Dragon, Interrupted (Fire Mates Book 5)

by Lexxie Couper

  “Sonny, did you know you have a very large erection?” his ever-informative elderly neighbor asked on another raspy whisper, her voice somehow punching through his stunned disbelief.

  Tyson blanched. He jerked his gaze back to her, down to his groin, to the bloody obvious hard-on tenting his cargoes, back to the woman. “Err…”

  She smirked, and for an insane moment, she didn’t look old at all. Or duckish.

  And then fresh fire razed Tyson’s flesh, licked at his balls, his groin, and he forgot about old ladies. Fresh fire accompanied by a bone-deep shudder, and he knew his Fire Mate had turned around. She was jogging back toward him.

  Fast.

  He bolted. Vaulting over chairs, tables and the café’s neat row of potted palms. There was a shocked shout from behind him, a few loud “what the hells”, a bray of stunned laughter—and then nothing.

  Nothing but the thumping of his heart and the roaring of blood in his ears.

  Bloody hell. He was about five minutes away from an uncontrolled and unwanted shift into dragon form, he was still fighting a mean case of heartburn and he was sporting an erection the size of a cricket bat. What a perfect first impression to make on the complete stranger he was going to kiss right here on the busy Bondi Beach foot—

  He ran straight into her.

  There was a muttered “Oof,” a growl, a warm and firm body pressed to his…and an explosion of heat over his flesh, through his body, into his soul.

  Two wide, stunned blue eyes stared up at him.

  “I’m sorry,” he ground out, “I’m really sorry, but I’ve got to—”

  He crushed her lips with his. He kissed her and invaded her mouth and let the demand pounding through his body be consumed by her sweet, destined blaze.

  A stranger’s tongue was in Sera’s mouth. In her mouth.

  Holy smack, a stranger’s tongue was in her mouth, rolling and sliding over her tongue. A stranger was kissing her.

  No, not just kissing her. He was fucking her mouth. Making goddamn love to her mouth with his tongue while something long and thick and wicked hard that was most likely an impressive erection poked at her belly, and while all this was happening, what was she doing?

  Was she fighting him off? Was she pushing him away and kicking him in the balls? Was she letting Hannibal rip said kicked-in balls off?

  No. She was standing there letting him. His tongue was practically playing with her tonsils and she wasn’t putting up a fight. Far from it. She was kissing him back. Her tongue was stroking his, her lips were parted and she was kissing him back big-time. Holy smack, she was even moaning.

  What the hell was wrong with her? It was like she had lost control of herself the second the guy smacked into her. Shit, even her hands had strayed to his chest—his broad, hard, smooth chest that seemed to burn under his light-cotton shirt with a heat that should have screamed fever! But instead it made her pulse quicken, her body tremble and her tongue stroke his some more.

  This had to be some random act of impulsive seduction. Like the guy in New York who gave out hugs, except this guy gave out mind-blowing, tonsil-stroking kisses. Had to be.

  She had to stop him.

  Except she didn’t. Someone else did.

  “Hey, hey, hey,” a man barked to her right, a second before the tongue-fucking stranger was hauled backward. “There’s none of that here.”

  Something growled. An animal. A big animal.

  Sera snapped her gaze to Hannibal, but her cousin’s dog was just sitting at her heel, licking his balls.

  She jerked her gaze back to her stranger—her stranger?—and almost let out a yelp.

  She hadn’t gotten a good look at him before, just remembered a quick flash of hunky, dark yumminess a second before he slammed into her. Now he stood glaring at the cop still holding his arm, very much still hunky and yummy, with his dark, floppy hair, equally dark straight eyebrows and dark-dark eyes. Yummy, but also very much frightening. Menacing. Malevolent.

  As dark and hunky and yummy as he was, he looked like he was about to rip the head off the cop who suddenly didn’t seem to appear as brave and determined and authoritarian as he had a second ago. Now the cop looked scared.

  Scared of her stranger. The guy who had come out of nowhere, kissed her until she moaned and was currently glaring at the cop, nostrils flaring, chest heaving, growling in an utterly inhuman way that turned Sera’s pussy to liquid.

  Oh God help her, she’d just French-kissed a psychopath. And was horny about it.

  “Y-you can’t…” the cop stammered, stumbling back a step.

  Her growling, nostril-flaring stranger sucked in a breath and swung his gaze back Sera. “I can smell your want.”

  The claim was a low murmur through barely parted lips. His eyes seemed to glint, another growl rumbled in his chest and, with a shudder unlike any Sera had ever seen, he turned and sprinted away. Through the bustling footpath, toward the crowded sands of Australia’s most famous beach.

  He didn’t slow. He didn’t deviate from his path. He ran straight for the water, stripping his shirt as he went and splashing into the surf. Still wearing his cargo shorts, he dove under the first breaking wave.

  Gone.

  Sera blinked.

  Shook her head and blinked again.

  Whoever he was, he didn’t emerge from the water. She scanned the waves. Surely her eyes were playing tricks on her? How could he not come up for air?

  Squinting into the bright day, she searched for him.

  Nothing. All she could see was a beach full of laughing, swimming people, none of whom had kissed her senseless.

  Whoever her stranger was, he could hold his breath for a freaking long time.

  “Ummm.” The cop beside her shuffled into view. “Do you…do I need to take a statement…”

  Sera tore her stare from the breaking waves and frowned at him. He looked uncomfortable. Uncomfortable and ruffled. His cheeks were pink and his gaze didn’t want to settle on anything.

  Well duh. Did you hear the noises the guy who kissed you made? You’re ruffled too—although for some insane reason it’s because you’re horny.

  She shook her head. “No. It’s okay. He’s my…boyfriend.”

  What the hell? Why in the name of God did she say that?

  The cop seemed to flinch, as if the very thought of standing near the psychopathic kisser’s girlfriend was dangerous. He shot Hannibal a quick look, perhaps hopeful her cousin’s Irish Wolfhound-Mastiff mix might give him some reassurance. Hannibal, ever the epitome of an un-neutered canine, continued to lick his balls, totally uninterested in the whole situation.

  Sera frowned again, this time at the dog. His disinterest in itself was just as freaky odd as her stranger.

  God, will you stop calling him that? He’s not your anything. Seriously, it’s getting…weird.

  It was. The whole thing was weird. The man, his kiss, her reaction to it, the very pleasant heat his touch had provoked, smoldering away in her core. Hannibal’s complete lack of care about it all. She ran with her cousin’s dog for one very specific reason—he wouldn’t let anyone near her. It wasn’t like she was constantly in need of protection; she wasn’t. But just of late, every time she went out she seemed to get accosted by weirdoes. Hannibal kept them all away.

  All, that was, except her stranger. And seriously, could you get any weirder?

  I can smell your want.

  The man’s murmured words slinked through her head and, for the love of God, her pussy contracted.

  Your psychotic kisser is the weirdo, Sera Hayes. What are you going to do about him?

  Do about him? Chase him? Press charges against him? Hell, she didn’t even know his name.

  Damn, why didn’t she know his name?

  Are you serious?

  “Doing this again on a public footpath, okay?”

  Sera blinked. The cop was still talking. Admittedly a few steps farther away from where he’d stood before, his hand resting on his gun, b
ut still talking to her nonetheless. “I’m sorry…what?”

  He scowled. “I’m not sure what’s going on with you and your boyfriend, but next time, please avoid doing it on a public footpath, okay?”

  Doing it.

  It.

  The word sent a wave of shimmering, tight, wanton need through Sera. She bit back a gasp, staring at the cop as he continued berating her, her sex throbbing and pulsing and doing all manner of squirmy horny things at the thought of doing “it” with her stranger. Her nipples pinched tight, her heart raced faster and, before she realized it, she was pressing her thighs together at the memory of the way he’d kissed her. The way he’d made love to her mouth with his—

  The shark alarm wailed to life, a high-pitched siren that shattered the highly erotic and utterly disturbing memory.

  Sera let out a gasp, her heart not just missing a beat but a whole goddamn chorus. The shark alarm was wailing, people were running screaming from the surf and, above it all, the cacophony of someone on the beach shouting, “Shark! There’s a fucking great big shark in the water!”

  The cop ran. At a dead sprint on the exact trajectory her stranger had run only moments earlier. Why? Hysterical relief over something other than her to deal with, perhaps? Whatever reason the cop had sprinted away, she was glad for it. She wanted to go home. Go home, take a shower and forget this whole surreal episode had happened.

  “Strange that a shark could get past the shark nets, no?”

  Sera startled at the voice to her left. She swung about, finding a little old lady complete with poorly applied pink lipstick and matching shell-framed glasses standing beside her.

  “I mean, correct me if I’m wrong, dearie,” the wizened woman continued, “but aren’t those nets there to keep the swimmers safe and the sharks out?”

  The woman’s eyes seemed to glint behind the thick lenses of her glasses as she stared hard at Sera. Hard enough to make her squirm.

  Sera frowned, gripping Hannibal’s leash tighter. The dog—finally finished with his ball-licking preoccupation—came to the party on his protective duties and rose to his feet, a low growl rumbling in his chest.

  The old woman shuffled back a step, flicking the huge beast a hesitant look.

  Heat flooded Sera’s cheeks. She gave Hannibal’s leash a gentle tug. “Oh, right,” she muttered, trying to make the dog heel. “The psychotic kisser you don’t worry about one iota, but the little old lady gets your wind up?”

  “Psychotic kisser?” the lady echoed, that glint not just in her eyes but turning her inspection into something close to intense fervor. “You didn’t consent to his affections? Oh dearie, you need to report him. Do you know his name? His address? I can help with the report if you wish. Do you know where he lives? I could go with you now to demand an apology if you like.”

  The questions lashed at Sera. There was no other way to describe it. They came at her fast, the little old lady shuffling forward with each one, coming closer and closer. Hannibal growled again. Louder this time. Growled and strained against his leash.

  Sera swallowed. “N-no…I don’t…” She stopped, frowned. Looked out at the beach and the hordes of people keeping distance from the waves and back to the old woman with the piercing stare again. “I mean…how did a shark get—”

  “You don’t even know the man who kissed you moments ago?” The elderly lady pulled a face of disgust. “Shameful.”

  New heat flushed Sera’s cheeks. “That’s not…” She fumbled to a halt, biting her bottom lip with her teeth. Why did she feel like she had to protect her stranger? Especially against a woman who looked at least eighty-five in the shade?

  No idea. But you do. Don’t you? And while we’re pondering the surreal and ludicrous, where exactly did your stranger go? Into the waves semi-naked and you haven’t seen him since. He hasn’t popped up once, not even to take a breath. How is that possible? Where did he go?

  And why do you so desperately want to know?

  She didn’t know the answer to any of those questions. It pissed her off. Enough that she forgot her reprobate mother had managed to raise a daughter who was polite and respectful to elders. She narrowed her eyes at the possible octogenarian scowling at her. Hannibal growled again. “Are you always this pushy?”

  “Only with little hussies who snog complete strangers in the street.”

  Sera’s eyebrows shot up her forehead, going from angry to stunned in a single jump. “Excuse me?”

  The little old lady muttered something that sounded a lot like “stupid cunt”, shook her head and offered a smile so saccharin, Sera’s mouth fell open. “I must be off, dearie. It was lovely talking to you.”

  She turned and shuffled away and, for the first time, Sera noticed she wore running shoes with her matronly dress. Albeit pink running shoes, to match her lipstick and glasses, but running shoes all the same. Pink running shoes and thick black socks.

  Sera blinked. “That is the freakiest thing I’ve ever seen.”

  Really? Freakier than a gorgeous, sexy guy who scares the shit out of a cop with just a flare of his nostrils? Or freakier than a man who runs into the surf after kissing you with more passion than you’ve ever been kissed in your life?

  She swung her head and stared at the beach, doing her best to ignore the ridiculous way her sex throbbed at the memory of that unbelievable kiss. The beach was packed with confused people. They stood at the water’s edge, staring at the waves as if searching for the shark. The alarm was no longer wailing and the cop who’d come to her rescue earlier was now trudging back up the beach, heading in her direction.

  “Whoops, Hannibal, time to go.” She pivoted on her heel, tugging the still-growling dog with her, and began trotting along the footpath.

  Yes, it was time to go. Time to go home, have a shower and put this whole situation behind her.

  Now if only her damn body would stop carrying on, reminding her with insistent force exactly what she was trying to forget—one brilliant kiss from a complete stranger.

  Stupid bloody body.

  Did you enjoy this sample of Sera’s Dragon (Fire Mates, Book One)?

  It’s available here now

  About Lexxie Couper

  Lexxie Couper started writing when she was six and hasn’t stopped since. She’s not a deviant, but she does have a deviant’s imagination and a desire to entertain readers with her words. Add the two together and you get erotic romances that can make you laugh, cry, shake with fear or tremble with desire. Sometimes all at once.

  When she’s not submerged in the worlds she creates, Lexxie’s life revolves around her family, a husband who thinks she’s insane, an indoor cat who likes to stalk shadows, and her daughters, who both utterly captured her heart and changed her life forever.

  Lexxie lives by two simple rules – measure your success not by how much money you have, but by how often you laugh, and always try everything at least once. As a consequence, she’s laughed her way through many an eyebrow raising adventure.

  You can find details of her writing at

  www.LexxieCouper.com