Flux of Skin (Fate Fire Shifter Dragon Book 2)

by Kris Austen Radcliffe

  He bent forward to give her nipples the attention they deserved—a good pull and strong flick from his tongue.

  He inched back from her belly as a consequence, and the cool air washed over his erection. It didn’t last long. Rysa yanked him back.

  “Must. Have. You,” he said, the pitch of his voice low. He fought her off enough to get his mouth on her breasts.

  Her hands glided across the groove between his stomach and his hips, dancing dangerously close to taking up the grip he wanted, but she chuckled in his ear. “You want me, do you?”

  Why did she tease so? She rubbed her belly against the underside of his erection. Her smooth skin felt right, perfect—good. Better than he’d felt in a very long time.

  “Are you going to take me on a date?” She grinned, one eyebrow up and her tongue sticking out just enough between her teeth he could glimpse it.

  He heard her question. But he’d also heard the sultry, deep purr when he nibbled on her shoulder. The trembling of her desire as he stroked his fingers over her thighs and between her legs. “Dancing with Dragon will take considerable planning.” And probably a good deal of engineering.

  “Uh-huh.” Both her hands rested on the V at the base of his abdomen.

  If she was going to tease him, he’d tease her right back. He flexed the bicep pressing against her side, eliciting another breathy sigh. He covered her mouth with his, and pulled that sigh from her throat and into his.

  “Oh…” she moaned, her arms wrapping around his neck.

  One correct stroke of his finger and she’d have an orgasm right here, standing on the thin bathmat, her body pressed wonderfully against his erection and her mouth open and willing. He pulled back an inch or two, allowing room to wisp his fingertips over her stomach and across her bellybutton. New shivers flowed through her body, her lips jittering against his.

  He tightened his arm and chest—a small, not obvious flex—and brushed his fingers along the underside of her breasts. Another, deeper sigh pushed between her lips.

  ‘Want you’ calling scents filled his senses. ‘Want you’ and a heavy dose of raw ‘fuck me.’

  He almost backed her against the doorframe and pulled her leg around his hips. Almost sank into her hard, burying himself as deeply as she could take with his first thrust—but the sudden jolt of pain from her hip would destroy all the brilliance she breathed out for him.

  “Bed. Now.” He turned her toward the door and slapped her backside, on her non-bruised cheek, pushing her forward.

  “Oh!” She turned around again, facing him, her hands gripping the doorframe. “So forceful.” The naughtiest, most delectable pout pushed out her lower lip.

  She’d be the end of him. Fates, Shifters, Burners, might have all tried, but he’d die from a lack of Rysa.

  She bit her lip, her hips swaying, and backed toward the bed.

  “If the bruise hurts, you tell me.” He laid her down on the mattress, her knees hanging off the edge. The blanket bunched up under her back and bowed her chest up into the most wonderful arch. Her talisman framed the top of her breasts.

  Her nipples beckoned once more. He lowered himself on top of her, careful not to press on her hip, and licked the sweet skin between her breasts. She tasted of the desert sage bath salts, with her true mist-under-the-moon filling in around the tang, a warm perfect center.

  He licked again.

  She flinched under him. “My hip’s pulling.”

  He stood up, pulling off her fast, but she gasped. Surprise danced across her features, her hands out to him, pulling him back. Not having him seemed to hurt more than his weight on her bruise.

  “Rysa.” He knelt on the floor, against the bed and her front as she sat up, his mouth taking hers in a deep, purposeful kiss.

  “I’m okay,” she whispered. “I just…” A small grimace moved across her face as she looked down at her hip.

  He stood so he could to sit next to her, but she laid a hand over the lower part of his stomach, her fingers spread and her wrist brushing the side of his erection. She sat on the edge of the bed, directly in front of him.

  Her seers stroked the edges of his mind and she smiled, her gaze at eye level with his erection and her hands moving in wonderful, gentle circles across his belly. A finger ran down his trail of body hair to the base of his erection, then swirled, with the lightest of touches, from its base to its sensitive head.

  He looked up at the ceiling, not watching, only feeling. Her fingertip left a trail of heat contrasting with the cool air. Her other hand smoothed down his side and curled firmly around his hip.

  When he looked down again, she licked her lips.

  “You will be the end of me.” How he managed to form a sentence was beyond his comprehension. Water plinked in the emptying tub in the other room, and the still-lit candles cast a sunset-like glow, adding to the sweet wonder of the moment.

  The expression she wore when she looked up at his face held more confidence, more willingness, than he’d ever seen from her. She controlled the moment and it made her feel good.

  She swept her fingers over his chest, along the edges of his chest hair, and down the groove along the outer edge of his abs. Each movement, each touch, left a brilliant trail on his skin, a wondrous tingling similar to the touch of a feather.

  “How can you be so hard after losing so much blood?” she murmured as she ran her hand up and down once again.

  He didn’t know. He didn’t care, either. She pulled herself flush against his body, her legs off the edge of the bed and wrapped around his, her knees pressing into the back of his where he stood, and he almost lost his balance. One of her hands helped her mouth and the other splayed over his stomach.

  Her lips descended onto him, her tongue twirling. She alternated licks and kisses, breaths and sucks. Waves of ecstasy rose from his belly and almost crested, but he rode them, refusing to act like an inexperienced teenager, no matter how she swirled his desires into an intoxicating brew he barely controlled.

  Rysa danced her fingers over his flesh, varying her actions as if she performed an important experiment and needed to note and tally every single one of his responses.

  Her tongue felt so damned good the world blanked out, becoming only the sullen backdrop behind her bright wonder. The cabin, the candlelight, even his ever-present trickle to the sleeping Dragon fell to the side.

  His woman enjoyed his body as much as he enjoyed hers, and everything around them—in them—rippled. Everything burned, expanding, demanding release. “Rysa.”

  He tightened his stomach to back away, but it only heightened the intensity radiating from his groin. “Damn… oh…”

  She didn’t listen, kept moving, increasing her pace. “Wait!” His hands wrapped around her waist and he lifted her off him—and the edge of the bed—into the air. “Stop! Stop.”

  He stood straight-armed, holding her out from his chest by the waist, over the mattress under her. Her feet dangled and her toes bunched into the blankets.

  Her mouth opened into a wide circle, and she gripped his arms. “Oh!”

  He brought her close, slowly, controlling his movements. She wrapped her legs around his waist as he drew her to him, and he stopped just before he entered her. Bending his head, he took one nipple into his mouth, swirling it, unable to say anything.

  She gasped when she guided him into her, the intensity of him filling her playing through her body as a shiver. He stopped, feeling her stretch and tighten around him, to take him fully. “Love,” he whispered, curling his arms under her bottom.

  She clung to his front, her face pressed against his neck, her arms tight and her hands gripping his back. They stood still, twined into each other, breathing in when the other breathed out.

  Her calling scents spun through his mind, silky and layered and better than any air he’d breathed before.

  When he kissed her, his mouth took hers so hard she barely exhaled. “See your face,” he whispered.

  She kissed him, her
arms around his neck, and moved gently. All the intensity of her previous actions rushed back—all the fire in his groin and all the shutting down of his perception. He saw only her responses. Felt only her body.

  He knelt on the bed, moving with care so as not to hurt her hip, and rotated so her back faced the door. He slowly dropped onto the mattress with her on top, and pressed on her lower back to keep himself inside her.

  Now poised over him, she rode him, her injured hip pulled in and her leg stretched out. He cupped her thigh to bear all her weight on the affected side. Her lovely hair fanned around her face, its still-damp tendrils gliding over his cheeks and lips.

  He pushed aside a tendril, to allow in enough candlelight to see her eyes clearly. Desire shined down on him—desire and acceptance and love.

  “Ladon… ah… I…” An orgasm rippled through her body and she sat up, her face turned to the ceiling. Her breasts jittered and he released her hip so he could cup them with both hands. “I…love you.”

  He lost himself again. Lost his senses and his thoughts inside this moment with her, and he increased his speed as he sat up. Their next kiss bruised their lips, their tongues. He curled an arm under her bottom again, taking the effort of her movements off her hip.

  Her next orgasm shuddered around him and he responded this time, unable to hold back any longer, and matched her vibration for vibration.

  A new rumble washed from his chest. It filled the cabin, and echoed back to them, to her, and he kissed her with everything she gave to him. Every moment of brilliance, every single touch of acceptance. He lay back onto the bed, and when she calmed, when they both calmed, he held her where she was, on top of him.

  A soft hum rose from her throat. She didn’t move. “You were right. This is our truth,” she whispered.

  Ladon smiled, holding in his arms the love of his life. Yes, their truth. And Dragon’s too, when the beast awoke. This would always be their truth.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Rysa dozed, sprawled on the cabin’s cozy bed, the blankets wrapped around her on one side and her man on the other. Ladon would have kept her on top of him all night if her hip hadn’t started to hurt again. Now, he slept on his stomach, one of his big arms draped over her belly and his other off the side of the bed.

  He snored softly, more a muffled exhale because he nuzzled against her shoulder than anything else. From the bathroom, the tub faucet dripped and a high plink echoed, and continued to drip occasionally all night. Each time a drip hit the ceramic, the candles flickered.

  They still burned, casting a golden glow mixing with the dawn’s first rays that brightened the spaces around the curtains.

  Ladon shifted slightly and his arm slid down her belly. The heat rising off his skin made her wonder if her fever had returned. But his heat felt right. He felt good, and she’d pressed her bruised hip against him when he rolled onto his front.

  Getting used to sleeping with the furnace lying next to her would take some time.

  Dragon didn’t produce so much heat. The beast probably modulated his surface temperature the same way he modulated his patterns and colors. It made sense; otherwise, she thought, every Fate and Shifter on the planet would be running around with infrared goggles hanging around their necks.

  She had so much to learn—about being a Fate and a Shifter, about Ladon and Dragon, about their history.

  And about dragon biomechanics. Ladon’s arm pressed on her stomach and she scooted up to distribute its bulk over her pelvic bones.

  Ladon was heavy. He looked like any normal well-muscled, fit guy—tall and not too big—but he weighed a lot. She guessed at least a hundred pounds more than he appeared. With her bruise, she was thankful he’d wanted her on top this time.

  How did she get so lucky? He’d tasted of sunshine. Salty and masculine, also—she didn’t know how else to describe it. He certainly tasted better than her douchey ex, Tom. For the first time in her life, Rysa had enjoyed giving a blowjob.

  His extra weight factored into sex as much as his strength and stamina. He could hold her up for hours and not break a sweat, but all of him weighed more than she expected, adding a wonderful extra to their lovemaking.

  She’d noticed another nice extra, as well—he calmed her hyperactivity. The orgasms he gave her worked wonders, unlike what “that boy” Tom had done. She scratched at her shoulder, thinking that she should have more respect for the dead. But sometimes it was hard.

  She gently ran her fingers through his hair. Ladon, her gorgeous, heavyweight sun god, made her body as happy as he made her soul.

  In truth, her body’s responses made her feel naughty—and a little ashamed. The way he looked at her brought out a side she didn’t know she had. She wanted him. A lot. Maybe he had calling scents, too, and just didn’t know it.

  Or maybe, she suspected, he made her feel safe. And when she felt safe, exploring the world was always easier.

  Was lovemaking supposed to be this good? She always felt connected to him, even when Dragon slept and she didn’t have access to their energy flow. Was it because they were new to each other? What if she became addicted to sex? Goodness, with him, it seemed a real possibility.

  They’d been together five times now. Five times of wondrous intensity in which she’d lost herself, with a man who rumbled. When it happened, it felt incredible. All of him felt incredible. Every inch of his skin, every sweep of his fingers, every single kiss.

  And what if this physical connection they felt was the real underpinning of their relationship, and not the other way around? What if she let herself feel this way because Tom had been pathetic and all her pent up horniness made her act like a—

  She recognized the little voice whispering her doubts and she stopped the thoughts in their tracks.

  Her talisman had done something other than make her seers distinct. It made identifying all the little voices a lot easier. And her seers, and her healer, like all of her soul, could live just fine without this particular roommate.

  She glanced at the man who had refused to fall asleep unless he was touching her in some way. The man whose eyes gleamed when they made love. This wonderful person who rumbled for her.

  Rysa didn’t care what AnnaBelinda had implied. The man with her right now might be compelled, but it wasn’t by any emotion that damaged his soul, because for him, it wasn’t just sex. He’d made that abundantly clear. They didn’t have sex, they made love. Guys weren’t supposed to be so sentimental, but Ladon made a very clear distinction. She was special.

  Maybe, because he’d lived so long, and had been with so many women, he had a fine sense of the differences. Maybe he was some sort of relationship snob, the way her mom was a wine snob. Maybe he saw her as some sort of really nice, really good Fate-Shifter Bordeaux.

  She sighed, smiling to herself. She wasn’t that good. Though he sure seemed happy last night. Very happy. They made love and he held her on top of him, still inside her, kissing her forehead and whispering the most wonderful words as he stroked her backbone with his soulful fingers.

  She wasn’t the Bordeaux. He was.

  It wasn’t just sex for her, either. It hadn’t been their first time, and it wasn’t now. It never would be.

  For the first time, Rysa realized the full weight of his words. When Ladon said “I love you,” he meant it. They’d been together a week, but this wonderful man loved her. He had from the beginning and she knew, even without calling her future-seer, that he always would.

  When she stroked his hair again he sighed once more, and mumbled in his sleep. Maybe, truly, it was okay to love him, too. He’d always be there when she woke up. He’d stay, as would his dragon. And maybe their intimacy was theirs, a reality stretching beyond this one time, or their time in the RV, or when he held her in the shower in the cave, his eyes brilliant as he spoke words she never thought she’d ever hear from a man—love you. Beautiful one. My beloved. My mate. Mine.

  The same words he spoke last night.

 
He touched her past, present, and future, and the times they were intimate weren’t single things, they were manifestations of a singular love. Something they’d always share, and counting the times they were together didn’t seem necessary anymore.

  Rysa glanced at the curtains blocking the sunlight creeping in around their edges. The sun peeked over the horizon. If she was to be the new Draki Prime—the Prime Fate of the Dracae and a part of their family—she needed to get to work, no matter how wonderful lying next to Ladon felt. She had another member of the family to find.

  She wiggled out from under Ladon’s arm. He sighed when she pulled away, mumbling something sounding suspiciously like “don’t eat the chicken” or maybe “reversed the lichen.” She kissed his forehead one more time, loving him so much she thought she might burst, and wondered what a Dracae dreamed.

  In the bag of clothes, she found jeans, a t-shirt, and to her surprise, underwear and socks.

  The door creaked and a sliver of sunshine cut into the room when she stepped outside. Carefully, she closed it, holding the handle so the lock clicked instead of panged. Ladon needed his sleep too, and with Dragon out, he couldn’t do anything other than argue with his sister, and Rysa knew that wasn’t going to help anyone, least of all him.

  Hopefully Andreas had calmed AnnaBelinda down last night. And Rysa wanted to talk to him about this whole “you need permission” thing, though she’d probably not bring up the conversation about compulsion. It’d cause more problems than it would solve.

  Outside, the high desert air chilled her arms, even in early summer. She rubbed her skin, looking around. AnnaBelinda’s cabin was dark still, but a light shone behind Andreas’s curtains. At least she wouldn’t wake him up.

  The gravel rolled under her sneakers and she danced a bit, careful of her hip. It hurt less this morning than it had last night. Maybe her background healing ability hadn’t completely deserted her. She could hope.

  Her stomach growled. The noise sounded louder than it probably was, alone out here. She’d have some of that chicken when she—