Page 20 of Balthazar's Fire

“Stop it,” she teased, sniggering as she sipped at her drink and inched along the sofa toward him. “I’m being serious.”

“So am I.” Waiting until she lowered her glass, he clinked his goblet gently against hers. “I imagine it’s a lot to take in.”

“Yes.” Breathing in, she inhaled the aroma of his spicy scent, the fragrance merging with her nerves to make her head spin. Focusing on her glass, she noticed her fingers were trembling, another demonstration of the effect Balthazar had on her.

His good looks and charm were doing nothing to quell her growing ardor. She’d asked him to give her some space before they resumed their burgeoning intimacy, but being this close to him was making it difficult to remember why. She longed for Balthazar in a way she’d never acknowledged in herself before, craved the touch of his lips, and apparently finding out that he was really some shape-shifting dragon wasn’t enough to dissuade her. On the contrary, it might have piqued her interest even more.

The discussion churned in her head. She wanted him, yearned to throw caution to the wind and surrender to her desire, but she sensed it was too soon. She had barely taken a breath since she’d been liberated from Oliver’s basement, and now Balthazar had confessed to being a dragon. Cherie could scarcely think straight. But the logic did nothing to dissuade her growing passion.

“It’s a lot.”

“Yes.” His voice was soft as his hand reached for hers, steadying her fingers. “It is.”

“Balthazar.” She barely recognized the breathy voice as her own.

She wanted him, but she shouldn’t. She needed time, but she didn’t want it.

“Hmmm?”

“Is it okay if I change my mind?” she asked.

“About what?” His eyebrow cocked and she swore that he knew precisely what she meant, but played along regardless, perhaps to torment her a little more. She couldn’t be sure.

“About you,” she panted. “Us. This.”

“Cherie.” Licking his lips, he smiled. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, I want you.” To hell with the wine, whatever valid concerns she might have, or her inhibitions. Balthazar made her feel alive, and after all the fear, she craved that more than anything else. “I’d like you to kiss me.”

“Kiss you?” Lifting his glass to his lips, he drained the remainder of the wine while she watched, and no one had ever made drinking look so damn sexy. From the salacious glint in his dark eyes, to the masterful way he maneuvered the glassware to the ground, Cherie was hypnotized by his display.

“Yes,” she squeaked, suddenly unsure if her bold admission had been the right plan.

“I’d love to,” he replied. “Ask me properly and I will.”

Properly? What does that mean?

But then, staring at the mischievous gleam in his gaze, she recalled the way he’d coaxed her the night before, goading her into calling him ‘sir’, and how she’d relished every moment of her submission.

“Sir.” She swore his eyes sparkled as he registered the address.

“Yes, Cherie.”

“Kiss me, please.”

As if she’d whispered the magic words, his hand guided her glass to the ground before rising into her hair. Gripping her tresses just hard enough to ensure every ounce of her attention was focused on him, his lips crashed to hers, delivering the punishing caress she craved.

Chapter Seven

Balthazar

For one blissful moment of unity, time stood still. Holding her against him, Balthazar breathed in Cherie’s tantalizing scent as his tongue dove into her warm mouth, imitating the act his cock was desperate to replicate elsewhere. She melted into him, mewling at his commanding caress as her fingernails dug into the back of his shirt.

“Balthazar,” she gasped when he finally drew away.

“Pardon me?” he prompted in a playful tone.

He’d been happy enough for her to use his name. Few, after all, had ever made it sound so good, but now that Cherie had decided to address him as ‘sir’ without provocation, it only seemed right to correct her when her veil of submission began to slip.