Deven and the Dragon - Eliot Grayson Page 0,55

him.

That was not the reaction Deven had hoped for. He wasn’t sure what he’d hoped for, but he knew monosyllabic shock wasn’t it.

“I’m sorry,” he said roughly. “I’ll — give it to Fred to stick in a vase in the hall —”

“No!” Fiora cried, darting out his hand and gripping Deven’s wrist with surprising strength as Deven tried to withdraw the offered rose. “No, it’s mine, it’s for me!” His eyes glittered silvery-gold in the faint moonlight as he gazed up at Deven. And then, in a truly draconic growl, he said, “It’s mine.”

It was too much, Fiora’s dragon’s ferocity overlaid on someone Deven could have picked up with one hand.

Deven swooped down and captured those soft lips, sucking on the top one and nibbling the plumpness of the bottom one, and then slipping his tongue between them to taste Fiora’s sweetness. He was more intoxicating than any one of the rare wines he’d brought up from his cellars, with a spicy, smoky richness like a stick of precious incense left to smolder. Deven wrapped his free arm around Fiora’s back and yanked him in, plundering his mouth with no thought for anything but going deeper, and making Fiora his.

At last Fiora’s arms looped around Deven’s waist, his hands clutching at his shirt, his fingers digging in. Fiora swayed against him, giving himself up to it.

Deven tore his mouth away at last, once he couldn’t breathe anymore, and nibbled at Fiora’s ear, nuzzling into those long, tangled strands of silky hair. It smelled as good as he’d imagined it would, and felt like a caress against his cheek.

“How did you get me up to my bed, last time?” Fiora gasped. “How did you carry me? Over your shoulder?”

“No, I thought you might be sick,” Deven said, and then regretted it. His cock was straining at his trousers, and every inch of him was on fire with the need for Fiora’s skin and Fiora’s touch. If he broke the mood now and Fiora ran away, he might die. “I carried you in my arms,” he added hastily. “With your head on my shoulder.”

Fiora held him more tightly for a moment, and then let him go. Oh, no, no, no…

“Do that again,” Fiora commanded, with an arrogant lift of his pointy chin. “I want to remember it this time.”

“Here, take this,” Deven said, passing Fiora the rose, which had somehow survived, only a little battered.

Fiora accepted it, cradling it in his hands as if it were something to be cherished.

Deven swept him up in his arms, laughing as Fiora squeaked in surprise, and carried him off to the tower.

Chapter Fifteen

Deven kicked the door shut behind him as he stumbled into Fiora’s bedroom, off-balance and out of breath more from the way Fiora hadn’t stopped kissing him for more than ten seconds together than from the climb up the stairs.

They tumbled together onto Fiora’s bed, Fiora managing to toss the rose onto his nightstand as they landed. Deven paused for a moment, pinning Fiora to the bed.

“What do you want?” he gasped, and rolled his hips once, twice, because he simply couldn’t help it.

Fiora moaned long and low as their cocks rubbed together, hard and eager.

“I want everything,” he said fiercely. “Your mouth, and your hands, and your cock. And the rest of you.” Deven’s eyes rolled back on ‘your cock,’ and he nearly came on the spot. Fuck, but he’d thought Fiora might be shy in bed, or even prudish. It seemed that once the floodgates opened he wasn’t shy at all. “Everything, Deven,” Fiora growled, and tugged Deven down into another frantic kiss.

“I can work with that,” Deven said, once he freed his mouth — and why had he done that again? Fiora’s lips were softer and lusher than the petals of any rose, and he opened for Deven like a flower in the sun.

He tore at Fiora’s clothes and Fiora yanked on his. There was Fiora’s throat, as smooth as Deven had imagined. That pulse jumped under his tongue, and Deven lapped at it. Fiora tipped his head back. Collarbones, sharp and jutting, and Deven traced those too, working his way under the top of Fiora’s shirt to find the smooth planes of his chest, and hiding under the linen, the tight bud of a lavender nipple.

Fiora’s thighs clamped around his hips, pulling him down into their cradle. “In me,” Fiora whispered. “Do you want —”

Deven claimed his mouth again, because those words had to taste as sweet as they