Of all the ways Kael expected to lose a battle, cumming in his pants while holding a comatose woman on the back of a dragon was not on the list.
Her scent went from background noise to a wall. Rich, gold-laced, thick enough to taste at the back of his throat. His pupils blew before he could stop them.
The flame orbiting them responded. It pulsed hotter, brighter, the rotation tightening. Heat concentrated low on her body, glowing between her thighs in a way that made Kael's thoughts scatter like birds from a bowstring.
His hand trembled. The blade vibrated against her skin.
Her scent was flooding every cubic inch of air between them with something that made his dragon growl and his thoughts go somewhere he could not afford them to go in the middle of a collapsing battle.
"Stop," he said, low, to a woman who could not hear him.
The scent didn't stop. Nothing about her had ever listened to him, and apparently that included her subconscious.
Instead, she arched into him.
