Dragon Fall: Masters of the Flame 3 (Mating Fever) (7 page)

“Say the word,” he murmured.

What word? Could she say no? He held himself frozen at her entrance though she knew he was burning as she was. She felt his painful stillness, heard the curbed rasp of his breathing. If she’d been a real woman, he’d be thrusting into her already, both of them drowning in pleasure.

But he didn’t think she could take it, couldn’t take him, or what he was.

Swallowing hard, she thrust up and impaled herself on his cock.

Chapter 6

Bale almost came as Esme’s sleek cunt closed around him. That initial resistance… Fuck, that was the virginity that had been meant to seduce a dragon.

But it was her boldness that slayed him.

He held himself unmoving as she took him deep, not all the way, but enough. Fuck all the stars in the night sky, it was more than enough. Forgetting his self-imposed restriction not to move, he shuddered as she slowly stroked herself on the flared head of his cock and then partway down the shaft.

A shaky breath escaped him, echoing hers. Unable to hold back anymore, he had to let go of her wrists to reach down between their bodies, gently teasing the unfurled bud of her clit to ease her pain.

Her wet pussy clenched around him, and she moaned out another little noise, an innocent medley of eagerness and delight. Under his greater weight, the soft mattress offered her up like a delicious sacrifice, her pale skin gleaming in the faint light. He braced himself as he leaned down to lick her breasts.

What he wouldn’t give…

But he hadn’t had to give anything, just take. And he
couldn’t
give her anything, not when his kingdom was a secret stronghold no human could ever discover and his ichor was turning to stone.

Pleasure at least he could give her, and only that—pure, ruthless pleasure until she was blind with it. He suckled the rouged peaks of her breasts, tugging each nipple into swollen prominence while she writhed on the tip of his cock. She was going to fall… No, he couldn’t let her. Noble and selfless being that he was, he nudged just a little deeper, angling to find the sweetest spot in her hidden folds.

She whimpered and reached for him.

He should stop her. She would be disgusted, horrified if she knew what he’d become.

But she felt too fucking good.

She flattened her palms on his chest, bracing herself as she found her rhythm, each stroke faster, deeper, her juices drenching them both. He gritted his teeth, and a spark jumped from his lips.

Fuck. Luckily, her eyes were closed, but in that tiny shooting star of light, the ecstasy on her face was imprinted on his mind forever.

The dragon thrashed against its confines, both the ones he’d set and the inevitable paralysis of the stone blight. The beast wanted to claim her, etching their union in fire across the darkness, wanted to vow itself to her eternal pleasure.

But it couldn’t make that promise, and Bale wouldn’t lie to her. More than he already had.

He would remember this though, and likely it would be his last thought before the petralys enclosed him in stone permanently.

Meanwhile, he was hard as rock, letting her pound herself into her own oblivion.

He let off one more surreptitious spark as her inner muscles tightened around him and she convulsed with a sweet, breathless, shattered cry.

Her eyes flared open just as the ember died out, but in that half-a-heartbeat, their gazes met, and his own orgasm seized him.

He couldn’t come any more than he could bleed or sweat or cry, the petralys having stolen everything else along with the quickening of his ichor. Despite that, the muscles in his groin clenched and spasmed, and he choked out a strangled roar. The fractured release swept through him like a dark wind scouring his veins.

But this torment he would gladly seek out again and again.

She was still breathing erratically when he slipped free of her trembling pussy and eased down her body. He kissed his way over her breasts and her navel and nuzzled the scattering of curls on her mound.

She put one hand on his head with a soft sound that might’ve been an attempt at surrender. Or maybe it was a command.

He blew a breath across the plump, faintly glistening folds and the naked pearl of her clit. This was his reward for living in darkness, to see this tender devastation and breathe the faint iron tang of her blood when anyone else would’ve missed it. She wound her fingers in his hair, urging and restraining at the same time. He was gentle but ruthless, showing her there were no limits to the delights of her own body except the ones of her mind.

She cried out and jackknifed around him, clamping hands on both his shoulders. He could only hope she was too focused on the sensation he gave her as he fed on her pleasure to notice his flaws.

When she fell back limply, he kissed her one last time before pulling himself up beside her. To his consternation, his right arm shook unsteadily, and he lowered himself to the mattress, angling his left side away from her. Before he collapsed.

She turned her head to kiss his neck then let out a gusting sigh across his jugular. “I don’t know what to say.”

“I believe I asked you to say the word.”

“What word was it? Yes? No? Open sesame?”

“Open Esme, actually.”

She gasped in feigned outrage. “You, sir, are no gentleman.”

“Which you said you knew.”

She harrumphed and tucked her chin on his shoulder. “I suppose.” She was not reaching for him now, he realized. He closed his eyes.

Was she obeying his prohibition? Or had she felt something, sensed something while they fucked? If so, it hadn’t stopped her.

He’d never been so grateful for the darkness.

With his good hand, he tucked the blankets around her, partly to guard her against the chill as her body cooled, but also to prevent her from changing her mind. It was one thing to suspect the extent of his warped body, another to see it—or feel it.

With her head nestled against his good shoulder, she murmured, “I feel…”

He tensed. Here it was. The suckerpunch.

“Like a million bucks,” she finished.

He grunted. “That’s all?”

She bit his shoulder, not quite as hard as he might’ve liked. But almost. “So full of yourself.”

“Full of you, considering I ate you out—”

She gasped again. “Too much.”

“Never enough,” he demurred.

She lifted her head, her dark gaze slumberous and unfocused in the gloom. “Again?”

His pulse stuttered eagerly at the thought. At least he hadn’t been a disappointment. “Not tonight. You’ll be sore tomorrow as it is.” His kind had caused her enough pain.

“Tomorrow…” Her head drooped back to his chest. “But tonight isn’t over, not yet. Especially since it’s so damned dark in here.”

“The sun will be up soon.”

“So much for my million dollars.” Her sigh this time was more solemn. “I suppose I’ve taken care of one problem tonight.”

He stiffened. “Problem?”

“That pesky virginity,” she clarified. “Now instead of auctioning it off to the highest bidder, I can say it was stolen by a wicked dragon.”

He knew she didn’t mean that as it sounded. She wouldn’t tell anyone about dragon-shifters—besides, who would believe her? But if she thought he’d stolen something from her… Dragons took what they wanted—gold, gems, the skulls of hapless knights—but he had wanted more than that from her.

The reminder that, rich as he was, he couldn’t afford to want anything from her ached in his bones. He kissed her temple as she snuggled a little closer. “And I will say I was slayed by a beautiful, innocent princess.”

“Not innocent anymore.” She chuckled to herself. “Now I’m not the girl who
hasn’t
, but the girl who
hell-yeahs
.” She let out the word on a long, satisfied breath that breezed across his bare skin like the touch he wouldn’t allow.

He had never been innocent. But his time alone in the silent dark had made one truth shine as clear and bright as a starlit diamond: he wasn’t wicked enough to claim the solarys power that was hardly more than a glint in her heart.

***

When Esme woke, Bale was gone.

She blinked at the bright sunlight beaming between the panels of the heavy curtains. It had been so dark last night. She couldn’t conjure up a single image in her mind.

Oh no. Had it all been a dream?

Much better than the nightmares that had plagued her before that. But still, she didn’t want it to be a random conjuring of her sleeping mind.

She traced one fingertip down her body to the sparse curls on her mound. She paused then feathered her fingers through the hair to touch her clit.

A shudder wracked her, not just at the delicate touch of her own hand but at the sensual memory of a more masterful stroke. Oh god,
he
had broken her.

And she…let him. More than
let
him, she had
made
him. She was remaking herself.

The idea felt almost as good as his touch. Almost. She’d have to compare to be sure…

Drowsily, she traced around the outer petals of her labia. He’d said she would be sore, but though she felt a twinge of that strain—she quivered again at the memory of him stretching her legs wide, of thrusting herself onto his long, thick shaft—her lazy circles roused a soft stirring in her core.

Why hadn’t he stayed?

Her exploration slowed. Had she been too needy? Too pushy? She didn’t know the right way to have a one-night stand…one night that she wanted to be longer. He’d left without waking her, as if it had never happened.

And really, what had changed? She certainly wasn’t going to look any different on the outside. It was about
feeling
different. And if he didn’t feel anything…

With a grimace, she pushed back the covers and found her clothes strewn around the bed and floor. She peered at the scraps. The white silk had never been exactly sturdy, but now it was…shreds.

He hadn’t merely taken her clothes off.

He’d cut them.

The white silk was mixed with black scraps. His clothes.
Everything
had been shredded.

But she didn’t see the cape. He’d left her room stark naked except for a cape?

What happens in Vegas…

She went to the windows to throw back the curtains. She winced a little at the glare. And at the fact
she
was stark naked.

She didn’t usually sleep that way. It felt…weird. Weird but nice. She stretched in the window. Nobody’d be able to see her with that glare…

A loud chime interrupted her thoughts, and with a yelp she jumped back into the bed, clutching the covers to her chest.

Her phone chimed again and she laughed self-consciously.

So much for being brash.

She grabbed her phone from the bedside table. Her heart pattered a little harder. Maybe he had sent a message…

She checked the texts. Piper, asking how she’d slept. Then Anjali, asking how she’d slept and including a little smirking devil-horned emoticon.

Oh geez. She’d told Anjali and Piper she wanted to get laid. Anjali’s dragon-man was head of security. Bale had known she was lurking around the slots and had cleared the hall. Torch had sent Bale to retrieve her. Meaning Bale probably knew she’d been hoping to pop her cherry.

She flopped back on the bed with a groan.

It was one thing to be a desperate virgin. It was another thing entirely for her first lover to
know
she was a desperate virgin.

Of course, that had been obvious.

She grimaced at the ceiling. No wonder he’d been so sweet. The Keep casino king helping the poor little rich girl divest herself of some unwanted assets.

And no wonder he’d fled before the sun came up. After thumping her head on the pillows several times, she texted back with a smiling sun face and nothing else.

Forget giggling with her girlfriends about her conquest when she was such a loser.

Chapter 7

After burying himself in Esme’s winsome, willing body, burying himself back in his cavern was a unique kind of torture.

Bale prowled between the wet limestone columns. Damn it, every slender union of stalactite and stalagmite reminded him of her. Every nub of moonmilk crystal formation was a nipple or a clit. Every glistening surface was the shine of desire on her smooth skin. But instead of the cold, hard stone, Esme Montenegro was soft and warm. Since when had his cave become a hedonist’s fever dream?

“She is my solarys.”

He didn’t realize he had said it aloud until the words whispered back to him, sly and teasing.

Wonderful. Now he was talking to himself. As eccentric as he’d become, he hadn’t sunk that far. Until now.

In a fit of anger, he roared out a breath of dragonfire. An exhalation that once would’ve set a castle ablaze barely reached beyond a few strides. But to his surprise, when the licking flames hit the columns, the gems of his treasures—embedded in the matrix of stone and nearly lost in the geologic tide—flared to life.

Rubies, emeralds, diamonds, and more blazed with the rainbow of light that had once ignited his ichor. As the flames died down, he fell back on his haunches, staring at the glimmering constellation of gemstones.

And in the center of that bright galaxy was a black hole.

Where the heart of his treasure should live.

No. He’d already sworn he wouldn’t claim Esme that way, wouldn’t risk her the way the warlock had used her, for his own ends.

For the first time in a long time, the gleam of the inwardly burning gems didn’t hurt his eyes. Maybe the gaudy shine of the slot machines had been so much worse that, in comparison, the glitter of his hoard seemed almost reasonable and his eyes had adjusted accordingly.

Restlessly, he circled the cavern and ignited the braziers, most of which had sat cold for years. By the time he returned to the dark center, his chest hurt from huffing and puffing, and his mouth tasted of brimstone—not really as unpleasant as it sounded—but the cavern glinted.

He grunted in surprise. Lit and warmed, the cavern seemed less a cave and more a grand hall. Even if he was dying, he’d been wrong to let it fall into such a state. The petralys might be a concrete sludge in his veins, but gold should still glitter.