience. This was connection on a level she didn't have words for. Every thrust felt like a claim, every kiss a promise. Her body sang with rightness, like this was what she'd been made for.
This man, this moment, this impossible feeling of belonging.
His control started to slip as they moved together.
She could see it in the way his eyes flickered with flame, hear it in the growls that rumbled from his chest. His skin grew hotter, almost burning, but it didn't hurt.
It felt like being wrapped in safety, in power, in something ancient and unbreakable.
"Mine," he growled against her throat, and she should have bristled at the possessiveness. Should have reminded him that she belonged to no one. Instead, she found herself arching into him, baring her throat in submission.
"God, yes," she gasped, and felt him shudder against her.
The pressure built again, spiraling higher with each thrust. She was close, so close, balanced on the edge of something vast and terrifying and wonderful. Then Zane's hand found the place where they were joined, his thumb circling with just enough pressure, and she flew apart.
This climax hit harder than the first, stealing her breath and her thoughts and possibly her sanity. She clung to him as pleasure whited out her vision, her body clenching around him. She felt him follow her over, his own release pulled from him with a roar that was definitely more dragon than man.
They collapsed together on the couch, sweat cooling on their skin. Mercy's mind felt blissfully quiet for the first time in days.
No plans, no fears, no constant calculation of threats and exits. Just the warm weight of Zane's body covering hers, the steady thrum of his heartbeat against her chest.
She should move. Should retreat to the bathroom and rebuild her walls and pretend this was just physical release after trauma. Should do anything but burrow closer into his embrace and let herself feel safe.
But she was so tired of running. Tired of being strong and independent and alone. Just for tonight, just for this stolen moment, she could let someone else be strong for her. Let someone else stand guard while she rested.
She let herself rest against Zane and pretended everything would be alright.