Pann
catch me barking up a tree, smile wide as money green
Her little shrug earns a slow arch of my brow, the corner of my mouth tugging upward. I hum low in my throat at the way she calls them prey—soft-fleshed folk tucked in with the rest of the animals. It’s a good description. A true description. And it sits warm and satisfying in the pit of me like a meal already half-tasted.
Her hands rise, and I watch her like she’s the only thing worth watching—eyes dark, unblinking, intent. The first brush of heat over my chest blooms through me like a second heartbeat, fire sinking into flesh and deeper still. When her nails drag down my skin, I close my eyes for just a moment, letting the sensation ripple through me until she hits my waistband and hooks her fingers there.
Oh, fuck. If this is how the world greets me after centuries of stone, I should have broken free sooner.
Then she says it—ride her—and I lick my lips, half a dozen entirely different images flooding my mind. But then she clarifies dragon, and my brows jump high before my grin widens into something wolfish. I lift my hand, trailing the backs of my fingers up from where she rests them at my waist, slow enough to make it a deliberate act. The touch glides over silk and skin, past the curve of her arm, up to her shoulder, where I catch a lock of curl and gently sweep it back. The firelight spills across the line of her neck, exposing the steady beat of her pulse. My thumb brushes over it, light as breath.
“Tell me,” I murmur, voice low and edged in wickedness, “would I be so blessed by Dygra herself for it to be your bed you drop me into?”
The smile I give her then is all shameless sin—teeth, hunger, and the kind of promise that leaves no doubt I’d be a very willing offering.
Her hands rise, and I watch her like she’s the only thing worth watching—eyes dark, unblinking, intent. The first brush of heat over my chest blooms through me like a second heartbeat, fire sinking into flesh and deeper still. When her nails drag down my skin, I close my eyes for just a moment, letting the sensation ripple through me until she hits my waistband and hooks her fingers there.
Oh, fuck. If this is how the world greets me after centuries of stone, I should have broken free sooner.
Then she says it—ride her—and I lick my lips, half a dozen entirely different images flooding my mind. But then she clarifies dragon, and my brows jump high before my grin widens into something wolfish. I lift my hand, trailing the backs of my fingers up from where she rests them at my waist, slow enough to make it a deliberate act. The touch glides over silk and skin, past the curve of her arm, up to her shoulder, where I catch a lock of curl and gently sweep it back. The firelight spills across the line of her neck, exposing the steady beat of her pulse. My thumb brushes over it, light as breath.
“Tell me,” I murmur, voice low and edged in wickedness, “would I be so blessed by Dygra herself for it to be your bed you drop me into?”
The smile I give her then is all shameless sin—teeth, hunger, and the kind of promise that leaves no doubt I’d be a very willing offering.
you should mind your business, but my business is the place to be
