Dragon’s eyes flew open. He stared at his hand curved over the alabaster mound of a perfectly formed breast, at the delicatable rose-hued nipple peeking through his fingers, up past the firm set of a certain chin and straight into honey-hued eyes that somehow failed to appear the least abashed.
“Uh . . .” he said, which he rather thought was as articulate as any man would be expected to be under the circumstances, skald-souled or not.
“Don’t think,” she said, rather unnecessarily since he could only vaguely recall what thinking was and not at all why he should want to do it.
Her shining head bent, he felt the brush of her lips, tentative, seeking. Her small, smooth tongue tasted his.
He was rock hard, close to bursting. She was in his arms and he was drawing her beneath him when some faint wisp of reason reared against the pounding hunger of his fierce need.
“Can’t . . .” he muttered, the best he could muster for an eloquent argument as to why their present behavior was ill-advised.

Auteur: Josie Litton