by Meg Ripley
Ethan obliged, roaring his pleasure as he came. When he finished, he scooped her up off the couch and carried her out of the library in his arms, bending his head to kiss her breasts as he walked.
“Where are we going?” she giggled, seeing their clothes lying abandoned on the library floor as they came out into the hallway and Ethan turned toward the stairs.
“To my bedroom,” he replied roughly. “I don’t think I’m done with you yet.”
Ethan carried her carefully up the stairs and laid her down on the plush down comforter. His eyes locked with hers and a playful grin spread across his face. Bringing his lips to her neck, he slowly began to nibble on her soft flesh. She closed her eyes to take in every beat of pleasure. She felt his fingers wrap around her hips and his tongue lightly caressed her nipples as they tightened with anticipation.
Resa’s hips began to squirm as her lips let out a soft moan. “I can’t take it anymore…you’re driving me crazy,” she managed to whisper. She felt his warm breath on her stomach as he let out a teasing laugh and slowly planted a trail of kisses, making his way down between her thighs.
Ethan took his time as his tongue explored her folds for the first time. Her hands reached down and she gasped, running her fingers through his hair as he used his mouth to playfully suck on her clit. He slipped a finger inside her and began to work in a steady rhythm, all the while using her moans as his cue to speed up or slow down his approach.
Resa gripped the duvet as fire and tension built within, and moments later, her back arched, a flood of pleasure shooting through her core. She cried out, her body shuddering as sheer ecstasy rippled through her. As she rode out the ebbing waves of her orgasm, he continued his ministrations, ensuring she experienced every last exquisite sensation.
“That was incredible,” she breathed, melting into the bed and relishing the euphoric buzz that hummed through her.
Ethan made his way up beside her and spooned her, holding her close as he smiled against the back of her neck. “You’re incredible, Resa,” he murmured, and within seconds, both drifted into a deep, blissful, satisfying sleep.
Epilogue
Two Months Later
Resa hammered away at the keyboard, ignoring the growling in her stomach. She just had one more chapter to go, and then she could be done for the day. Maybe. There were too many things in her head that were begging to get out, and she didn’t want to make them wait any longer than they already had.
In the back of her mind, she knew she would have to get around to calling Mr. Stephenson back. Even though she no longer worked for The City Chronicle as a full-time reporter, he had continued to commission her for certain articles, convinced that she was finally on her way to becoming a big name in the writing world. She obliged when she had the time, but it wasn’t nearly as intriguing as writing her novels.
A plate appeared next to her on the desk, startling her out of her writing reverie. “I could hear your stomach from the other side of the house,” Ethan said from behind her. “I’m starting to think your fingers are permanently attached to that computer.”
“It’s not my fault your company makes such a great device,” she said with a smile, turning around and wrapping her arms around his hips. “My compliments to whoever designed this keyboard.”
His grin widened. “Thank you very much.”
She slapped him playfully, picked up the plate, and brought it to the couch. “I guess you’re pretty good at designing sandwiches, as well. This looks like a masterpiece.” There were several layers of meat and cheese, plus numerous vegetables. He’d even laid a pickle on the side of the plate.
“I was going to see if you wanted to go out for dinner, but you were so busy, I didn’t want to bother you.”
Resa touched her hair, which she had twisted into a loose bun secured with a stray pencil. In her tee shirt and yoga pants, she wasn’t anywhere close to looking good enough to go out. It was the perfect attire, though, for cranking out stories. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be,” he assured her. “I’m glad to see you look so happy. But I thought you already had the story finished and your editor was looking over it.”
The idea still sent a thrill through her stomach, one that couldn’t be quelled by the delicious sandwich. “It is. In fact, she said she wants it out on the shelves by the beginning of the year. But that one was about our little adventures with the hunters. This is a completely different story, about the dragon I met in the woods that day. It’s not based on real life as much as the first one; it’s more like what I would have liked to have happened.” She took another bite of the sandwich, trying to remember just how long it had been since she’d eaten last. “What are you doing home, anyway? I thought you were going to The Club after work.”
“That was the plan,” he admitted, sitting on the leather couch and leaning his head back. “But it was because I felt like I had to. Mr. Cross found some useful information on that USB drive you stole, and I think he might be interested in actually doing something about the hunters.” He paused and looked out the window. Resa could see the war he was having within himself. He had wanted to track down the hunters, but he had become far less interested in it over the last few months. “I used to go there to get away from the world, but not so long ago, I was thinking about leaving the Darkblood Society completely. I didn’t think I had a use for them. After they helped me save you, I realized that I really can’t be who I am without them. I need the other shifters just as much as I need you.”
“I’m glad to hear you say that.” Resa’s heart warmed, but not because of the compliment to her. Ethan had told her all about the Society and The Club, and she understood that he would feel a need to be with his own kind.
“Tell me,” Ethan said, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear, “are there ever any romantic scenes in your stories? You wouldn’t let me read the first one.”
“That’s because it’s not ready for the public to read yet,” she explained, flushing. “And I don’t know if I’ll ever let you read it.”
“Why not? I think you know by now that I appreciate dragon-based literature.”
Resa studied his eyes. It was hard to reconcile the pale blue orbs and the way they tipped down slightly at the corners with the reptilian creature she had come to know so well. But she knew they were one and the same. Ethan in dragon form was something that made all of her senses come alive, that made her believe that anything was possible. When he was in human form, he made her body awaken in a completely different way. She set down her plate and climbed on his lap, straddling his hips and pressing her body into his. “Because,” she said softly as she kissed his neck, “I’m afraid you might recognize yourself in the love scenes.”
He brought her mouth to his and kissed her deeply, his tongue invading her as his package hardened. “Then I’d better get the very first copy,” he rumbled. Ethan lifted her shirt over her head and whisked away her bra, kissing her bare breasts and suckling her nipples. “It’s not fair that I’m in the city all day at my office, knowing you’re here without me.”
“Then you should work from home.” Resa tipped her head back, basking in the attention. The days went by quickly when she was working, but she had missed him.
“No,” he muttered as he clawed at her back. “I’d never get anything done.”
“I’m so selfish, I didn’t even ask you how your day was.” Pushing herself off his lap, Resa kneeled before the couch and opened Ethan’s zipper. His member was ready for her, and she eagerly took him into her mouth.
Ethan closed his eyes. “I’m sure it was a good enough day, but I’m forgetting it already.” He sucked in his breath and dug his fingers into her shoulders. “I can tell you it’s ending nicely, though. Very, very nicely.”
“Do you want to go up to the bedroom?” She had stopped what she was doing only long enough to ask the question. She enjoyed knowing that she could turn him on, and the way he could barely hold himself back while she was giving him hea
d just made her want to do it more.
“I don’t think I can wait that long,” he gasped. “In fact, you’d better get up here or you’re not going to get a chance at me.”
Sitting on his lap once again, Resa pierced herself on him. He felt so good and so thick, and she hadn’t been kidding when she said the romantic scenes in her book were based on him. The two of them had made love every night since they had come back from defeating the hunters, sometimes several times. Ethan was passionate and generous, and he never took anything from her without giving it back with interest. His hands were deft with computers, wires, circuitry and software, but they knew how to spark her flesh to life just as well.
Ethan traced his hands down the soft curves of her stomach, one thumb drifting down to touch her center of pleasure. His other hand moved across her hip and back to cup her buttock. With his mouth on her breasts once again, Resa surrendered herself to euphoria. She grew almost dizzy with contentment as she took her satisfaction and brought on his, her body shuddering uncontrollably.
“I don’t know how I ever came home to this house without you in it,” Ethan murmured, kissing her mouth, her cheeks, her forehead. “I love you, Resa.”
“I love you, too.” As she lay in his arms, her mind turned back to her story for a moment. But it could wait. She had finally found the dragon she had been looking for.
THE END
Part III
Xavier’s Desire
Dragons Of Sin City
XAVIER’S DESIRE
I’ve seen plenty of gorgeous women—and had a good number of them, too—but no one has ever had such a profound effect on me as Freya Cullen.
I only saw her for the briefest of moments, but when I did, I knew I’d never forget her. She’s the most powerful, intoxicating woman I’ve ever seen; no mere mortal could have been responsible for this irresistible creation.
But could it also be possible that she’s a murderer? A huntress?
As I seek to avenge the untimely death of a fellow dragon, I can’t ignore the fact that Freya now holds a sacred possession that once belonged to my dearly departed comrade.
But there’s something about her that’s unlike any human I’ve ever known; something that threatens to consume me entirely if I can’t rein in the fiery beast within.
For the first time in my long existence, I’m finding it hard to control myself. But to be honest, I’m not sure I want to.
Prologue
She opened her eyes to the early morning sun peeking through the blinds. The room was warm; too warm. She kicked and wriggled until the covers that had cocooned her fell to the floor. A breeze wafted through the window and she stilled, letting the cool air slide over the light sheen of sweat that dampened her bare skin.
A moment passed, and then another while she enjoyed the cooling touch of the gentle wind. She couldn’t linger in bed all day though; she had to…
What do I have to do today? she asked herself. There had to be some reason to force herself off the mattress that was just firm enough beneath her to hold its shape, but soft enough that it might be mistaken for a sturdy cloud. She closed her eyes and focused hard, trying to recall what was on her agenda, but nothing came to mind.
Alright, what did I do yesterday? she pondered, but there was nothing. She couldn’t remember, and come to think of it, she had no recollection of what she’d done the day before that…or the week before…the month before…
Last year…
There was nothing.
Her breath came quicker as panic welled in her chest. She couldn’t remember a single thing before waking to the morning light flickering in through the window. She looked around, searching for something that would explain the enormous blank in her mind, but she didn’t recognize her surroundings.
Wait, is this my room? She spied a picture frame on the bedside table and reached for it, but it was empty. What kind of person had a picture frame with no picture in it?
She vaulted to her feet. There had to be something…somewhere that would explain what was going on. She opened the chest of drawers by the window and found it brimming with woman’s clothing: socks, lacy underwear, slips, camisoles. Were they hers? None of the things looked familiar.
Spinning around, she continued her search, but there were no pictures hanging on the wall; no phone book in the bedside table drawer. She opened the closet door to find more women’s clothing, and all of it looked about her size. Hoping it would trigger some recollection, she grabbed for the nearest item—a pale yellow, linen sundress—and yanked it over her head. It fit—perfectly, in fact.
Just as she closed the closet door, she noticed a small piece of paper taped to the bedroom door.
“Job interview at Las Vegas Natural History Museum. 8am. Résumé on dining room table,” the note read.
It was a start. She left the bedroom, walking through an unfamiliar hallway. At the end of it was a small living room off to the right, and an even smaller kitchen and dining room combo to the left. A résumé was right there on the table, just like the note had said, but was it hers? Had she written the note? She picked up the résumé, but her panic grew tenfold when she saw the name typed across the top. “Freya Cullen,” the résumé read. Was that her name? How could she not even know her own name?
She sank down onto the chair at the table, her knees suddenly too weak to hold her upright, and skimmed through the résumé, looking for anything that would jolt her memory. She reached the last page, an almost blank piece of paper that was not secured to the others with the small paperclip.
“It will be okay,” the note read, in the same handwriting that was on the note on the bedroom door.
But how on Earth was it going to be okay?
22
Okapis and mandrills peeked out from amid the thick brush all around her, and an African leopard stood not ten feet away. The inanimate figures stared back at her with unseeing eyes, but Freya was almost happy here.
It was quiet; peaceful.
She breathed in the scent of the forest, fresh from a summer’s shower, and she closed her eyes, imagining that she was standing there now, not cloistered inside in the African Rainforest exhibit of the Las Vegas Natural History Museum. Her lunch break would be over in less than five minutes and the illusion would be broken.
But not yet.
She tried to remember when she’d become so fond of the outdoors. Was it a recent attraction? Or had she always loved to submerse herself in nature? Since no answer was forthcoming, she dismissed the subject and spun around in a slow circle, taking in her surroundings. The museum really had done a superb job with the exhibit; diverse wildlife and realistic trees and shrubs. Visitors could even experience the awesome power of a rainforest thunderstorm at the press of a button.
“Freya!” a shrill voice called from somewhere outside the exhibit, and she sighed heavily. The voice could only belong to Anita Darcy—her boss—and the tone meant the woman had a job for her, and she wanted it done now. Reluctantly, she left the room, pasting a pleasant smile on her face and speeding her step before Anita could call out again.
“I want you to collect the Roman cinerary urn from the Bellagio. Sonya Johansen arrived there this morning and will be expecting you at the penthouse suite within the hour.”
Sonya Johansen was an obscure figure from Oslo, Norway, whose family happened to be in possession of several European artifacts that dated as far back as the Neolithic era. The fact that she was having a representative from the museum show up at her hotel room to collect one such item meant the woman was likely filthy rich, accustomed to having people wait on her hand and foot. But since she was donating the artifact to the museum, Freya wasn’t going to kick up too much of a fuss. After a few minutes of fake smiles—and even faker small talk—she’d be out of there.
Fifteen minutes later, she pulled up in front of the Bellagio in the backseat of a cab. Freya had a car—at least, she had the keys to a car—but since there had been no vehicle in her parki
ng spot outside her apartment, she had yet to figure out exactly where she’d left it. So, she relied on public transportation for the past three months, and while generally it was a pleasant means of getting around, the snarly woman in the front seat with garlic on her breath and body odor wafting from beneath her arms made her only too happy to consider getting around on foot from now on.
At the very least, she wasn’t taking the same cab back to the museum. So, she waved the woman off, and proceeded up the walk to the hotel, breathing in deep gulps of the moderately cleaner air of Las Vegas. As much as she hated to dwell on it, the vile smell in the cab tickled her memory, though she couldn’t quite call up any particular image to the forefront of her mind. Something from a long time ago…was that perhaps how her grandmother had smelled? No, that didn’t feel right.
Dismissing the conundrum as just another blank space in a long list of forgotten memories, she set her mind to the task at hand and proceeded inside the grand building. Somehow, she knew exactly where the elevators were located, and she rode the marble and glass car to the top floor. Stepping out, it was a short walk down the hall to the penthouse suite. She started to knock on the door, but it was open a crack and the tap against the wood forced it open further.
“Hello? Mrs. Johansen? I’m Freya Cullen from the Natural History Museum. I believe you were expecting me,” she called through the crack.
No answer. She knocked again and listened for any telltale sign of occupants inside. Was that the quiet shuffle of feet she heard? But if it was, the owner of those feet wasn’t coming any closer.
