“You know, normally you getting all dominant and bossy like that would rile me up, but since I know your pleasure and mine are intertwined, I’ll let it pass,” I said, watching with interest as Drake took his time selecting an ice cube from the bowl. He was on his side, his head propped up on his hand. He finally found an ice cube he liked, his gaze lifting to mine as he brought the ice to his lips, his tongue flickering out to taste it.

The look in his eyes was enough to kindle the always-smoldering burn within me. I licked my lips, my body tingling with the nearness of him. He touched the ice cube to my lips for a moment before popping it in his mouth. Before my lips had lost the chill of the ice, he kissed me, the burn of his mouth on mine sending goose bumps down my arms. My nipples went into overdrive, turning into two wanton knots demanding attention, little streaks of fire radiating from them as his arm brushed them when he leaned over me.

His tongue invaded my mouth, a cold shock that twined around my tongue, encouraging me to taste him as he was tasting me. I writhed on the bed, my arms going up to pull him down onto me, but he remained rock solid, his head bent over me while the rest of his body was just far enough from me that we weren’t actually touching. I clutched his head instead, wanting to rub myself against him as he continued to kiss me. Inside, the familiar fires burst into being, consuming my entire body until I was one raging inferno of love, desire, and passion.

The touch of ice against my collarbone took me by surprise. Drake’s mouth continued to ravage mine while the ice cube made little swirls downward, between my breasts. My breasts pleaded with me to put them into his hands, but it was no good. My brain had shut down at the touch of his mouth on mine and gone into the Drake Zone, where all I could do was feel, touch, and love.

“You taste like sleepy woman,” he said into my mouth, allowing me to get some much-needed air. “My sleepy woman.”

“Pushy dragon,” I murmured, pulling his head back into place. I sucked his tongue hard before giving it a gentle little bite, squirming when the ice cube wandered down toward my belly.

“You know, my boobs really would like some attention.”

My back arched as if to prove the point, presenting the now-close-to-hurting breasts to him. “They’re hurt because you’re not touching them. They think you don’t love them anymore.”

“Silly breasts,” he said, touching my lips again with me now-mostly-melted ice cube before putting it in his own mouth. “Your nipples are hard?”

“Serious understatement. Near implosion is more like it.” I arched again, tugging on his shoulders to pull him down, but the dratted man had other ideas.

“Would you like to wager I can make them harder?” Drake asked. Before I could answer, his head dipped and he took the aching tip of one breast in his mouth, the combination of the melting ice cube and the heat of his mouth causing every muscle in my body to tighten up. It was an exquisite pleasure, so great it almost hurt, but before I could put the sensation into words, Drake’s now-icy tongue laved my tight nipple, and all words were lost to me.

“Yes,” he said a moment later, eyeing my rosy nipple with satisfaction. He picked up the sliver of an ice cube and placed it on his tongue. “I believe I win that wager, but if you would like to try it again, to be sure . . .”

“Best to be certain,” I gasped as his icy mouth enveloped the tip of my other breast. I swear I saw stars. I clutched at his shoulders, twisting and turning with the sweet torment of his mouth. Every muscle, every sinew was wound tight, leaving me feeling as if I was about to explode in a million pieces. Drake kissed a steaming path down to my belly, making me squirm even more at the combination of fire and ice. I was sure I couldn’t take any more of it, but just as Drake’s tongue swept in a circle around my belly button, a burning cold touched the very center of me.

“Drake, that’s cold!” I shrieked, unsure whether I liked the sensation of the ice cube on such sensitive flesh.

“Shall I warm you up?” He didn’t wait for an answer, breathing fire on the part of me that was still tingling with cold. I went into sensory overload as he alternated flicks of his hot tongue, the ice, and little blasts of dragon fire on my quivering parts. The muscles in my legs were tense as he spread them further, settling down between my thighs to attend to the business at hand. I whimpered a little as his fingers joined in the fun, clutching the blanket in an attempt to keep myself from leaping off the bed.

I thought I would cry with pleasure when Drake crunched a few ice cubes and tormented my burning flesh. I wanted to scream when he brought me time and time again to the very edge of a climax, only to stop and focus his attention on a nonerogenous zone, tracing intricate designs on my skin with the ice cubes. I figured I was as good as dead when he simultaneously tortured a breast with gentle nibbles and touches of ice, and let his fingers do an icy dance in regions south. But I knew I was in heaven when, with a particularly fiery flash of his emerald eyes, he slid a small piece of ice he’d been using on my belly into my body, the sensation of the cold on parts that were literally on fire almost too much for me. Heaven became nirvana when he lifted my legs onto his shoulders, his penis a burning brand that pushed its way into my chilled depths, the feel of both together pushing me over the edge and into a climax that triggered his.

Even as we rode it out together, his body shifted, the skin pressed against me changing from that of a man to yellow-green glittery scales. The hands next to my head arched, stretching into blue claws. As Drake yelled my name, his form shimmered into an elongated version of his human self, the breadth of his chest filling my vision. My brain shut down at the thought that I was making love to a dragon, a real dragon, not just one in human form, and I drifted into a sated, happy cloud of oblivion.

It was probably only a few minutes later that I came back to my senses. I was lying on top of Drake, supported on one of his thighs. I kissed the ear that was next to my mouth and pushed myself up so I could look down at him. “We have to talk.”

“Now?” His eyes had a drowsy look to them that read satisfied man. I took a moment of pride in that fact, but there was something I had to know.

“Yes, it’s called pillow talk.”

“Why do women always want to talk after lovemaking?” he asked, wrapping an arm around my waist when I tried to slide off him.

“Because afterwards we feel all warm and fuzzy and intimate, and we like to share our feelings and thoughts, and I’ve got to be heavy. Let me go.”