The city had surrendered to the deep hush past midnight. Downtown Paradise's lights had dimmed to scattered embers far below, and the vast windows of the penthouse reflected only the single amber lamp burning in the corner—a low, golden flame that licked across the room like a conspirator's tongue.

And across her.

Sierra lay on her stomach, half-dreaming, one arm curled beneath the pillow, the other flung out as though reaching for something she'd already found. The white duvet had long since been kicked aside—perhaps by him, greedy to keep her bare—and now it tangled low around her calves, leaving the rest of her gloriously, sinfully exposed.

Phei propped himself on one elbow and let his gaze feast.

She was a study in shadowed temptation: honeyed skin glowing in the lamplight, every curve and hollow painted with liquid gold and deep velvet shadow.

Her hair spilled across the pillow in dark, tousled silk—still carrying the scent of sex and his hands, strands clinging damp to her neck where he'd buried his face while she came undone around him.

His eyes traced the devastating architecture of her body with slow, worshipful hunger.

The delicate wings of her shoulder blades shifting with each breath. The long, elegant channel of her spine—a shadowed invitation running down the center of her back, deepening as it reached the obscene, impossible cinch of her waist.

That waist was pure sin: so, narrow his hands had spanned it easily tonight, thumbs nearly touching as he gripped her and drove deep, feeling her body arch and yield beneath his palms like a bow drawn for war.

Then the flare.

Christ, the flare.

From that cruel, narrow hollow of her wasist... her hips rose in lush, decadent swells—the perfect, ripe curves of her ass catching the light and holding it, pale flesh glowing, shadows pooling in the deep cleft between.

A faint sheen of sweat still lingered there from their last round, glistening like oil on sacred marble. Between her slightly parted thighs he could just make out the swollen, flushed lips of her pussy—still slick and glistening with his come and hers, tender and utterly claimed.

Sierra... is hot naked in my bed. Completely. Sinfully.

Every inch of her offered to him by the dim room, to the cool air that raised delicate gooseflesh along her skin, to his ravenous gaze.

Phei watched the slow rise and fall of her breathing—the way her ribs expanded, the way that devastating waist narrowed even further on each exhale, the subtle, unconscious shift of her hips as her ass pressed back, seeking warmth.

"You're staring," she murmured, voice husky and wrecked—the voice of a woman who had screamed his name until it broke, who had begged and sobbed and moaned for hours.

"I am."

"Why?"

"Because you're fucking exquisite," he said, low and raw, no pretty lies needed. "Because I've spent the entire night ruining this perfect queenly body… and I still can't believe it's MINE to look at."

Sierra made a soft, sinful sound—half laugh, half moan—and arched her back just enough to push that glorious ass against his thigh in shameless invitation.

"Come here," she whispered, voice thick with lingering need. "I'm cold… and I want to feel you hard against me again."

He moved.

Instantly.

He slid in behind her, chest to spine, hips cradling the lush curve of her ass as his body curved possessively around hers.

One arm slipped beneath her pillow, the other draped across that impossible waist—his soft hand splaying hot and claiming over the soft plane of her stomach, fingers brushing the faint, tender fullness where he'd spilled inside her so many times tonight.

His cock—still hard, heavy and slick from her—nestled thick and hot between the cleft of her ass bridge, pulsing at the contact.

She sighed, a low, decadent sound, and melted back into him—body going liquid, ass pressing firmer against his growing hardness, thighs parting just enough to let the heat of her soaked pussy kiss his skin.

They fit like they'd been carved for this—his chest against her back, lips at the sensitive nape of her neck, breath stirring the damp strands of her hair. He inhaled her—sex and sweat and jasmine and the intoxicating scent of thoroughly fucked woman—and felt the dragon stir again, low and hungry.

Sierra tilted her hips, a slow, deliberate roll that dragged her slick folds along his shaft. A soft, wicked moan escaped her.

"Keep looking at me like that tomorrow," she breathed, voice trembling with renewed heat, "and I won't let you leave this bed."

Phei pressed a hot, open-mouthed kiss to the curve of her neck, teeth grazing just enough to make her shiver.

"Princess," he growled against her skin, hand tightening possessively over her waist, cock throbbing hard against her ass, "I don't plan on ever leaving it again."

His fingers moved without intention. Mapping her. Claiming her.

The sharp ridge of her hip first—bone jutting proud beneath velvet skin, his fingertips following the wicked curve as it softened into the lush, sinful swell of her ass. He lingered there, pressing just hard enough to feel the give of warm flesh, the faint tremor that rippled through her when he brushed too close to the heat still radiating from her core.

Then down—skating along the outer silk of her thigh, slow enough to raise gooseflesh in his wake, before drifting back up, always back up, to the place that undid him most.

Her waist. That cruel, devastating waist.

He traced the dramatic hollow with reverent hunger—thumb dipping into the shadowed dip where ribs ended and hip began, fingers splaying wide as if measuring the impossible span. The skin there was fever-hot, impossibly soft, quivering beneath his touch like it knew it belonged to him now.

He pressed his palm flat to the small of her back, right at the narrowest point, and felt her body arch instinctively—a slow, feline curve that pushed her ass harder against his thickening cock.

Sierra shivered, a full-body ripple that ended in a soft, needy sound caught in her throat.

Her ass ground back against him—deliberate now, the plush globes parting around his shaft, warm flesh hugging the rigid, slick length still coated in their earlier sin. The contact was electric; his cock jerked, swelling fully hard in the slick valley between her cheeks, the broad crown nudging higher with every lazy roll of her hips.

"Phei…" A breath. A plea. A filthy little prayer.

"Shh." His lips grazed the damp skin of her shoulder, teeth scraping just enough to mark. "Just letting myself feel what's mine."

His hand roamed again—up the delicate ladder of her ribs, counting each one like rosary beads, palm flattening over the wing of her shoulder blade to feel the frantic flutter of her heart beating through bone and flesh.

She was burning under his touch, skin flushed and glistening faintly with the remnants of their sweat, the air thick with the raw scent of sex still clinging to her.

Lower again. Slower. Hungrier.

His fingers skimmed the outer swell of her breast crushed against the mattress—just a tease, a whisper of contact that made her nipple harden instantly and her breath fracture. Then down the sensitive flank of her side, tracing the spot that made her squirm and press back harder, her ass grinding in a slow, filthy circle that dragged his cock through slick, warm flesh.

"You're so fucking responsive," he growled against her hair, voice gravel and possession. "Every touch makes this perfect body beg for more."

"Can't help it," she whispered, hoarse and wrecked. "It's you. You make everything feel… sinful."

His cock throbbed at her words—fully erect now, heavy and aching, sliding deeper into the tight, slick cleft of her ass as she rolled back again. The friction was maddening: warm skin still tacky with dried release, parting around his girth like she was built to take him any way he wanted.

"Sierra."

"I know." Another roll—longer, slower, a deliberate grind from base to crown that made precome bead hot at his slit and smear across her skin. "I want to feel you everywhere. Even like this. Especially like this."

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