Chapter 71 The Bed We Share
Bella
The door closes softly behind us, the firelight flickering warm across the walls, and for the first time since the whole biting-marking-bonding thing, we’re alone in his room again. Damien stops just inside the doorway like he’s forgotten how doors—or air—work. His hand still rests on the handle, his body half-turned toward me, his chest rising and falling a little too fast. Years of being alone with his dragon have apparently given him the kind of confidence that only comes from constantly arguing with yourself internally. What he seems to forget, however, is that said dragon now has a direct line to both of us… and he likes to use it whenever it will cause the most chaos.
He’s struggling, the dragon purrs, his voice slipping through my mind like molten gold. He wants to move toward you, but he can’t decide whether to breathe first or combust.
I bite my lip to hide a smile. Damien’s jaw tightens. “Stop narrating,” he growls under his breath.
She likes it, the dragon hums.
He’s not wrong. Watching the internal tug-of-war play out on Damien’s face is both hilarious and dangerously attractive. Every flicker of restraint, every slow exhale that’s meant to be calm but isn’t—it’s all delicious.
The dragon sighs, mock-patient. Just take a step forward, boy. Or better yet, take your clothes off. All of them.
I blink, heat rushing to my cheeks. I like that idea, I think before I can stop myself.
Damien’s head snaps up, eyes wide, gold flashing through them. “You—heard that?”
“Mm-hmm,” I hum innocently. “He’s really quite persuasive.”
His dragon chuckles. See? Our mate agrees.
Damien pinches the bridge of his nose. “I am not doing this.”
You are absolutely doing this, the dragon counters.
I’m trying very hard not to laugh, which only makes it worse. My ribs ache with the effort of holding it in. Poor man looks like he’s in an invisible wrestling match with his own instincts. Instead of commenting, I decide to make things worse—because, really, why not?
Over near the wardrobe, a neat pile of new clothes sits waiting. Dresses, nightgowns, and other things I absolutely didn’t ask for but secretly love. I glance between him and the stack, my smile tugging wider. Screw it. I walk over and pick up the softest thing I can find—a sheer nightgown of deep silver, so delicate it catches the firelight like frost.
Behind me, Damien swallows audibly. You’re killing him, his dragon notes with evident pride. Do keep going.
“Oh, I intend to,” I murmur, mostly to myself.
I turn toward him, meeting his gaze, and start to unlace the dress I’m wearing, slowly and carefully. His pupils dilate instantly. His dragon’s delight floods my head like laughter. Beautiful, he rumbles. Utterly beautiful.
Damien doesn’t move. I mean, not at all. I’m fairly certain he’s forgotten what limbs do. I slip out of the old dress, letting it fall to the floor in a soft whisper, and reach for the nightgown. The look on his face is a perfect blend of awe and panic—like he’s been handed every dream he’s ever had and a death sentence at the same time. For a second, I almost feel bad for him. Almost. I pull the nightgown over my head, the silk sliding against my skin. The air between us hums with heat, that's electric and alive. And yes, as much as I want to feel everything he gave me last night again, my body still remembers just how thorough he was. I’ll need my legs to function tomorrow if we’re leaving at dawn. So, teasing? Acceptable. Bed-breaking round two? Probably not. A soft giggle escapes me before I can stop it.
“What?” Damien asks, voice strained.
“Nothing,” I say, far too innocently.
He looks like he’s about to combust on the spot. His dragon is definitely not helping. You could help him undress, the voice suggests silkily. He’s clearly forgotten how hands work.
“Oh, I like that one,” I say aloud, crossing the room toward him.
Damien goes utterly still. “What are you doing?”
“Helping,” I reply sweetly.
His breath catches as I reach for his jacket, fingers brushing over the rough fabric as I slide it off his shoulders. The tension in him is ridiculous—every muscle coiled tight as a bowstring. I move slowly, deliberately, unbuttoning his shirt one clasp at a time. His pulse hammers against his throat. He swallows hard, the sound audible.
“What… are you doing?” he asks again, voice low, frayed at the edges.
“I don’t think all these layers will be too comfortable to sleep in,” I say softly, meeting his eyes. “I want you to be comfortable, Damien.”
His dragon’s satisfied hum fills both our heads. She’s perfect.
“Quiet,” Damien mutters through gritted teeth.
“I think he’s right,” I whisper, brushing my fingers lightly against the mark on his chest. “Maybe just… quiet, together. No dragons. No arguments. Just us.”
His gaze softens, the tension in his shoulders easing just a little. “Just us,” he repeats quietly.
I step back, studying him. “I know this is… new. All of it. Maybe we can just hold each other tonight. Pretend we’ve known each other forever and this isn’t some awkward, rushed, soul-bound accident.”
His breath leaves him in a quiet rush. For a moment, the world feels small—just firelight, heartbeat, and the soft hum of the bond between us. The dragon, for once, stays silent, content to watch. I smile faintly. “Besides, you don’t want me wandering off to my own room, do you? You’d only worry.”
He sighs, defeated and fond all at once. “You’re impossible.”
“And yet,” I say, brushing past him toward the bed, “you like me anyway.”
“Like isn’t the word I’d use.”
“Mm. Love, then?”
That earns a low, dangerous sound from deep in his throat. Careful, Snowflake, his dragon murmurs, the words warm and amused in my head. You’ll make him lose what little control he has left.
“I’m counting on it,” I whisper back.
Damien’s eyes narrow slightly, realising I’m still talking to the dragon. “You’re both insufferable.”
“And you’re adorable when you’re flustered,” I tease.
He mutters something I can’t quite catch, but he’s already pulling off his shirt and boots, finally surrendering to the inevitable. I pull back the covers, the cool sheets catching faintly against the glow of our marks.
“See?” I say softly. “Not so hard.”
He shoots me a look that promises a dozen meanings at once. “Don’t test me, Snowflake.”
I grin and slip beneath the blankets, curling on my side. He hesitates only a moment before joining me, his warmth immediately seeping into every inch of me. The dragon hums in quiet contentment, like a cat that’s finally gotten its way.
“Goodnight,” I murmur, eyes already drifting closed.
“Goodnight, Snowflake”, he echoes, voice barely above a whisper.
As the fire dims, I move myself back against him. I feel his heartbeat steady against my back, beating slow and strong. It’s strange how something so new can already feel like home.