Gripping the back of the couch to steady herself, she looked down to find not a shadow monster or a skeletal hand wrapped around her ankle like her overactive imagination feared, but Artem’s tail. The spiked end rested harmlessly on the floor, while the smooth portion looped possessively around her, trapping her there.
Pressing her hand against her chest to try and calm her pounding heart, Paloma slowly lifted her foot, attempting to very gently shake it off. Instead of loosening its grip, like she hoped, it only coiled tighter and higher up her leg. She silently cursed her choice to wear sleep shorts to bed rather than her usual flannel pants.
The smooth glide of his skin against hers sent a tremor down her spine. It had been a very long time since a man touched her. Despite not really missing it, Paloma was suddenly keenly aware of how potent even glancing skin contact could be.
She stared at the sight of his tail curled around her calf with wide eyes. Dragons were dichromatic. At night, Artem’s ruby red skin shifted to a blue so deep, it was almost black. Only when the moonlight glanced off of him did she catch a hint of that vivid red once more.
The image of his dark tail coiled around her bare leg was startlingly erotic. The feeling of it squeezing gently was even moreso.
Gotta go! Right now, Polly! Paloma licked her lips. Opening and closing her hands, she struggled to think of a way to extract herself from his grip that didn’t involve touching his tail or waking him up.
She held her breath for several long seconds, hoping that if she stood very, very still, Artem would let her go like one of the pillows.
But he didn’t let her go. If anything, he only tightened his hold on her. Paloma watched with dawning horror as the muscles bracketing Artem’s spine bunched, sending ripples of movement down the length of his back. It was a hypnotic sight, but she couldn’t appreciate it. Half a second later, his tail flexed, attempting to pull her closer to the nest on the floor with clear purpose.
Without meaning to, she let out a small gurgle of alarm as she tried to resist the gentle pull. It didn’t let up, though. The more she fought it, the more his tail flexed, as if it took her resistance personally.
If I try to shake it off, he wakes up. If I keep standing here, it might give up, or it might wake him up anyway. There was no good choice. Either way, it appeared her chances of getting away with sneaking back to her room unnoticed were slim to none. And what could she say when he woke up?
Sorry, I was just getting a glass of water and just happened to step in tail-swiping range. The kitchen was on the opposite side of the room. There was no way he would buy it.
Making a strangled noise, Paloma was forced to let Artem pull her half a step closer to the nest.
Artem lay slightly on his side. From this angle, she could see that his face wasn’t completely buried in her pillow. She could make out one eye and the corner of his mouth under a fall of deep red curls. Her heart lurched. Were all dragons so beautiful, or was it just him?
She thought the dragons she’d seen in photos and on feeds were pretty, sure, but she’d never been struck by a face before.
The feeling of soft fabric under her bare toes snapped Paloma’s focus back to her unfortunate situation. She stared down at where she stood, now firmly in the nest, if still on the outer edge,and raised her arms in a useless gesture of pure panic. She eyed the dozing dragon with an amazed sort of wariness. How had he not woken up yet? Most predator races were incredibly light sleepers, and she hadn’t exactly been quiet.
Her chest tightened. He must have been exhausted. To sleep this long and still not wake up? He needs his rest. She scowled at the tail wrapped around her leg. If only he’d let me leave him in peace!
Hazarding a step back with her untethered foot, she attempted to lean as far away from Artem and his sleeping space as much as she was able.
It might have worked, if only Artem’s clawed hand hadn’t shot out to wrap around her calf, effectively freezing her in place.
“Where are you going, treat?” His sleepy voice was a deep, throaty rumble. Overly loud in the quiet of the night, it rattled through her bones and left her feeling weak-kneed and unsettled. One ruby eye stared up at her with a drowsy look of pure possessiveness.
Asleep, he was beautiful. Awake, stretched out and drowsy, with all his fascinating dragon skin on display, he was breathtaking.
Paloma swallowed hard. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, hoping her voice didn’t come out as a squeak. “I was just thinking about talking to you because I read something— I mean, I saw you were sleeping and I was going to leave but—”
But what?She stayed to admire him because he looked like every lush sexual fantasy come to life?
Artem’s fingers skated up the back of her leg, tracing the contour of her calf and the strong tendons behind her knees. Each stroke of his fingers sent a rush of warmth through her blood.
“My sweet treat,” he sighed, turning so he was laying more on his side. The wing closest to her folded inward slightly. It brushed her legs as it lifted just enough to reveal the soft, cushioned place beside him — and a considerable amount of skin for her to look at. His tail tugged her gently, urging her closer. “Come lay in the nest with me.”
Paloma did her best to keep her eyes up and away from all the naked skin she had the mad urge to touch, just once. Just to know what it felt like to run her hands over a being of such immense power. Just to indulge herself. “That’s not a good idea.”
Artem didn’t seem like he was entirely awake. There was a slight slur to his words and a hazy, half-aware look in his eyes. But being on the edge of sleep didn’t stop him from replying immediately. “It’s a great idea. I’ll rest easier if you’re with me.”
“You’re a guest,” she insisted. Paloma lifted her foot again, attempting to dissuade his tail from any more pointed tugs. “I don’t usually cuddle with my guests.”
Not that she had any, but he didn’t need to know that.
A deep rumble filled the room. The hair on the back of her neck lifted as the ominous sound rolled up and out of Artem’s chest. “I should hope so,” he muttered, stroking his palm up past her knee to cup the back of her thigh. It was a proprietary touch, and dangerously close to the hem of her sleep shorts. “I’m the only one you’ll be cuddling with from now on.”
A warning siren blared in the back of her mind, accompanied by a remembered snippet of an extremely helpful woman’s magazine listicle she skimmed only minutes before.