It started with the ankle.
Or was it the arch of his foot? Riley couldn't remember which one, but he remembered Kael nearly sending him to the afterlife just by paying attention to the curve of Riley's ankle.
The spent black dragon lay back against the pillows, his breath hitching as Kael settled between his legs. One of Riley's legs was hoisted up, his foot held firmly in Kael's large, warm hand. Riley had opened his mouth to say something—a protest, a joke, anything to break the sudden, heavy tension—but the words died in his throat.
Instead, his brain did that awful thing where it abandoned all dignity and went straight into focusing on the feel of skin on skin.
Gods.
Kael did not simply hold his foot. That would have been too merciful.
