Dragonfury 02 - Fury of Ice

exploring her curves, heading for her bottom. He loved her body. Smooth skin poured over lithe, athletic curves: strong, sexy, undeniably female. And all his.
    His . Every glorious inch of her.
    Withdrawing from the kiss, he nipped her lip, playing, teasing, flirting with pleasure as he fingered the waistband of her yoga pants. “These need to go, angel.”
    “You first.” She smiled against his mouth, stroked her hands over his shoulders, tugging at his T-shirt. “God, Rikar. You’re so strong. I love the way you feel.” Her soft hum of appreciation drew him taut, and muscles across his abdomen tightened, pulling at his hipbones. Her teeth plucked at her bottom lip, driving him crazy, making him want to taste her again as her hands traveled, sliding south, caressing his chest through the cotton. “Off. Take it off. I want to see all of you.”
    Rikar shivered as desire flicked him with sharp claws. Each nick drew him closer to the edge…to desperation and the urge to forget what she needed—a long, gentle loving—and take what he wanted. Bury himself to the hilt inside her. Ride her hard while he made her come over and over, again and again.
    But even if she agreed, he couldn’t love her that way. Not the first time. Later would be soon enough. He’d take her the way he yearned to after he’d pleased her so well she couldn’t remember her own name. Just his.
    Nuzzling the underside of his chin, Angela slipped her hands beneath the hem of his shirt. He cursed as she caressed him, clever fingers brushing his nipples as she planted a kiss in the center of his chest.
    Christ help him. What was he supposed to be doing again?
    Rikar frowned, tipping his head back to give her more access. Oh, right. Getting naked for her. Fan-fucking-tastic. He was so on board with that plan.
    Unleashing his magic, Rikar ditched his clothes, tossing his jeans, shirt, and shitkickers into his mental vault.
    “Oh!” Startled by the fast-n-fly, she jumped a little in his arms. “Holy hell…you’re…oh, man.”
    “One of my many talents.”
    “I like that one,” she said, hazel eyes dark with need.
    He tried to be patient, to let her explore and look her fill, but…fuck. She had busy hands—talented frickin’ hands—and as she caressed him, heading south, his chest pumped and his balls fisted up tight. He needed to stop her now, before she went any lower. If she wrapped her fingers around him, he’d lose it. Come so hard and fast she wouldn’t get what she wanted. Or what he was dying to give her.
    She raked her nails in a light pass over his abdomen. “ Nice .”
    “Glad you like it,” he said, sounding like a weak-ass, totally besotted pansy. Which he was. He still hadn’t grabbed her hands. Was letting her drift south even though he knew it was a bad, bad, bad idea. “Angela…baby, I can’t…if you palm me, I’m gonna…oh, fuck!”
    Rikar groaned as her small hands encircled him, one curling around his length while the other dipped lower. Unable to say no, he muttered a curse when she cupped him from underneath, massaging gently as she stroked him base to tip. His hips rolled into her rhythm, curling on the base of his spine. Holy shit, that felt un-freaking-believable. The way she handled him…goddamn. Angela knew what she was doing. Each stroke and release brought him to the edge of rapture, but never quite threw him over.
    “Rikar?”
    “Sweet angel…you’re killing me.”
    “Then get ready to die happy, gorgeous. I’m going down.”
    “No…don’t,” he rasped, making a grab for her bare shoulders.
    Too late. She was already on her knees between his legs, her hot mouth on his shaft. Without mercy, she lollipopped him from root to tip. A wet flick. A soft swirling suck and—
    “Holy fuck…Jesus Christ!”
    She swallowed him whole. Took him deep. Tortured him. Enslaved him with each devastating stroke of her tongue. And Rikar surrendered, becoming slave to her master.
    Which was all, well, not wrong exactly. Maybe strange was the right word.
    Usually, he controlled the play, dominated, and gave while the female submitted and took. But not with Angela. She was different, an incredible sight to behold in her power. He wore the chains with pride, curled his fingers in her hair, groaned as she took him on a ride of unmitigated delight.
    Pressure built at the base of his spine. Rikar gritted his teeth—cursed, egged her on—while she showed no mercy. He pulsed against her tongue. Angela