“That can be remedied,” she said.
His grin turned beguiling and cheeky as he shucked off his pants. Much less hairy than the humans she remembered from Earth long ago, his face was clean now, not covered by scruff. He did have a thick head of hair, but it was short, and body hair was pretty much confined to a dark arrow diving from his lower abdomen to curl around his erection.
She let him amble toward her, watching the play of muscles in his thighs. Not even in demiforma did dragons move with a powerful grace the way he did. Generally uncomfortable in any state not dragon, they lumbered when forced to walk.
H’ry reached her, his caressing scrutiny causing her nipples to tingle, the rings in her core to contract. He smelled like hot cinnamon and spice, wood smoke and ash, sex and promise, possibilities and hope, all the things she believed lost to her.
“You’re holding your hair like it’s a train or a veil.” He stroked her cheek with the back of his hand then trailed his fingers through her hair. “May I?” He transferred the tresses to the crook of his own arm.
She felt lighter, freer, as if he’d lifted more than her hair. Her fyre snapped and crackled, shooting out tendrils on a quest for his spark. She poised on tiptoe and brushed her lips against his mouth, and he pulled her in close for a deep kiss that rocked her to the rings of her core.
He planted another hard, intimate kiss to her mouth then scooped his free arm around her waist and rushed her to the bed with a haste that made her laugh.
The bed covers were a rumpled heap. “Let me fix this.” After gently releasing her hair, he flung the covers to the floor.
Nice ass, the dragoness hummed. Not like the other human’s. His ass was hairy.
H’ry whipped around. “What did you say?”
“Not me! The dragoness!” she said. “She’s right, though, you do have a nice ass.” Firm, rounded, muscular. She recalled gripping those muscles as he’d driven into her.
He’s not as ugly as other humans. The embarrassing commentary continued. He’s well hung, too.
A tinge of color darkened his cheekbones. “Um…uh… Are there going to be three of us?”
Will you please let me handle this alone? O’ne said.
Well, since you said, please…The dragoness retreated.
O’ne waited until her alter ego’s presence waned to near imperceptibility. “It’s just us now.” She lifted a shoulder in a self-deprecating shrug and flashed an apologetic smile. “She won’t butt in again.” It was a relief the dragoness no longer sought to toast H’ry, but acceptance raised a new set of problems. However, she shoved those worries away. They had this one perfect moment, and she wasn’t going to squander it.
She slid her palms up his chest to encircle his neck. She rubbed against him, letting her nipples tease his chest. “Now, where were we?”
He grinned. “I believe we were here.” He kissed her and drew her onto his bed.
Chapter Nineteen
Biggs swallowed the acid burning his throat. Lately it seemed like all he did was put out fires. He’d caught some scuttlebutt of instability in a distant mining tunnel, his number two producer of osmium and rhodium. In search of his ops manager, he poked his head into the control room.
“You seen Hicks?”
The tech jumped, as if he’d been Tased. One hand seemed to be adjusting his trousers, while the other hit the control panel.
Out of the corner of his eye, Biggs spied a flicker and turned his head to catch screen two filled with rocky, black terrain.
“Hey, boss.” The tech swiveled around, his shit-eating grin about as guilty an expression as Biggs had ever seen. “Nah, I haven’t seen him. You check the mess hall?”
“What were you watching?”
He shrugged. “Nothing in particular. Everything.”
Dragons comprised the majority of the visuals. On about a dozen screens, they flew in that methodical grid pattern. The lizard bastards hadn’t given up the search yet. In retrospect, pissing in their rotunda hadn’t been the wisest move, but who could have guessed something so minor would agitate them so much? Still, the fact they were upset gave him a certain satisfaction.
For now, he focused on the one particular monitor. “What’s happening in sector two?”
“Two?” The tech glanced at the screen and scratched his stubbly cheek. “Nada. Quiet. No activity.”
“Show me what you were looking at,” Biggs said.
“What?”
“Switch to what was on the screen before I entered.”
“It was nothing—”
“Do it.”
The tech hunched his shoulders, swiveled around, and tapped a couple of buttons. Black rock disappeared, replaced by a naked, humping couple, man on top, his pasty ass jiggling with every thrust. The broad’s body was hidden by the guy, and hair partially obscured her face, but he recognized the hooker who’d lost her shit. And the man was Hicks.
“Turn it off.” He flicked his wrist with disgust. Jesus Christ. He couldn’t fault Hicks. Technically, it was his day off, and Biggs had imported the whores for the workers to use.
However, the tech’s actions were another matter. If the men spied on each other to watch a little homegrown porn, that was their business—unless they were on the job and were supposed to be keeping an eye on—
“What the fuck! Zoom in on camera one.”
Hurriedly the tech magnified the image of a dragon carrying a human.
“Son of a bitch!”
“Jesus.” The tech gulped. “It’s right over us!”
The disturbing part wasn’t only that a dragon had invaded their airspace but also that the lizard carried
