Page 242 of Red Scale Daddy
Dux stands in front of me offering one with blood on his collar and hope in his eyes like a fool, like a miracle, like a man who knows exactly how dangerous I am and has decided danger is not the same as doom.
“I want the future,” I say, and the words shake less than I expect. “With you. I want mornings. I want arguments about repairs. I want you in my space when I claim to dislike it. I want you alive and loud and stubborn and inconvenient. I want to stop pretending the absence of wanting is strength.”
His breath leaves him in a slow, unguarded rush.
“I am choosing you,” I say. “Not once. Not because we were trapped. Not because fear made the decision for me. I choose you now, in Alliance space, with options available and no one holding a weapon to my head.”
His eyes search mine. “Permanent?”
The word should frighten me.
It does frighten me.
I choose it anyway.
“Permanent,” I say.
Dux kisses me like he has been starving with dignity and is finally done pretending hunger is noble. I throw my arms around his neck and laugh, kissing him and pressing my face into the nape of his scaled neck. I inhale deeply of his scent, basking in his masculine aroma.
Inside, the room is silent except for the sound of our breathing—mine shallow, his deliberate. Dux leans in, his lips crashing against mine with a hunger that steals the air from my lungs. His hand grips the back of my neck, his fingers firm, unyielding, as if he’s staking a claim.
“Mm—Dux—” His name escapes me in a breathless whisper, but he doesn’t pause. His kiss is a command, not a request.
I fumble with his garments, my hands trembling as I attempt to rid him of the barrier between us. He doesn’t help; he lets me struggle, a small, smug smirk playing on his lips as he watches me unravel.
Before I can respond, he pushes me down onto the bed, my skirt bunching around my waist as he hikes it up with one swift motion. His hands are warm against my thighs, spreading them apart with an ease that makes me shiver. Dux’s breath comes hot against my skin as he trails kisses along the inside of my leg, each one a slow, deliberate tease.
“Dux—” My voice cracks, and I clutch at the sheets, my knuckles whitening as his lips inch closer to where I need him most.
“Say it again.” His eyes flick up to meet mine, and there’s a glint of something predatory in them.
“Please,” I whimper, my hips arching toward him.
He chuckles, a low, rumbling sound that vibrates through me.
His mouth finds me, and I gasp, my head falling back against the pillows. His tongue is relentless, his movements precise, as if he’s mapping every inch of me. My hands tangle in his hair, tugging, but he doesn’t stop. If anything, he doubles down, his teeth grazing my skin as he bites through the delicate fabric of my panties, tearing them away.
My breath hitches, and I’m already on the edge, teetering, when he dips his tongue inside me, sending a jolt of electricity straight to my core.
“That’s it,” he growls, his hands gripping my thighs to hold me in place. “Let me hear you.”
I can’t hold back. My body arches off the bed, a scream tearing from my throat as I come undone beneath him. Hedoesn’t let up, drawing out every wave until I’m shaking, my legs trembling as I collapse back onto the bed, still thrashing with pleasure.
My body still hums with the aftershocks of my own pleasure, but I can’t stop myself. I reach for him, my fingers wrapping around his cock with a firmness that makes him groan. His eyes lock onto mine, dark and full of something I can’t quite name—desire, yes, but something deeper, something that makes my chest tighten.
“Roma,” he growls, his voice low and rough, like gravel underfoot. It’s a warning, but I don’t care. I’ve never felt this bold, this sure of myself. I want to give him this, to make him feel even a fraction of what he’s made me feel.
I lean in, my tongue tracing the length of him, slow and deliberate. He hisses through his sharp teeth.
I take my time, savoring the way he reacts to every touch, every flick of my tongue. His crimson, muscled body is tense, coiled like a spring, and I can feel the effort it takes for him to stay still.
I work him with my mouth, my hand, my tongue, every movement calculated to draw out every sound, every shudder. He’s not quiet, not by any means, and the sounds he makes—deep, guttural, almost primal—send a thrill through me. I’ve never felt like this before, like I’m in control, like I’m the one giving him something he needs.
When he finally comes, it’s with a low, guttural groan that seems to come from deep within him. I swallow every drop, my eyes never leaving his. He’s breathing hard, his chest rising and falling like he’s just run a marathon, and I can’t help but feel a sense of pride. I did that. Me.
Dux’s weight presses me into the mattress. His hands grip my wrists, pinning them above my head with a control that’s both infuriating and exhilarating. I arch against him, my breathhitching as his lips find the curve of my neck, teeth grazing in a way that makes my pulse spike.
His fingers slide down my arms, trailing heat, before one hand slips between us, gripping my hip with a possessiveness that shouldn’t feel as good as it does. The other hand shifts to the small of my back, arching me against him.
