by Joyce, T. S.
“I know it’s not as warm as a bear’s den. It’s probably unnaturally uncomfortable to you,” Damon said low, his eyes still trained on her.
She shook her head. “I’ve never seen any place like this,” she said. Her words echoed through the room and bounced back to them. She grinned and called, “Hellooooo!” Hellooo, hellooo, hellooo. “You want to know my favorite part about this room?” she asked excitedly.
“Yes. Tell me.”
“You didn’t make your bed.”
He huffed a surprised laugh and ran a hand through his sleep mussed hair. He cast the unmade bed a self-deprecating look and shook his head. “Mason is the only one who has ever been in here, so there doesn’t feel like a need to waste the energy on making it.”
“I don’t make my bed either. Do you want to know my second favorite part about this room?”
He dipped his chin once, his eyes going serious.
“I like that besides you, only Mason has seen it.”
“And now you.”
She canted her head and smiled. “Exactly.”
“Possessive,” he accused.
“Slob,” she retorted.
His smile lifted and fell. “Sexy,” he rumbled low, stalking her as she backed playfully toward the bed.
When the backs of her legs hit the carved wooden footboard, she folded onto the plush mattress behind her, never taking her gaze from his as he approached. He was all silver eyes and flexing muscles with every lithe step he took. Even with his uneven, scarred skin, Damon was beautiful in ways that made her heart stutter. “Mine,” she whispered.
His lips crashed onto hers as he hovered over her, keeping his body weight from pressing her into the comforter. Her legs spread for him instinctively, just to give him room to settle against the apex between her thighs. Rolling his hips, Damon pressed his erection right at the spot she was most sensitive. Arching her back against how good he felt right there, she offered him her neck, something she’d never done for another man.
A satisfied rumble vibrated from Damon’s chest and made a quick puh, puh, puh sensation against her skin. “Fearsome grizzly, offering your submission so soon.” Damon leaned forward and clamped his teeth onto her neck, hard enough to draw a moan from her lips, but not hard enough to break the skin. He released her and murmured against the base of her throat, “No need to submit to me, love. I like you how you are.”
Love. The way he uttered that word dumped heat between her legs. She wanted to feel the burn of his hot skin against hers. As if he could read her thoughts, he pulled the hem of her shirt upward and over her head in one smooth motion, then unsnapped the back clasp of her bra with an easy snick. With one finger, he hooked the front of her open bra and pulled it from her arms. He blinked slowly as he dropped her undergarment off the edge of the bed, then dragged his gaze back to her bare breasts. Now the insecurity set in. Damon had lived for eons and had likely been with countless women over the course of his existence, while she was a novice who, at age thirty, had only managed to sleep with one college boyfriend and her crew mates. And none of those times had she encouraged them to look at her body.
“You’re beautiful.”
“I’m freckled.”
“I’m scarred. Does it make you want me less?”
She shook her head and answered honestly, “I think it makes me want you more.”
Damon leaned forward and sucked gently on her earlobe, then whispered, “I like your spots.” Easing back, he traced a constellation of them over the tip of her shoulder.
Nervously, she said, “You must have very good vision in the dark.”
“Impeccable vision.”
“Faaantastic.”
Damon angled his head, and his eyes narrowed slightly. “Can you not feel how hard I am between your legs, Dangerous Clara? Can you not feel how badly I want you? How badly I want to be inside of you.” He leaned down, drew one of her nipples into his mouth, and grazed his teeth against the sensitive skin there as though he was punishing her. “I’ve never seen a woman so beautiful. Now,” he murmured, rolling her on top of him until her legs straddled his hips, “own me.”
Eep! Own him? She was more of a wiggle around on the bottom and hope for an orgasm type of gal, but Damon—sexy, dominant, apex legendary predator, Damon—was handing her the reins in his bed. “I don’t think I’ll be very good at this.” Where the hell had her confidence run off to?
Damon grabbed a pillow from above him and fluffed it under his neck, then linked his hands behind his head. With a crooked, cocky smile, he said, “Take my pants off.”
Right. She could do that. Look sexy. She scraped her nails down his hips as she fumbled with the elastic band of his thin pants. He tensed under her and made an inhuman hissing sound. She thought she’d hurt him, but when she muttered, “Shit,” and looked up to apologize for what a horrid seductress she was being, his eyes were narrowed to hungry slits and his smile turned positively wicked.
“Do that again.”
Mmm, the dragon liked her claws. Eyes on his face, Clara grabbed the elastic on either side of his hips and dragged it slowly down his thighs, clawing him gently as she unsheathed him. Damon shivered, and under her touch, gooseflesh raised from his skin. The breath she exhaled was still shaky, but her hands had stopped trembling. His skin was like hot tap water that was almost uncomfortable to touch but still bearable. She liked that he ran hot. Finding her bravery, she looked down at his long, thick shaft. It was red and swollen, ready for her, and already a drop of creamy moisture sat on the tip. She smiled and bent down to taste it before she could change her mind. The second she touched her mouth to his dick, his hands went to her hair, gripping her gently as he drew a knee up on one side of her and let off a soft, helpless groan. Holy sexy balls, he was hot. Damon curled his hips forward as she slid her mouth over him. She thought he would shove her where he wanted with a grip as strong as his, but he didn’t. He kept his hands gentle in her hair, guiding but not forcing. She eased off him, then back down, circling him with her tongue.
“Fuuuck,” he gritted out as she took more of him. His abs flexed every time she slid her mouth over him, and relaxed when she pulled slowly off.
She wasn’t scared about what he would think anymore or insecure about the way she looked. Now, she was molten in her middle, and her want for him outshone any hesitation.
She unsnapped the button to her jeans and ripped the zipper slowly down.
“Touch yourself,” he whispered as he watched her shimmy out of the rest of her clothes.
Feeling like a goddess under his intense gaze, Clara straddled her knees on either side of his hips and locked her arm near his ribs. She rocked forward, arching her back as she ran her hand between her breasts and down the center of her stomach, lower and lower until she touched the top of her sex.
“More,” he said, voice sounding breathless now as he wrapped his fist around his shaft and drew a long stroke.
She cupped herself gently. “Like this?”
He nodded jerkily and pulled another stroke of himself. “What do you feel?”
“Wet.”
Damon moved so fast, he was a blur. Her stomach dipped as she went from hovering over Damon to under his body on the bed. Breath quick and shallow, he pressed her knees apart with his own and curved his powerful hips against hers. His shaft slid into her by inches, and she gasped at how good he felt inside of her, stretching her. He drew out and bucked into her again, deeper this time. Clara clawed his back and bowed against the bed. “More,” she demanded, using his own word.
A long, low rumble filled the room and rattled against her skin as Damon plunged into her so deeply, he pressed onto her clit. She moaned his name and clutched onto him tighter as he eased out and thrust into her again.
“Fuck, how can you feel so good?” he asked breathily. His lips collided with hers as he thrust into her again.
God, he was big. If she hadn’t been so ready for him, this would’ve toed the edge of discomfort, b
ut right now, all she could do was close her eyes and absorb every sparking sensation that exploded in her middle every time he buried himself inside her.
The pressure between her legs was so intense she gripped the back of his hair and raked her fingernails across his back to anchor herself in the here and now. She was at risk of floating away. Of losing herself and not retaining the clean-edged memories of this moment. And she wanted to remember everything because this, right now, felt important. It felt all-encompassing, as though her life was taking an unexpected fork in the road, and at the edge of her path would be a cache of wealth so much more valuable than riches. Happiness lay in front of her now.
Damon’s grip at the base of her neck tightened as he kissed her and thrust into her hard, faster now. His control was slipping, and damn she loved this. Loved to hear that prehistoric growl in his throat. Loved to feel his hands tightening against her skin. Loved to feel him swelling even bigger inside of her. She was close. So close.
As if Damon could feel her tipping over the edge, he grabbed her wrists and slammed them down against the bed above her. He lifted his torso and stared down at her, watching her face as her body exploded around him. “Damon!” she screamed, arching her neck back as her body pulsed with pleasure.
A snarl lifted his lip as he closed his eyes and slammed into her, then froze. Jets of warmth throbbed into her, and he bucked erratically as he uttered her name through clenched teeth. “Clara.” And as he emptied himself into her completely, he lowered himself flush against her, hard chest against her soft breasts, and he bit her exposed neck again. Just a clamp of his teeth as her aftershocks pulsed on, and then he replaced the sharp edges with soft kisses.
And when her body had gone still and sated, he eased out of her and pulled her close against his chest. His skin was warm against hers, but it felt good here in the cold cavern of his lair.
He let his lips linger on her forehead and he rubbed her back gently over and over, as if he was helpless to stop touching her now.
Clara smiled against his skin.
Own me.
Damon had it all wrong.
He was the one who owned her now, body and soul.
Chapter Seven
“I want pancakes,” Clara said. “I want to be able to tell everyone I was fed by a dragon.”
“As opposed to being fed to a dragon?” Damon asked with a deep chuckle that reverberated under her cheek. He was lying comfortably on his back, tugging at her wild curls as she rested her face against his chest. She was actually getting used to Damon’s heat now, and even the darkness of his lair. It was nice in here, sequestered away from the rest of the world. It could be burning to the ground for all she knew, but in here, she was safe and warm and Damon’s.
She traced his uneven skin around a darker scar. “What happened to you?”
His nostrils flared as he inhaled deeply. “War. I’ll be right back.”
He eased out from under her and off the bed, then sauntered to a single door she hadn’t noticed before. When he turned on the light inside the room, she could see rows of suits and clean-pressed shirts lined up. As he began to dress, she pulled the covers over her body to make up for Damon’s lost warmth.
War. Something about his flippant response niggled at her mind, as if a memory was clicking into place that she didn’t understand or realize quite yet. Unsettled, she watched him stride toward the door as he buttoned up a starched, white shirt over dark gray dress pants. Damn, the man could wear a suit, but his passive mask was secured back onto his face. She hated seeing the look of indifference after the last hour they’d shared.
“Damon?”
He turned at the door, but hesitated to meet her eyes. She wanted to tell him how much being with him here had meant to her. She wanted to tell him how hard she was falling for him, and how much she appreciated him letting her in, even if it was just for a little while. His dead gaze made her cowardly though, so instead, she murmured, “You have a file on me. Can I see it?”
“Why?” he asked, not even bothering to deny it.
She gathered the pillow more securely under her head and admitted, “I’m curious about what made Mason decide to bring me here.”
Seconds of silence ticked on between them before Damon dipped his chin once. “As you wish.”
After he left, Clara debated getting dressed, but decided against it. She’d been comfortable in her own skin with him and wanted that feeling back. He’d seemed completely content to lie with her for hours until she’d asked him about his past. About his scars. He might have let her in a little, but Damon was far from an open book and would likely always be that way. Something about that made her chest ache.
He wasn’t gone more than ten minutes and returned with a tray stacked high with food and a beige file dangling from his hand. He kicked the door closed behind him and set his wares on the bed.
“Will you undress again?” she asked, as he hesitated by the bedside.
He shook his head slowly and sat on the edge of the mattress, his now dark gaze on her.
“Is it because I asked about your scars?”
A single nod, and then he stared off at the door as if he wanted to escape her. “It’s best not to scratch at me, Dangerous Clara. Those ghosts you are able to see so easily are better left alone.”
Clara looked around the room at the mention of them, but it was only her and Damon here now. “I’m sorry.”
Damon looked troubled, but rewarded her with unbuttoning his shirt and yanking the material off his shoulders. The pants stayed in place, but at least she had access to his warm torso again as he settled against the headboard beside her. Tray between them, they ate in silence, and when she’d had her fill, she pulled the file into her lap.
Damon picked up a remote from the end table near the bed and pushed a button that lifted one of the blackout panels. She gasped at the view. His room was overlooking the beautiful evergreen forest. Blinking hard at what a turn her life had taken in the last few days, she squinted against the saturated sunlight filtering through the wall-to-ceiling window.
She read her file out loud. “Clara Emory Sutterfield. Birthdate, ten twenty of nineteen eighty five. Grizzly lineage…” her voice trailed off.
“Read on.”
“Grizzly lineage began six generations ago.” She hadn’t even known when her family had gone bear shifter. “Green eyes, red hair, five-foot-five, curvy figure.” Here someone had scribbled, this one feels important. She looked at Damon and quirked her eyebrows.
He shook his head and muttered, “That is Mason’s writing.”
Huh. She continued. “One red-headed female born to each generation. Dominant grizzly shifter. Alpha of the Red Claws. Lost…” Her voice faded to nothing. She shouldn’t have asked to see this. It was nothing she didn’t already know. She’d lived it. Barely survived this part, in fact. Her voice shook as she read on. “Lost her crew, Charles Redding and Daniel Myer, to an explosion on an offshore drilling rig. Didn’t recover.” She huffed a sad and humorless laugh. Didn’t recover. Her or her crew? Didn’t matter. It was true on both accounts.
“Why didn’t you find another crew?” Damon asked low. He wouldn’t look at her anymore. His attention was on a loose thread on the comforter that he wrapped around and around his finger.
Clara lifted one shoulder in a helpless shrug. “I just couldn’t love anyone like that again.”
“Because you were afraid to lose them?”
Her lip trembled, and her vision blurred with tears. Blinking hard, she nodded her head. She couldn’t trust her words right now. She couldn’t trust her words about her crew ever. Burying them had broken all the good things she’d liked about herself. She’d lived a half-life ever since. Her choice.
“Is the hole they left why you want a child?”
“No,” she rasped through a tightening throat. “I wanted a baby before Charles and Daniel died. We had all these plans. We didn’t even want to know who the father was between the two of the
m because we would all be a family, raising our cub, and it wouldn’t matter. And then when I…” Her voice broke, so she cleared her throat and tried again. “When I got the call about the accident, all of our dreams of having a family were gone. Just,”—she snapped her fingers—“gone like that. Everything was gone. And after a few years of living this empty, lonely life, I wanted to feel again. I wanted to love someone, but in a safe way, you know? I wanted to be a mother as badly as I ever had, but I’d missed out on bonding to another male after I lost Charles and Daniel. So I tried the doctor’s way until my savings ran out. Pretty pathetic, huh?”
Damon sighed and draped his arm over her shoulders, then pulled her tight against his side. Turning his head, he rested his chin on top of her hair. “I would’ve done the same thing.”
Clara’s shoulders sagged, and a sob worked its way up her throat. “It feels good to say all that out loud and not carry it alone anymore.”
“Dangerous Clara,” he said softly.
He’d called her that several times now, and she winced against the moniker. She wanted to tell him he was wrong, and that she wasn’t dangerous to him at all. She wanted to tell him to stop calling her that and go back to calling her love as he had earlier. She wanted to tell him he was wrong about her, and that she would never hurt him, but when she opened her mouth to explain all of this, the words stuck in her throat. Why? Because she suddenly understood him.
I would’ve done the same thing, he’d said.
He had done the same thing.
Something in his past had brought him to his knees and made it easy for him to shut down his emotions. To turn his face into a lineless, emotionless mask.
He didn’t want her talking about his past or breaking down his walls, and she understood his hesitation. She was terrified of him for the same reasons.
The life of a fearful grizzly had clashed with that of a stone-cold dragon, and somehow along the way, they’d become one in the same.