Dragon Actually (23 page)

“That is so every dragon knows you belong to me.” He kissed her again as he laid her back against the table. “And this”—he kissed her breasts, her chest, her stomach—“this is for me.” He lowered his head between her legs, his tongue swiping the inside flesh of her thigh. She clenched her teeth as a burning pain spread over the area. He did the same to the other thigh and she gripped the table, her fingers digging into the wood. He breathed over the two areas and the pain swept through once again. Annwyl bit her lip to stop herself from screaming but a low moan escaped as her body shook. Then his tongue speared through the folds of her sex, replacing the pain with sweet, deep pleasure. Her back arched off the table, but he gripped her legs and held her as his tongue dipped inside and around the swollen, hungry flesh.

She forgot the pain as Fearghus’s talented tongue stroked her over and over again, bringing her closer and closer to release. Her hands clenched into fists, her moans filled the tent. Soon she began to shake as her climax ripped through her, a loud cry torn from her heated body.

Fearghus gently gathered her to him, pulling her off the table, and pressing her still shuddering body against his.

Fearghus whispered softly against her ear, “Are you all right?”

Her arms hurt. The insides of her thighs were sore. And burns permanently marred her body. Yes, Annwyl felt just fine.

She wet her lips and took a deep breath. “Is that all, dragon?”

Breathing hard, his cock hot and demanding against her, he growled. “Not even close.”

“Good. I was about to feel disappointed.”

Fearghus’s head brushed against hers as he breathed in deeply. “You always smell so good, Annwyl.”

“I do?” At least she hoped she said that. She wasn’t quite sure. Fearghus slowly rubbing his head against hers, his long hair sliding across her naked body, completely distracted her. An innocent move, it still made her knees weak and her nipples tighten painfully.

“You amaze me, woman.”

“Then finish it,” she purred as she wrapped her arms around his neck, ignoring the searing pain the move caused her forearms. “And keep me as your own.”

Apparently he needed no further prompting. He turned her so she faced the wood table and ran his hands down her back. His lips following close behind. Alternately nipping and sucking her skin. He licked any wounds she had, cleaning them with his tongue. She wanted to order him to get on with it, but she knew he would just make her wait longer. So she placed her hands, palms flat, against the table and wondered when she’d become such a bitch in heat. She’d lost all control around her dragon.

Fearghus wondered how long before she started barking orders at him. He grinned against her flesh. Annwyl reigned absolute as the most demanding female he’d ever met. And every day she surprised him. Already she handled the worst part of the Claiming, the Branding not being for the faint of heart.

Truth be told, he thought as soon as the process began she’d beg him to stop. At the first touch of heat on her arms, she’d panic and run. But he should’ve known she’d stay. She’d gritted her teeth and faced the challenge.

But he never expected her to climax. Her whole body shook with the force of it and she drew blood when she bit into his chest.

The Claiming differed from pairing-to-pairing—after all these years his parents’ notorious Claiming still remained the talk of the court—but he knew what he needed from his Annwyl. And, as always, it would be his pleasure to get it from her.

He pushed her legs apart and deftly entered her from behind. He wasn’t sure, but he thought he heard her mutter “About time.” Already wet and so tight, he felt like he might come before he even finished the first stroke. No other female ever made him so desperate. So hungry. He let his cock rest inside of her and he waited. And waited. She lasted about ten seconds before she pushed back into him.

He slapped her rear.

“Oi!”

“This is my Claiming, wench. Not yours. Try that again and we stop . . . for good.” He lied, of course. There would be no way he would ever stop taking her. Fucking her any and every way he could. But he loved that growl of annoyance she gave when he taunted her. It made him harder.

For good measure—and really just because he wanted to—he slapped her rear again. She glared at him over her shoulder, but she couldn’t hide the rush of moisture or the way her muscles gripped his cock.

She wanted him. Needed him. Which was good. Because this night he would make her his own, so that she’d never forget it.

* * *

She knew now that only one male could have ever claimed her. Only one dragon was strong enough to make her his and his alone. Any other male she would have left dead on the wedding sheets. But her Fearghus was brave enough to take her. Brave enough to burn his mark into her flesh. And brave enough to slap her ass.

He never tried to tame her. He loved everything about her, including her rage, and he never tried to change it or make it go away. Fearghus embraced it as he embraced all of her.

He was her perfect match and one day they would rule Garbhán Isle together.

Fearghus moved inside her. Slowly. Taking his time. Making her hungry for it. She cursed him but it came out suspiciously like a moan. But by the gods it felt so good. And she couldn’t stop herself from moaning. Gasping. Saying his name. Screaming his name.

He brought his long, hard body over hers and kissed her shoulders, back, and neck. His hands slipped under her body and gripped her breasts, squeezing her nipples tight. She leaned her head back and he kissed her.

He stood, lifting her chest off the table with one hand while the other slowly found its way down to her dripping sex. He massaged her there, avoiding her clit. And she thought briefly that she might possibly have to
kill him
.

She needed release. And she needed it now.

She leaned back against him, her arms going back to wrap around his neck as he hungrily nipped her throat. She again ignored the pain in her forearms as his black hair rasped across the wounds. She didn’t care. Because at that very moment, even the pain felt good.

“Finish it, Fearghus,” she begged desperately. “Now.”

“Tell me what I need to hear first, Annwyl. Tell me.”

Somehow, she knew exactly what he wanted. What he
needed
. And she would not delay in telling him. “I love you, Fearghus. I love you and I’m yours. There will be no other. Ever.” As if that had ever been an option.

“And I’m yours, Annwyl. Forever.”

“Yes. That’s wonderful,” she barked dismissively. “Now finish it.” He laughed, she assumed at the desperation in her voice. His cock thrust smoothly in and out of her as his fingers gripped her clit and firmly stroked the engorged nub. Her fingers dug into Fearghus’s hair, gripping the silky strands as the wave of heat spread across her lower back. She moaned desperately as her body began to shake. Heat tore up her spine and her clit throbbed uncontrollably. The moan became a scream as the climax racked her body. He fucked her through her orgasm, but when her cries settled he allowed himself to come with a roar, his seed exploding into her.

The pair laid against the table, tiny spasms rocking their bodies. Until Annwyl looked back at him.

“Fearghus?” He looked asleep. His eyes closed; his breathing even and deep.

“Aye?” he finally answered without opening his eyes.

“So is that it then?”

He smiled. “Yes, Annwyl. That’s it.”

She looked across the tent to the tub, then back at him. “That tub certainly is far away.”

He opened his eyes and glanced over. “Aye. That it is.”

“Think we can make it?”

“Leave it to me, woman.” He took a deep breath, wrapped his arm around her waist, and lifted her off the floor. He walked over to the tub, carrying her easily, his cock still buried inside her. With his free hand, he reached down and dumped the tub over, the used water splashing across the floor.

“Watch. Learned this from Morfyd.”

He spoke an incantation in a language Annwyl never heard before. In moments, the tub filled with steamy water.

“Nice trick.”

“I thought so.” Fearghus stepped into the tub, still tightly holding Annwyl in his arms. He lowered himself into the hot water and relaxed back. “Of course, somewhere I may have just caused a drought.”

“Couldn’t be helped.”

“Selfish bitch.”

He kissed her neck, licked her ear, while his hands roamed slowly over her flesh. His shaft still buried deep inside of her.

“You know, Fearghus, you can let me go now.”

“I know,” he muttered against her neck. But his body seemed to have a plan of its own, as his hands did nothing but excite her, his cock hard again, growing in response to her moans.

Annwyl smiled. This was going to be a long night.

Annwyl forced her eyes open. Based on the shadows crawling across the dirt floor, most of the day had already passed. She’d probably missed luncheon.

She didn’t reach for Fearghus. There was no point. He was gone. She didn’t know when he left, but as soon as she awoke, she felt his absence.

The dragon took possession of her body all night. A few times she’d wake to find him inside of her, making love to her until she climaxed. One time she thought she dreamed that she’d taken him, only to wake up to find herself straddling his hips and riding his cock until he exploded inside of her. But the last time he came to her she knew something was different. He moved slow and gentle inside her. Taking his time, giving her the sweetest experience she ever had.

And she knew that when dawn came, he’d leave her. Tragically, she’d been right.

Annwyl dragged herself up to a sitting position, the fur cover slipping to her waist. She ached all over. And she did mean
all over
. Wounds from the battle littered her body. And her muscles and skin were sore from Fearghus’s Claiming of her.

Remembering the Claiming, she glanced down at her forearms and froze.

“Brastias!”

In a few moments her head battle lord strode into her tent, his eyes averted from her naked breasts that she didn’t bother to cover. “Is Morfyd still here?”

“Aye.”

 “Fetch her.”

He didn’t ask questions, he just moved. In a few minutes Morfyd came in, she saw the look on Annwyl’s face and immediately became concerned. “What’s wrong?”

“Your brother’s gone.”

Morfyd nodded. “Yes. I saw him this morning.”

“Why?”

“He said you needed to do this on your own. You would be the one ruling these people. It was up to you to earn their loyalty. All he could do was bring their fear.”

Of course, he spoke true.
The bastard
.

Annwyl pointed to the marks on her chest. The pain she endured made her hope it had some useful significance and wasn’t merely the queen having a bit of fun. “You never gave me a straight answer about this.”

“That is the Chain of Beathag. It’s now a part of you, like your skin. The marks will never go away. And it has extended your life five . . . maybe six hundred years. Perhaps a bit more or less than that. Hard to tell, really.”

Annwyl stared at her friend. “Oh.” Well, that might be worth a few minutes of excruciating pain.

She cleared her throat and held out her arms. “And these?”

Morfyd took Annwyl’s forearms in her hands and studied them. She smiled. “Fearghus Claimed you last night, I see.” Clearly Morfyd slept somewhere else last night, since anyone within a league of the camp site could hear their exhaustive couplings.

“Yes. Now what are these?”

Morfyd shrugged. “He branded you.”

Annwyl looked again at the wounds. Last night they had just been areas of burned skin. She assumed that once she healed, scarred flesh would remain. But that’s not what she saw now. Instead she saw a dragon brand on each of her forearms. The lines were dark, the dragons clearly defined. Easily seen. Each dragon different from the other, both wrapped around her forearms. Otherwise the flesh on her arms remained healthy and clear.

“He
really
branded you,” Morfyd added.

 “What does that mean?”

“I’ve just never seen one so . . . dark before. Except my mother’s. These lines are coal black.”

“He said it would be clear that my love and loyalty was to the dragon. Your brother was not joking.” Annwyl blinked as she remembered all of the Claiming from the previous night. She lifted the fur covering over her legs and sighed. “Oh, honestly!”

Morfyd peeked over the fur covering and snorted out a laugh at the sight of Annwyl’s thighs. Dragons, larger than the ones on her forearms, clearly branded on her flesh. “He’s more like Bercelak than any of us realized,” Morfyd laughed.

“Well, I’ll not wear a chain. I’ll leave that to the queen.”

Morfyd leaned back, her smile revealing what a beautiful woman she was even with the scar. “If you like I could have some gauntlets made that would hide the ones on your arms. If you are feeling unsafe.”

Annwyl shook her head. “No. What are a few more scars, brands, burns? Besides, I’ll not hide my loyalty to your brother from any man.” She stood and headed toward the tub. “And if one of them dares call me a dragon’s whore, I’ll take his head.” She stopped and motioned to the tub. “Now, can you do that trick with the water?”

Brastias searched the castle for her. She kept disappearing on them. And once they found one hiding place, she would simply find another.

One year had passed since Annwyl took her brother’s head and his place as leader of Garbhán Isle and Dark Plains. For six months she squashed rebellions as quickly as they rose. She also created alliances with other nearby kingdoms that hadn’t been in place for almost a century.

But once the battles stopped and Annwyl’s kingdom became peaceful, she seemed increasingly unhappy. It didn’t take him long to realize that she was a wartime ruler. Her leadership born of blood and struggles for ground. That was all she knew.

But Brastias also knew that if Fearghus had been by her side, she’d be much less restless. Yet the dragon never came for her. And she never returned to Dark Glen to find him.