9. Nicholas

Why are your hands shaking?

Of course my dragon had to notice that. Damon was coming here for lunch. I'd given him the option to meet in town, thinking he might be more comfortable in a neutral setting. But he'd chosen my place. I suggested lunch rather than dinner, as humans were wary about the dark.

Not that he was a little kid, worried there were monsters under the bed. But a first date at some guy's place in the countryside at night? I got that to a human that would be a little scary.

I'm nervous. I'd set and reset the table on the deck three times, changing the crockery and napkins and finally the water glasses. Oh gods, my palms were sweaty, and I grabbed a bunch of napkins and wiped them. Now I had to run inside and toss them in the trash and get new napkins. This was hard. No one mentioned this in the Dragon Mating Handbook.

There's a handbook?

No, not really, but I'm thinking of writing one, listing all the pitfalls.

Being a shifter with superb hearing, I picked up the unmistakable rumbling of a car headed this way.

"Showtime," I announced to the four walls. "Smile at him, but not in a crazed, manic way. Don't scrunch your hands into fists. Put one in your pocket. Look nonchalant and definitely not creepy."

I considered leaving Damon a note saying I'd been called away in an environmental emergency and for him to enjoy the food. But I summoned my courage, like a soldier leading his men into battle, and strode out the front door and into the driveway.

The words, "You found the place," were on the tip of my tongue, but that was silly. It was obvious he had. I waved, hoping my hand wasn't flapping in an "I have an emergency" way, and I planted a smile on my face.

My dragon puffed a tiny wisp of smoke into my system in an attempt to calm me down, and I sneezed. Of all the scenarios I'd pictured of the first time Damon met me at home, sniffling and with mucus streaming from my nose wasn't included. Damn.

Instead of welcoming him to my home, I sneezed in his face. Fumbling in my pocket, I grabbed one of the discarded napkins from earlier and wiped my nose.

Damon made a face and leaned away as I sneezed a second time. "Do you have allergies?"

"No," I wheezed. "Just some hot sauce." I held up the hand that wasn't clutching the scrunched up napkins. "On my finger. Very peppery and spicy."

"Okay. I don't know where your finger has been, but my advice would be to not put it there again." He pursed his lips, and I couldn't decide if he was suppressing a grin or a grimace.

I knew exactly where I'd like to put a finger, though not when it was slathered in hot sauce. Beads of sweat broke out on my brow. Sweating and sneezing could be a sign of infection, so if Damon made an excuse and took off, I had my dragon to blame.

Me?

No smoking, I hissed.

I ushered Damon into the house.

"This is a beautiful place you have." He strolled onto the back desk, not looking at the table but the view. "George would love this."

Thumbs up from me. If he was thinking long-term, that was a good sign. But I shouldn't get ahead of myself. Now that I'd wiped my nose, I tried to control my breathing. One long breath in and then out, instead of the abrupt staccato breaths.

"You must bring him next time." I let that hang in the air. Next time. While I hoped to get to know George, I was glad the boy was with his grandparents this weekend. First, Damon had to reciprocate my feelings—assuming he would, and that wasn't a given, not yet—and his young son being present would have distracted from that.

"Thank you." He studied the table. "This is lovely."

I made light of his comment, flicking my hand as if I set up the table for myself every meal.

"Is that your office?"

I nodded.

"You're so lucky that your commute is a short stroll from your house. I'm so envious."

Damon followed me into the kitchen, the candies he'd brought with him in his hand, while I coated the seared chicken in sauce and placed it in the oven along with the garlic bread. The salad was ready, apart from adding the dressing, and the rice was done and sitting in the rice cooker.

"Can I help?" he asked as he leaned over my shoulder. He was so close and his scent, so tantalizing, I could have ignored the food and eaten him, starting with a nibble on the soft part of his ear, a nuzzle at the base of his throat before my lips slid lower over his chest to his belly button. he might squeal or giggle when I stuck my tongue in it, but I'd continue down his happy trail until… until…

"Nicholas?"

"Yeah?"

"Can I do anything?"

He could. Dropping his pants was one option, stroking my cock was another. But we weren't there yet. No, correction. I was. I was past "there" and had lapped Damon twice.

Breathe, my beast told me.

"You can by opening that bottle of wine."

The deck was shaded from the sun, and we sat in the comfortable chairs, sipping our drinks and nibbling on snacks. Our conversation was easy. We chatted about our jobs, he worked at the library, and how he juggled being a dad with the responsibilities of earning an income to put a roof over their heads and food on the table.

The oven dinged, and right on cue, Damon's belly rumbled. He giggled, and it reminded me of fledglings, when the mother brought food to the nest.

We sat at the table and didn't speak for a few minutes while we ate. I kept my head down because Damon was chewing the chicken and the creamy sauce was slathered over his lips. That combined with his eyes rolling back in his head and his oohing and ahhing had my cock swelling.

Think food, not fucking, I told myself.

"Something interesting down there?"

I glanced up at his one quirked brow. How could I respond? I was staring at my bulge and wondering how to conceal it when I stood up.

"Should I peek under the table too or is it a secret?"

I took a swig of my wine, giving myself a few seconds to come up with an answer.

"Just enjoying the food and the company." I forked a piece of chicken and shoved it in my mouth.

Damon took a piece of garlic bread and bit into it, moaning and saying how he liked that I'd used lots of garlic. If we were to get beyond the sort of friends stage and reach the kissing or sex stage, I'd have to have garlic breath too. I rammed one whole piece of bread between my lips and my cheeks bulged. That was a mistake, and I held a napkin to my mouth. Damon must think I have awful table manners.

I swallowed. "Love it. Love me some garlic bread."

He leaned back and rested his wine glass on his lips. His leg brushed against mine under the table. "Is there dessert?"

I swallowed again. Was he saying what I thought he was? I couldn't take a chance and offer to put my cock in his hole. That would be rude.

"I made chocolate mousse."

Damon moaned. If that was his reaction to chocolate, what would he do after great sex? I hoped I'd find out.

"I can't wait." The saucy grin he gave accompanied by come-hither eyes had sweat trickling over my spine. As a dragon shifter, I was used to heat but of the flaming and destroying kind, not the dick-in-hole variety.

We both pushed our chairs back and raced into the kitchen. Not bothering with returning to the table, we each grabbed a spoon after I removed the desserts from the fridge. Leaning against the sink, we dipped our spoons into the mousse, side-eying one another as we licked and swallowed.

I was about ready to combust as Damon edged closer to me and his elbow brushed against mine.

"Mmmm, I love me a good dessert." He stuck out his tongue and licked mousse off the back of his spoon.

Despite being a shifter with super-fast reflexes, I lost my grip and my spoon clattered to the floor, spraying bits of mousse over the floor and Damon's pants.

"I'm so sorry." If I was losing my shifter abilities, I was in trouble. I had a beast inside me who needed to fly and hunt. I couldn't keep him cooped up forever more.

"No problem." He sent me a look I couldn't decipher. "I can take them off."

I wouldn't say no to that.