Chapter 80 Crossing Lines of Sleep
Damien
The fire outside crackles softly, casting flickering shadows across the tent's walls. It's the only sound besides her steady breathing, warm and even against my chest. Bella. My mate. The word still thrums through me like a heartbeat I can't ignore, imprinted so deep it's woven into my scales, my blood, my soul. She's asleep now, her body limp and trusting atop mine, her snow-white hair spilling over my shoulder like a cascade of frost. We're tangled in the sheets on the bed roll, her legs straddling my hips, her warmth enveloping me completely. I'm still buried inside her, soft for now, but the connection lingers, a pulsing reminder of what we just shared. Gods, the way she came undone beneath me, her hushed cries like music to the dragon's ears. It was her first time up there like that, and I was gentle... mostly. But she took me like she was made for it, her ice meeting my fire in a storm that left us both spent. I should pull out. Shift her carefully to the side, let her rest properly without the weight of my body—or my beast's insatiable hunger—pressing on her. She's fragile despite that glacial power humming beneath her skin. She needs sleep and recovery. Not this... intimacy that borders on possession.
Pull out? The dragon's voice rumbles in my mind, low and indignant, like thunder rolling through distant mountains. Why? She is ours. This is where we belong.
I grit my teeth, my hands flexing gently on her back, careful not to wake her. Because she's asleep, you overgrown lizard. She didn't ask for round two. Or three. We already pushed her limits tonight.
The beast snorts, a puff of smoke escaping my nostrils despite my efforts to contain it. The room smells of us—sex, smoke, and that crisp winter scent that's all her. Look at her, Damien. Feel her. She's relaxed. Content. If she wanted us gone, she would have shifted away. Pushed us out. But she clings. Even in sleep, her body holds us tight.
That's not the point, I argue inwardly, my pulse quickening as I feel the first stirrings of arousal building again. Damn it. It's happening already—the heat coiling low in my belly, my cock twitching inside her, hardening inch by treacherous inch. She's so warm, so slick from before, and the friction as she breathes... gods, it's torture. If I don't move soon, I'll be fully hard, and then what? Wake her with thrusts she didn't consent to in her dreams?
The dragon chuckles, a dark, satisfied sound that vibrates through my chest. And what's the problem with that? She moaned for us earlier. Begged. "I want to," remember? Her nails in our shoulders, her legs wrapped around us like vines. She wants this. Needs it. We're her beast, her king. Let me show you.
No— I start to protest, but the beast surges forward, just enough to seize a sliver of control. My hips jerk upward involuntarily, a shallow thrust that seats me deeper inside her. The motion is subtle, but the response is immediate. Bella's lips part in her sleep, a soft, breathy sigh escaping them—half moan, half whisper. Her brows furrow slightly, then smooth out, her body arching instinctively against mine before settling again.
See? The dragon purrs triumphantly, retreating just enough to let me regain the reins, though the arousal he's stoked burns hotter now. If she didn't want us here, she would have removed us. She's ours, Damien. Claim her again. Wake her with pleasure. Fill her until she carries our scent in every pore.
I swallow hard, forcing my hips still, though it's a battle. I focus on her face instead. Peaceful. Beautiful. That green-eyed girl who stood unafraid in the ruins of my rage, who thawed the ice around my heart without even trying. I won't take advantage. She deserves choice, not the beast's primal urges dictating every moment. But as her warmth pulses around me, and the dragon whispers promises of more, I wonder how long I can hold him back. The fire pops again, and in the quiet, I hold her closer, praying the dawn brings clarity before the beast wins this war.
A subtle shift stirs me from the haze of sleep. At first, it's just a faint pressure, a gentle glide that sends sparks racing up my spine. Pleasure blooms low in my gut. My cock twitches, responding before my mind catches up. Is this a dream? The sensation builds, rhythmic and teasing—a slow, deliberate stroke that has me hardening in seconds. Heat floods through me, my length swelling. My eyes flutter open, heavy with sleep and rising desire. The room comes into focus: the canopy above, the shadows dancing on the walls. And there she is, awake, her green eyes gleaming with mischief in the low light. Her hips rock subtly, her hand slipped between us, fingers tracing along my base where we join, stroking herself and me in tandem. The sight steals my breath: her snow-white hair tousled, lips parted in silent ecstasy, cheeks flushed with that glacial glow. I open my mouth to speak, but she presses a single finger to her lips, her eyes locking on mine. "Shh," she mouths. My beast rumbles in approval, thrilled by her boldness. Gods, woman, what are you doing to me? The thought echoes in my head as I fight the urge to thrust up into her. She's exploring, her fingers slick with our combined arousal. Every movement sends jolts of fire through my veins. The dragon surges forward again, whispering temptations: Take her. Claim her. She's awake and willing. I grip the sheets, claws extending slightly, shredding the fabric as I hold back. But she's relentless, her strokes growing bolder, her body undulating in a slow rhythm that has her breasts brushing my chest. A soft whimper escapes her as her head falls back, and pleasure crests in her expression.
Mine, the beast growls, and this time, I don't argue. My hands find her hips, guiding her firmer and faster as she nods frantically. The pressure builds, coiling tight. She's so wet, so ready, her arousal coating us both. I watch her face, mesmerised by the way her brows knit and her lips form a perfect O as she chases her release. The beast purrs in contentment, no longer fighting for control but revelling in her initiative. When she comes, it's a quiet storm: her body tenses, inner muscles clamping down like a vice, milking me with rhythmic squeezes. A muffled cry slips past her fingers, her eyes squeezing shut as waves of pleasure crash over her. It's enough to push me over the edge. I thrust up once, twice, spilling into her with a low, suppressed growl that vibrates through my chest. Fire licks at my skin, but I contain it, letting the ecstasy consume me without shifting.
She collapses against me, breathless, her finger trailing from her lips to trace my jaw. "See?" she murmurs, voice soft and satisfied. "We can be quiet."
"You absolutely were not quiet!" I hear Ashlyn say from outside the tent, and I groan in frustration. That bloody woman.