Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 86059 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 430(@200wpm)___ 344(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86059 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 430(@200wpm)___ 344(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
He approaches me, stopping when he gets close enough to reach out and touch me. His nose is strong but narrow, I notice, and his nostrils flare delicately as if he’s taking in my scent.
He looks at me, waiting. I could swear one of those heavy brows goes up, just a little, as if challenging me.
I suddenly feel shy and flustered. Me, who’s never met a man she couldn’t dismiss or ignore…well, other than Brady. It’s easy to tune the opposite sex out when you know they can’t possibly be interested in you. This one is, though, and it’s blatantly obvious in the way he watches me, the way he shifts on the balls of his feet as he gazes at me, as if waiting to pounce.
It’s obvious in the thick erection he’s now sporting as he stands inches away from me.
And me? I’ve never felt…uglier.
I don’t expect to blow anyone away with my beauty. Not with a face full of scars that distort one of my cheeks and makes my smile something out of nightmares. Not with an arm that ends halfway below the elbow. Not with the “good” half of my face covered in bandages to help the bruising heal and the fact that I’m wearing a men’s militia uniform that doesn’t fit right. I’m no beauty.
It doesn’t seem like my dragon friend has noticed that, though. He just keeps staring at me with those burning golden eyes, waiting.
“Hi again,” I whisper.
He rumbles low in his throat, still somehow sounding like a dragon, and then begins to circle me. I remain frozen in place as he stalks around me, and when he moves behind me, he leans in and takes a long whiff of my hair. I feel like prey caught before a predator, just waiting for him to pounce. It’s making my skin prickle with fear…and something else. There’s an anxious flutter low in my belly that I can’t describe, just that it’s there and it’s growing stronger by the moment.
“I wish you’d talk,” I say as he prowls around in front of me again.
His eyes meet mine, and then he moves closer, leaning in to sniff me again, and I squeak in distress as he practically presses his face against my neck.
He makes another rumbling sound, and this one sounds like pleasure. One big hand grabs at my loose braid and he touches it, rubbing the strands between his fingers and then lifting it to sniff.
“Your hair is pretty too,” I offer. “I can braid it for you if you want….though pants should probably come first.”
The dragon-man looks at me again, his eyes narrowing, and he studies my mouth for a moment, before his gaze goes lower, to the neck of my uniform top. The first two buttons are undone since the backpack makes the shirt tug at my neck, and there’s just a hint of skin displayed at the opening of the collar. One big claw moves toward that opening and he flicks a button free—
“Okay, that’s enough,” I yelp, brushing his hand aside with my stump.
It’s a reflexive action—I was right-handed in the Before, and sometimes I still try to do things with my right hand—or arm. He immediately jerks backward, baring his sharp teeth in a hiss and eyes whirling black, and I tuck my bad arm against my chest again. Does he think I was trying to gross him out? It’s just a stump with some scars. There’s nothing gross about it, but I know not everyone thinks like that.
To my surprise, the dragon-man’s eyes fade back to gold and he makes a low, gentle sound in his throat and reaches for me. We’re both jumpy, I realize, and when he extends that hand toward me, it takes everything I have not to retreat backward, but I stay in place.
He reaches for my stump, of all things, and runs the pads of his fingers lightly over the end of it, where the scar tissue is the thickest.
Oh.
I extend my arm toward him, letting him explore it, and he runs his fingers over the thickened scars, studying my arm with utter fascination. No one’s ever touched my stump but me. I never thought I would like it, but it’s…nice. It makes me feel seen.
Those claws follow up to my elbow, where I have my sleeve rolled up and tucked, and he touches my skin lightly, then brushes against the fabric of my shirt, a slight frown on his face.
It occurs to me that he’s not wearing clothing. Does he want some? “I didn’t bring any extra shirts with me, I’m sorry. I can’t give you this one or else I’ll just be all boobs, and even I know not to go back to the fort looking like that.”
His gaze snaps back to my mouth, and he watches me speak. After a moment, his lips part and he moves his mouth, imitating me, but no sound comes out. He moves closer to me, all wild golden man, and puts his fingertips on my lips.