by Rhea Watson
“Of course I have.” He followed along with slow, lazy steps when I backpedaled, like he was just humoring my escape attempt. “But you can’t help it, and neither can I, so… stop being stubborn and just tell me.”
You can’t help it, and neither can I. What the hell was that supposed to mean? I stomped my foot, my prison-issued shoes useless at absorbing the brunt of the stonework below, about two seconds away from stomping on him.
“Piss off, Elijah.”
“No,” the dragon rumbled without hesitation, just following me around the back of the bakery beneath the flickering lights. Shadows danced across his features, but they did nothing to cloud his expression, the resolute determination that made me both hate and respect him in that moment.
“Yes.”
“No.” His voice echoed off the walls, and we both stilled, heads snapping in the general direction of the bakery’s main door. Nothing. Jensen probably hadn’t even noticed we weren’t within sight anymore, but we still waited a few beats longer. Xargi had a way of screwing you over if you let your guard down; I knew that from experience now. When we seemed to be alone, we faced off again, me glaring up at him, Elijah scowling down at me through a hooded golden gaze. He huffed, breath striking me like dragonfire.
“Katja—”
“Oh, for…” I closed the distance between us in a single stride, pushed up onto my toes, grabbed his collar, and yanked his mouth to mine. Kissing him was a last resort, the only thing shocking enough to finally just shut him up. But it was supposed to be a quick, hard peck.
It wasn’t supposed to feel like fireworks.
It wasn’t supposed to linger.
And most of all, my lips weren’t supposed to soften, to fit so perfectly against a mouth that had been driving me nuts for the last hour. His free hand slithered down my body, rough and wandering over my curves, until it splayed possessively across my lower back. The other held my wrist tighter, both working together to drive me into his chest. Elijah exhaled a hot breath against my cheek, not a flicker of shock in his eyes—only desire. Carnal and raging. Explosive need that knocked the wind out of me. Flames hot as the sun ready to burn me alive.
All that in a look—in his eyes and nowhere else. Because he might have gripped me tight, yanked me flush against him, soft lines colliding furiously with a wall of unyielding muscle—but he did all that with restraint, his body stiff…
Like he was fighting me.
The fireworks suddenly sparked lower, pinwheeling in my belly, exploding between my thighs, and my eyes fluttered shut to block out the gold, to stop staring directly at the beast, challenging the dragon—
“Hey, idiots.”
We sprang apart just as Jensen rounded the corner, stalking into the bakery’s depths for what seemed like the first time based on his darting, curious gaze. Phone in one hand, his free one fidgeted with his belt, the warlock’s mouth twisted in a grimace. Did he suspect anything? I mean, Elijah just stood there like a giant tree, stiff and glaring at the floor, fists at his side. Meanwhile, there was me, cheeks on fire, breath feathering in and out, struggling to keep it normal, to quiet my thundering heart.
“I need to, uh, use the facilities,” Jensen announced. Right—classic oblivious warlock moment. Thank the gods for small mercies. He picked at his belt again, almost dancing in place, and then under his breath muttered, “Fucking potluck breakfast…” As if realizing he’d said that out loud, he straightened and stopped fussing, shoulders back like he was a guard we ought to take seriously. “Can you hold down the fort for like twenty minutes?”
I just stared back at him, mind full of static.
At least Elijah managed to nod—to look somewhat present, if a little furious.
“Great.” Jensen tucked his phone into his uniform’s breast pocket, then tapped his wand like we’d forgotten all the guards carried one. “Don’t fuck this up, or you’re both in solitary for a week, comprendo?”
Yeesh. That was the most atrocious butchery of the Spanish language I’d ever heard, that Alabama drawl wrapping around the word in a way that was almost offensive. When neither of us responded, Jensen gave us a look like we were slow in the head, then tapped his ear, expecting a response.
“Yes,” Elijah rasped. Our phone-obsessed guard might not have realized it from the way he stalked—waddled—off, but I caught it, every damn decibel. The depth. The subtle roar. Gravel and woodsmoke and whiskey and oh no. Elijah sounded different—darker, more dangerous—and it made my body sing. Thrown by the reaction, by the sudden and intense desire throbbing through me, flooding my veins and demanding action, I pivoted on the spot and beelined toward our workstation. Just put the bread in the bags. Just get through the next six—ughhh—hours and use the humdrum, repetitive tasks like a cold shower.
Only I didn’t make it back to the table.
Relief sparked when Elijah caught me by the elbow. Need flared when he dragged me hard to the left. Resistance reared its ugly head, almost because it had to, when he hauled me toward the walk-in proofing pantry.
“Elijah,” I hissed, feet stuttering over stone. “Stop—”
“Shut up, Katja,” he growled in that voice, so unlike him—vaguely threatening and utterly wild. Why the hell did I find that so hot?
The shifter wrenched open the pantry door as he had a hundred times before over the last month, but this time it bounced off the wall, hurled with such force that I swore I heard something crack and splinter. He shoved me inside, forceful and infuriating in the way he manhandled me like a guard.
Only I didn’t want to cower like I did with the black-suited warlocks skulking around Xargi’s corridors. As I rounded in place, immediately assaulted by the pantry’s chill compared to the bakery inferno, I wanted to fight. Hit back. Shove him. Rake my nails up his chest—down his back. Nip at that tempting lower lip like it was mine.
A whoosh of hot air washed over me as Elijah dragged the pantry door shut, slamming it into place hard enough that the hinges whined. For a beat, he just stood there, back to me, shoulders rising and falling like he was chasing his breath, but when he turned, he stared me down with the eyes of the dragon. I swallowed hard, taking this brief pause for what it was: a chance to back out. To shatter this moment with a much-needed dose of reality. But my feet had grown roots, my knees had locked, and neither would budge.
Not until he grabbed me again, snapped that strong hand around my forearm and yanked me forward, spinning us, and shoved me up against the door. The brief flash of pain in the back of my head felt oddly welcome, and I grabbed at his jumpsuit just as he descended on me, mouth crashing to mine. He caught me with my lips slightly parted, and he took full advantage of that, parting them further with his brutality, claiming me with his tongue, marking me with his teeth.
Elijah struck me as a nice guy. Stoic and quiet and contemplative most times, preferring to observe a situation before reacting—any situation that didn’t involve me, at least. Yet compared to everyone in here, he was so good. Earnest. Thoughtful and protective and selfless—
But he didn’t kiss like he was good.
He kissed like a villain, forceful and rough, taking what he wanted, thrusting me against the door with a soaring figure of pure muscle. He kissed me like he was guilty, like he had sinned and deserved penance.
And I loved it.
This side of him just did it for me.
And it shouldn’t. I didn’t need more reasons to be drawn to him, for my traitorous body to crave him, but I’d never be able to shake this feeling—the feeling of being dominated. Of wanting to be dominated, taken, ravished.
Highly aware that we had twenty minutes, maybe less, maybe a few more, my hands flew up his chest and reclaimed a bit of the control. My fingers seized the first button on his jumpsuit, frantic and shaky, fumbling to undo it like I hadn’t been buttoning my own for the last fifty miserable days. As soon as the first fell, the next came easier, and then the next, the next, until suddenly I’d parted the seas, the blue fa
bric falling open to reveal a sculpted torso. At least, I assumed as much from the feel, my eyes shut, my mouth occupied—plundered—by his. But when my knuckles brushed the searing skin of his navel, nudging at what felt like a sharply defined V headed southward, I tore my mouth away with a gasp.
The faintest touch of skin to skin and I panicked.
Elijah conceded, slamming a hand to the door above me, bracing—almost holding himself back as our bodies eased apart. Sure enough, there was that magnificent chest, defined pectorals and cut abdominals and—yup—mouthwatering V-definition that seemed to come so naturally to shifters, that human men slaved in the gym for months to achieve. And there it was. Right there. All for me.
My eyes flicked to his, and while it should have terrified me to stare down the beast, there was something so beautiful about the gold, something so intriguing about his thin pupils. Calculating, almost. Gone was the warm chocolate brown, replaced by a golden sunrise that felt both ancient and cunning, primal and desperately wanting. I nibbled my lower lip, still chasing my breath, fingers toying with the open flaps of his navy blue jumpsuit…
I could say no.
I wasn’t here for this—for him. Could still walk away. Should walk away. Elijah was just a distraction—
No. It wasn’t my mind that screamed it, but my heart, my body. Stay.
My trembling fingers abandoned his jumpsuit for mine, hastily wrenching open my own buttons, careful not to rip any out. The unflattering white cotton panties I currently wore had cost a fortune; no telling how much I would have to sacrifice to replace a busted jumpsuit.
The pop of that first button was almost like his go-word. Elijah snapped into motion, just as frantic as me, following my lead by yanking his jumpsuit down his arms, inch by inch unveiling the definition of masculine perfection. Rugged, broad shoulders. Abs to die for. Thighs like tree trunks. Even his prison-issued briefs looked great on him, but the guy could wear a paper bag and still be mistaken for a born-again Adonis.
As I shimmied my jumpsuit down, every inch of me aflame, fire collecting in my cheeks and between my thighs, I pointedly avoided glancing at the huge bulge beneath that thin slip of white cotton, not wanting to read as too forward. Not that it mattered: Elijah lacked modesty, shirking the slow reveal by hooking a thumb under the worn-out elastic waistband and yanking it down those sculpted thighs and toned calves. Fabric pooled at his feet, and try as I might to avoid gawking, I couldn’t help it—not when his cock fell like a lead weight, its silky tip nudging my stomach.
He seemed just as taken with me as I was with him, that golden gaze raking across my body, lingering on the dip of my throat and the valley of my breasts. If we had the time, I would have liked to just look at him—maybe even desensitize myself to such a gorgeous creature so that I’d stop flushing bright red at the thought of what was hidden under his jumpsuit. But we didn’t have time. Someone was always watching in Xargi, always waiting to screw you over.
And no one was going to take this away from me.
From us.
I shoved my jumpsuit the rest of the way down, clumsily stepping out of the purple material and kicking it aside, not caring that it would be dusty and floury when I put it back on. Elijah went for my panties like they had their own gravitational pull, his expression hard and unfamiliar, everything taut—like he was fighting himself, pushing for restraint—his arm like steel when I grabbed it.
“Do not rip them,” I whispered hoarsely, shooting him a warning look that finally broke the tightness around his mouth, that shattered the dangerous glint in his eyes. He grinned down at me, all predatory and daring, like he saw my words as a challenge, and I huffed, pushing his arm away ever so slightly. “You know how much they cost.”
“Does that mean I can’t keep them?” Elijah rumbled silkily, his head cocked. I bit the insides of my cheeks to stop my smile; this wasn’t a train of thought I wanted to encourage, even if there was something so wickedly sexy about him carrying my panties around in his pocket as we went on with the rest of our day.
“No,” I hissed, “you definitely can’t keep—”
He swallowed my words with another kiss, fierce and brutal, more punishing than those that came before, and I wilted against the door with a whimper. I’d never been one for rough stuff in the bedroom, but as I wriggled the cotton down my thighs, let it fall to the floor, I couldn’t imagine any other way with Elijah. Outside this room, he was sweet and thoughtful, protective and inclusive, patient to a fault about my struggle of coming to terms with being wrongfully incarcerated—kidnapped, actually, by a madman.
But right here, right now, Elijah was a dragon—the dragon, alpha to the core.
As soon as I was bare before him, his hands went wandering, roughly perusing my figure, mapping every curve, delving between my thighs and snarling when he found me wet. I whimpered as he stroked me, swept his thumb over my clit, wondering how his punishing mouth would feel against my folds.
But—no time.
My hands found his shoulders when he hoisted me up, and I wrapped my legs around him, locked my ankles behind his back and dug in, the pair of us driven by instinct, moving and rearranging and jostling each other like this wasn’t our first time. His cock nudged my slick entrance, and I speared my hands into his shaggy hair, into surprisingly soft waves I’d wanted to stroke and finger-comb and nudge out of his eyes for weeks. Today I twisted. I tugged. Just as my teeth and tongue and lips reminded him that I wasn’t passive, that I could give as good as I got, my fingers were cruel, using his hair like reins, driving him onward—
Elijah shoved me hard against the door, then filled me with a single, gloriously brutal thrust. I cried out into his mouth, eyes wide, pleasure and pain deliciously twining into one. Foreplay had always been my favorite part of sex, but having been single for years, most of my gratification came from one-night stands—and guys who didn’t plan to stay the night weren’t super keen on wasting time before the deed.
But this wasn’t that; Elijah wasn’t like them. This was frantic and hurried out of necessity, not only because of the time constraints, the threat of being caught by anyone, but also because in that moment, as he stilled and buried his face into my neck, as I adjusted to the sheer size of him, to the way he stretched me, it felt like we had been dancing around this all along. Like every conversation, every lingering glance, every heated argument, had led up to him and me coming together just like this, fitting so perfectly that it ought to be a crime.
“Are you a-all right?” he murmured, hands trailing up my body, rough at first, then gentle as he cupped my face. I swallowed hard, noting the way his eyes shimmered between brown and gold, like he was struggling against his inner beast. Fighting for control—for me, for my comfort.
“Hell yes,” I whispered back. I stroked his hands as they held me, then his cheek, the coarse stubble along his jaw, my smile blooming into something tender. There he was—a glimmer of the good guy I knew Elijah to be. Concerned. Thoughtful. Patient. Checking on me, making sure I was okay. The fact that he could be both, that he possessed such an exquisite duality, only made me want him more. Knowing he was still in there beneath the rugged, harsh exterior, beneath the glittering gold, the animalistic snarls, had me craving both sides of him.
In different circumstances, somewhere far away from here, he could ravish me all night long, fuck me within an inch of my life while I screamed for more, and then after, Elijah could be tender. He could cuddle me, hold me until dawn. He was my silver lining in Xargi. Him and Rafe, two men who intrigued me, two men who I’d quickly and unwillingly become infatuated with, were the only things keeping me from falling apart and giving up. This should have felt like a mistake, like I was ruining what we had and sullying the status quo. Instead, I swept his hair back, then rocked my hips. “Don’t stop.”
Elijah ducked his head with a groan, then nipped at my palm, my lower lip, and kissed me like he wanted to claim me. The first harsh thrust had me seeing stars, the sweetest ache bu
rning bright between my thighs. Nibbling a blazing path down my throat, Elijah gripped me by the thighs again, almost like he was determined to bruise me, mark me, then pumped hard and fast, furiously driving me into the door.
Hopefully Jensen hadn’t meandered back in, because there was no subtlety in the way the door creaked and groaned, in the rapid-fire thump of my hips against the wood. If I could walk after this without limping, it would be a miracle—but in that moment, I preferred the limp.
Needed the brutality.
Craved this dragon’s fire.
Time fell away around us, and what could have easily been minutes or hours later, I imploded in his arms. My climax came out of nowhere, bright as the north star, savage as Elijah’s snarls, ripping through me like raging floodwaters hellbent on destruction. It soaked me from head to toe, fire in my blood, pleasure blooming like fireworks again—like a whole display of them, one explosion after another. I slapped a hand over my mouth to muffle a sob, but Elijah soon yanked it aside, replacing mine with his, driving into me harder, faster, prolonging the ecstasy until I thought I’d just die.
But… what a way to go.
Elijah’s pace stuttered for the first time since he’d started, faltering from a savage pounding to a breathtaking grind, milking another ounce of bliss out of me. His hand clamped down harder over my mouth to silence my cries, and my heart leapt into my throat at the first true brush of teeth over my shoulder. I blinked hurriedly, the dim pantry coming back into focus, his teeth so sharp and present.
I’d heard shifters bit their lovers.
Sometimes they marked them, the scarring permanent.
But that only happened when the pair were—
“Fuck, Katja—fuck,” Elijah gritted out, his teeth replaced by his lips, dragging an openmouthed kiss along my shoulder and up my neck. He nipped at my ear when he finally stilled, hips jerking ever so slightly, spilling himself inside me. That little nibble wasn’t what I imagined a shifter’s bite to feel like. It… It wasn’t. He hadn’t marked me.