Phei guided her into the master suite, the city's glow filtering through sheer curtains like starlight on water. He didn't flick on the harsh overhead lights—just the low amber sconces that turned the room into something hushed and sacred.

Sierra stood in the center, regal even now, breathing shallow as she watched him approach. He stopped close, eyes locked on hers, and cupped her face with both hands—thumbs stroking the flawless curves of her cheekbones.

Then he began.

A slow, deliberate press of lips to her forehead—lingering, breathing her in. Another to each closed eyelid, feather-soft, tasting the faint salt of her earlier emotion. Down the elegant bridge of her nose, the proud tip.

The bow of her upper lip, the plush swell of her lower—kissing her without deepening, just worshipping the shape of her mouth until her breath trembled against his lips.

Phei's hands framed her face like she was something holy and breakable, thumbs trembling faintly against her cheekbones as he pressed his lips to her forehead again—a slow, aching kiss that poured every unspoken thing into her skin. He lingered there, breathing her in, forehead resting against hers for a heartbeat too long, as if letting go would shatter the moment.

Then lower.

Each closed eyelid received a kiss so tender it felt like absolution—his lips brushing the faint dampness of earlier tears, tasting salt and surrender.

The bridge of her nose.

The proud, perfect tip. The trembling bow of her upper lip, then the plush lower—he traced them with his mouth like he was memorizing a prayer, over and over, until her breath fractured and her fingers dug into his shoulders just to stay upright.

He moved to her jaw, mouth open now, hot and reverent, dragging slow, wet kisses along the sharp elegant line until he reached the hollow beneath her ear. There he paused—lips parting to suck gently at her racing pulse, tongue flicking once, twice, drawing a raw, helpless sound from deep in her chest that cracked something open inside him.

Down the slender column of her throat—each kiss a vow, each press of tongue a brand through silk.

He worshipped the diamond at her throat like it was a relic, then followed the cruel X of the halter straps, mouth tracing the edges where satin met sheer lace, breath scalding the hidden skin beneath.

Over the embroidered flowers concealing her breasts he lingered longest—lips closing over one stiff, lace-covered peak in a slow, sucking pull that soaked the fabric dark and dragged a choked sob from her throat.

Her back arched violently, offering more, body shaking as he moved to the other nipple and repeated the devotion until she was panting his name like a broken litany.

His hands never strayed to undress her—one splayed wide and possessive at the small of her back, anchoring her trembling frame; the other cradling her nape like he was afraid she'd vanish. He sank to his knees before her, not in submission but in pure, devastating reverence.

Kisses rained over the satin plane of her stomach—slow, open-mouthed, as though he could pour his awe straight through the fabric into her soul.

The subtle dip of her navel. The aristocratic flare of her hips. He turned her gently, mouth tracing every vertebra down the elegant arch of her spine, lips pressing hard enough to leave the ghost of heat through silk.

At the small of her back he paused, forehead resting there for a shuddering breath, arms wrapping around her waist to hold her steady as his mouth continued lower—over the swell of her ass, the sensitive backs of her thighs, every inch worshipped with the same fierce tenderness until her knees buckled, and quiet tears slipped down her cheeks.

When he rose, he turned her to him again.

Sierra was undone—eyes glittering wet, lips swollen and trembling, chest heaving beneath ruined lace. She looked at him like he'd rewritten every truth she'd ever known.

He cupped her face once more, thumbs wiping away the tears with shaking reverence, and kissed her mouth—deep, slow, endless, swallowing the soft, wrecked sounds she couldn't hold back. It wasn't lust driving it now.

It was something vast and terrifying and achingly human.

She was still fully clothed.

Yet in that moment, clothed in nothing but his worship, Sierra Montgomery had never been more naked—every wall stripped, every guarded piece of her heart laid bare and trembling under his lips.

And Phei, the boy she'd once crushed beneath her heel, knelt in spirit before the girl he was only just beginning to realize he might never deserve—kissing her like she was salvation, like she was ruin, like she was the only thing worth burning for.

The dragon wasn't asleep.

It was on its knees.

Phei's fingertips brushed the silken knot at her throat, the satin cool and slick against his skin, trembling faintly with the thunder of her pulse beneath.

He tugged—slow, deliberate—and the halter sighed open, straps whispering over her collarbones like a lover's breath before sliding down the satin-smooth expanse of her shoulders. The gown parted with the hush of expensive fabric surrendering, cool air kissing her newly bared skin and raising a shiver that he felt ripple through her body into his palms.

The sheer lace came fully into view—delicate black embroidery stretched taut over the warm, living weight of her breasts, the dusky rose of her nipples already drawn tight and straining against the gossamer, darkened faintly with the heat of her arousal.

The scent of her—frosted jasmine warmed by skin, laced now with the faint, intoxicating musk of want—rose between them like incense.

He exhaled, a low, ragged sound that tasted of reverence, and ghosted the backs of his knuckles over the lace. The texture was impossibly fine, almost rough compared to the satin-soft heat radiating beneath; her nipples hardened further at the graze, a visible, aching throb that dragged a helpless whimper from her throat.

"Sierra…" The name left him raw, reverent. "You're… Christ, you're everything."

He eased the gown lower, satin gliding over the elegant architecture of her ribcage with a liquid rustle, revealing the faint, rapid flutter of breath beneath porcelain skin.

Gooseflesh bloomed in the wake of the fabric, tiny shivers he chased with his mouth—hot, open kisses pressed to the newly exposed warmth, tongue tasting the faint salt of nervous perspiration blooming along her sternum.

Her breasts spilled fully free as the lace slipped down; heavy, perfect, the pale curves flushed rose at the tips, nipples stiff and glistening faintly from his earlier worship through fabric. He groaned against her skin, the vibration drawing a sharp inhale from her that he felt in the arch of her spine.

The dress caught at her hips. He sank slowly to his knees, the carpet plush beneath him, guiding the satin down the narrow cinch of her waist with both hands—palms skating over skin that felt like heated silk, tracing the subtle tremor of muscle beneath.

The gown pooled at her feet in a dark, liquid whisper.

Cool air kissed the newly bared length of her thighs; he watched the fine hairs rise, watched her skin prickle and flush under his gaze.

And then the thong—black lace so delicate it was more suggestion than barrier, the front panel already soaked through, clinging translucent to swollen, glistening folds. The scent of her arousal hit him harder now—warm, sweet, unmistakably her, flooding his senses until his mouth watered and his cock throbbed heavy against his thigh.

He looked up the length of her—long, toned legs trembling faintly, the elegant inward curve of waist flaring to hips made for gripping, the proud, bare breasts rising and falling with each shallow, desperate breath.

Her skin glowed in the low amber light, flawless and alive, every inch humming with nervous electricity.

His hands glided up the backs of her thighs—slow, possessive, thumbs tracing the velvet-soft crease where leg met ass, feeling the fine tremor that ran through her like current. He leaned in, pressed a hot, open-mouthed kiss just above the lace waistband—tongue dragging slow, tasting the faint salt of her skin and the warmer, deeper note of her need.

Another kiss higher, along the exquisite dip of her spine as he rose, mouth mapping every vertebra, breathing her in until his lungs were full of nothing but Sierra.

When he faced her again, she stood trembling in only the soaked thong and those slim gold cuffs glinting at her wrists.

Her chest heaved, nipples tight and flushed dark rose, a faint sheen of perspiration glistening between her breasts and along the delicate line of her throat. The air between them felt thick, electric—every breath tasted of jasmine and sex and the faint metallic edge of raw emotion.

He caught her wrists gently, guided them down.

"Let me feel all of you," he whispered, voice gravel and awe.

His palms spread over her bare back—skin fever-hot, satin-smooth, the faint ridges of her spine shifting under his touch as she arched instinctively. He pulled her close, her naked breasts crushing soft and warm against his shirt, nipples hard points dragging through cotton, her shuddering exhale ghosting hot against his neck.

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