The Dragon Queen Selection Chapter 89

LIRA

The words detonated between us.

Cassian's expression went stone cold.

"What?"

"Yes," I spat, the fury l'd been swallowing for weeks finally clawing its way up my throat.

"The truth! About the Selection. About the the Crown. About the dragons everyone pretends don't exist beneath our feet!"

His jaw tightened. "Lira..."

"Don't." I held up a hand, my whole body trembling.

"Don't you dare stand there and act like you don't know. I've seen you, Cassian. I've seen the way you watch me. You know what's going on.The way you appeared in that corridor the night I found the passage. You knew exactly where I was going."

He didn't deny it.

That silence cut deeper than any lie. He was just like them.

"This palace is a cage," | continued, my voice cracking.

"And everyone in it is either a prisoner or a warden. Tell me I'm wrong."

"You're not wrong."

The admission stole my breath

He stepped closer, and this time I didn't move away.

"But you don't understand," he said quietly.

"You can't understand. Not yet."

"Then make me understand!" I shoved at his chest, the contact sending a shock through both of us.

"Stop treating me like something fragile that needs protecting. Stop watching me from shadows and pretending you don't feel..."

I cut myself off too late.

His eyes darkened.

"Feel what?" His voice had dropped, gone rough and dangerous.

"Nothing." I shook my head, backing toward the door. "Forget I said anything."

"You've been running. Running from whatever this is." His hand slammed against the door beside my head, caging me in.

"But you're not running now. So tell me the truth.. tell me what's wrong."

"No." The word barely left my lips. "I'm not running anymore."

His face was inches from mine. I could feel the heat radiating off him, smell the night air still clinging to his skin, see the war raging behind his eyes.

"Tell me to step back," he whispered.

"No."

"Tell me to stop."

I reached up and grabbed the front of his tunic, yanking him down to me.

Our mouths collided.

This was nothing like the first time. That kiss had been careful, tender, afraid of what it meant. This was fury and desperation and weeks of pent-up tension finally snapping.

His tongue swept into my mouth and I met him with equal hunger, my fingers twisting in his shirt, pulling him impossibly closer.

He groaned against my lips and his hands were everywhere-fisting in my hair, sliding down my spine, gripping my hip hard enough to bruise. I wanted the bruises. I wanted marks. I wanted proof that this was real.

"Lira." My name was a prayer and a curse on his lips. "Lira, if we do this..."

"Then do it." I bit his lower lip, drawing a sharp hiss. "Stop talking."

Something in him broke.

He lifted me like I weighed nothing wrapping around his waist as he carried me away from the door. The room spun-the bed, the wall, I didn't care where we landed.

His mouth never left mine, kissing me like he needed me to breathe.

We fell onto something soft. His bed. The sheets were cool against my heated skin.

He pulled back just long enough to look at me, and the hunger in his eyes made my core clench.

"Last chance," he rasped. "Please tell me to stop."

l answered by pulling off my cloak and my dress over my head.

His breath left him in a rush.

I'd never been looked at like that. Like I was something sacred and sinful all at once. Like he wanted to worship me and devour me in equal measure.

"Beautiful," he murmured, more to himself than to me. "Gods, you're beautiful."

Then his mouth was on my throat, my collarbone, the swell of my breast. Each kiss left fire in its wake. His hands explored like he was memorizing me, learning the curve of my waist, the flare of my hip, the sensitive skin behind my knee.

When his lips closed over my nipple, I arched off the bed with a cry I couldn't contain. He licked and sucked and tortured me with his tongue while his hand slid lower, fingers tracing the waistband of my smallclothes.

"Cassian..."

"I know." His voice was wrecked.

"I know, I need to taste you..."

He kissed down my stomach, over my navel, lower still.

When his mouth pressed against me through the damp fabric, I saw stars.

"Please," | gasped. "Please, I can't..."

"Shh." He looked up at me, and the tenderness in his expression cracked something open in my

chest.

"Let me take care of you."

He removed my smallclothes with agonizing slowness, pressing kisses to each inch of skin as it was revealed. When I was bare beneath him, he just looked at me for a long moment.

"Have you done this before?" he asked quietly.

I shook my head, suddenly shy.

Something fierce and protective flared in his eyes.

"Then we go slow. As slow as you need."

"I don't want slow." I pulled him up to me, kissing him deeply. "I just want you."

He shuddered against me.

The next few minutes were a blur of sensation; his clothes fell off as easily as mine did. I barely had time to admire his body.

"Tell me what you want." He whispered huskily.

"You." I arched into his touch. "Inside me. Now."

He positioned himself at my entrance, and the feel of him there, thick and hard and impossibly hot, made my whole body tremble.

"Look at me," he commanded softly.

I did. I managed to look into those depthlessly iridescently blue eyes.

He pushed inside of me.

The stretch was exquisite, a burning, painful pleasure that made me gasp and cling to his shoulders. He moved slowly, inch by inch, watching my face for any sign of pain. When he was fully seated, we both lay still, breathing ragged.

"Okay?" he managed.

"Okay." I flexed my hips experimentally, and the pleasure that shot through us both made his eyes roll back.

"Move."

He did.

At first slowly, gently, building a rhythm that had me clutching at him. But something shifted between us, the fury and fear and desperate want all bleeding together, and the pace quickened.

Deepened. Became something primal and consuming.

"Yes," I gasped. "Yes, Cassian, yes..."

His name on my lips drove him harder. He angled his hips, and suddenly, he was hitting somewhere inside me that made colors burst behind my eyes. The pleasure built and built, coiling tighter and tighter until I was sobbing with it.

"I'm close," he warned, his voice guttural.

"Lira, I can't.."

"Together." I clawed at his back, needing him closer, needing more. "Please, I need more, don't stop..."

My nails raked down his back.

He roared.

The sound was primal, animalistic, and it pushed me over the edge. My release crashed through me in waves, and I felt him follow, felt him spill hot and deep inside me as he shuddered through his own climax.

For long moments, neither of us moved.

Then, slowly, he lifted his head. His eyes were hazy, satisfied, still burning with hunger.

"Look at me," | whispered.

He did.

I brought my hand up between us. My fingers were wet with his blood, from the scratches on his back, I had scratched deep enough to draw blood, perhaps too deep.

Before he could speak, I pressed those fingers to my lips.

I tasted him. Iron and salt and him.

Then I dragged my hand down my own body, smearing his blood across my stomach, my hip, staining myself with him.

His eyes went dark with renewed desire.

"Mine," I said quietly.

His answer was to roll me beneath him and begin again.