Free Last Immortal Dragon: Dragon Shifter Romance by T. S. Joyce

her neck back as her body pulsed with pleasure.
    A snarl lifted his lip as he closed his eyes and slammed into her, then froze. Jets of warmth throbbed into her, and he bucked erratically as he uttered her name through clenched teeth. “Clara.” And as he emptied himself into her completely, he lowered himself flush against her, hard chest against her soft breasts, and he bit her exposed neck again. Just a clamp of his teeth as her aftershocks pulsed on, and then he replaced the sharp edges with soft kisses.
    And when her body had gone still and sated, he eased out of her and pulled her close against his chest. His skin was warm against hers, but it felt good here in the cold cavern of his lair.
    He let his lips linger on her forehead and he rubbed her back gently over and over, as if he was helpless to stop touching her now.
    Clara smiled against his skin.
    Own me.
    Damon had it all wrong.
    He was the one who owned her now, body and soul.

Chapter Seven
     
    “I want pancakes,” Clara said. “I want to be able to tell everyone I was fed by a dragon.”
    “As opposed to being fed to a dragon?” Damon asked with a deep chuckle that reverberated under her cheek. He was lying comfortably on his back, tugging at her wild curls as she rested her face against his chest. She was actually getting used to Damon’s heat now, and even the darkness of his lair. It was nice in here, sequestered away from the rest of the world. It could be burning to the ground for all she knew, but in here, she was safe and warm and Damon’s.
    She traced his uneven skin around a darker scar. “What happened to you?”
    His nostrils flared as he inhaled deeply. “War. I’ll be right back.”
    He eased out from under her and off the bed, then sauntered to a single door she hadn’t noticed before. When he turned on the light inside the room, she could see rows of suits and clean-pressed shirts lined up. As he began to dress, she pulled the covers over her body to make up for Damon’s lost warmth.
    War. Something about his flippant response niggled at her mind, as if a memory was clicking into place that she didn’t understand or realize quite yet. Unsettled, she watched him stride toward the door as he buttoned up a starched, white shirt over dark gray dress pants. Damn, the man could wear a suit, but his passive mask was secured back onto his face. She hated seeing the look of indifference after the last hour they’d shared.
    “Damon?”
    He turned at the door, but hesitated to meet her eyes. She wanted to tell him how much being with him here had meant to her. She wanted to tell him how hard she was falling for him, and how much she appreciated him letting her in, even if it was just for a little while. His dead gaze made her cowardly though, so instead, she murmured, “You have a file on me. Can I see it?”
    “Why?” he asked, not even bothering to deny it.
    She gathered the pillow more securely under her head and admitted, “I’m curious about what made Mason decide to bring me here.”
    Seconds of silence ticked on between them before Damon dipped his chin once. “As you wish.”
    After he left, Clara debated getting dressed, but decided against it. She’d been comfortable in her own skin with him and wanted that feeling back. He’d seemed completely content to lie with her for hours until she’d asked him about his past. About his scars. He might have let her in a little, but Damon was far from an open book and would likely always be that way. Something about that made her chest ache.
    He wasn’t gone more than ten minutes and returned with a tray stacked high with food and a beige file dangling from his hand. He kicked the door closed behind him and set his wares on the bed.
    “Will you undress again?” she asked, as he hesitated by the bedside.
    He shook his head slowly and sat on the edge of the mattress, his now dark gaze on her.
    “Is it because I asked about your scars?”
    A single nod, and then he stared off at the