Fire Maidens: Paris

by Anna Lowe

  Then he glanced up and—

  Mate, Tristan’s voice whispered in her mind.

  Mate, her inner dragon echoed.

  His lips glistened, and his hair hung low, giving him a decadent, bad-boy look. His hands stayed firm on her thighs like that was his turf, and everything about him screamed alpha male.

  He flashed a wicked grin, then ducked and licked her all the way over to her first orgasm.

  First of many, his hands assured her as her body shuddered wildly.

  The first ever, it felt like, because the sexual highs of her past seemed laughably amateur.

  Lightning flashed behind her tightly shut eyes, and blurry visions rippled through her soul. She’d thrown her arms back at some point, but her imagination turned them into wings, and she swore she saw a pair of dragons coupling in midair. One of them was Tristan, and the other one was…her?

  Afterward, she lay limp, panting at the ceiling as heat raged through her body and slowly, deliciously, subsided. She was unable to move, unable to think. Apparently, orgasms were neither overrated nor impossible. Just hard to attain without the right, er…stimulus.

  She laughed. Tristan was stimulating, all right. But, whoa. What about that dragon part? Was it just a sex-induced fantasy, or was it more?

  She snorted the thought away. Clearly, she’d spent too much time reading about dragons lately.

  Tristan cozied up to her again, lying along the length of her body, stroking her sides. At her chuckle, he raised one eyebrow.

  “What? Ça ne va pas?”

  She shook her head, not quite able to speak. Of course, it was good. But the vines of the ceiling’s delicate plasterwork were only gradually coming back into focus. An instant later, the embers of her desire flared again, and her eyes heated.

  “Nothing.” She chuckled. “Everything.”

  Then she tugged him up and wrapped her legs around his waist.

  “Do you have a condom?” she breathed, trying not to yowl. Because holy hell, there really was something about dragons that set off smoldering passion.

  Then it hit her. If she truly had dragon blood, then she and Tristan would really make sparks fly.

  The sultry voice inside her snorted. No wonder you’ve never felt such rapture.

  Tristan’s lips moved, and she worried that he might say No, I don’t have a condom. But after a moment of staring at her neck, he nodded and reached for the bedside table. Natalie closed her eyes. The dresser drawer rolled, and the sheets rustled. Foil ripped, and Tristan’s weight shifted. Natalie reached out, covering his hand with hers as he unrolled the condom. Then he resettled over her, drawing her arms over her head.

  She lay trembling, waiting for the painful push of his entry. But instead, his lips fluttered over hers. She opened her eyes, caught off guard. Power pulsed off every coiled muscle in Tristan’s body, but his fingers were gentle as he smoothed a wisp of hair aside.

  “Natalie,” he whispered, lending it that rising rhythm she loved, full of hope and promise.

  He might as well have lit her with a thousand bulbs, the way she beamed. Then she drew her leg along his in a hint.

  For a moment, he looked lost, as if he would be perfectly content just to admire her for a while. But then the glow in his eyes intensified. He nudged her legs apart, tightened his fingers around hers, and—

  Instead of plunging in, he eased in, rocking forward and back, giving her time to adjust. A bead of sweat formed on his brow, and she could sense him leashing his own power. He watched her face intently, making sure it was as good for her as it was for him. And then — only then — did he shift into another gear, going from slow slides to powerful thrusts.

  “Oh,” she cried out.

  The motion burned in the best possible way, and she rocked against him, begging for more.

  “Yes…”

  When she pulled her legs higher along his sides, Tristan reached back, pinning her knee against his hip. Then he went back to deep, sharp thrusts, making her howl. Eventually, he switched over to the other side, lighting up an entirely new set of nerves.

  By all rights, she should have come to a screaming orgasm right there, but something in Tristan’s face told her to hang on. So she did — barely — flexing her inner muscles, making him groan.

  Show him, that inner voice insisted. Show him what his mate can do.

  Natalie bucked upward, suddenly determined to prove something — to herself, not to him. That she wasn’t as plain as she’d told herself a thousand times. That she could rock a man’s world — even a man who’d experienced so many things. She could be the center of his world, and he the center of hers.

  Mates, her inner voice murmured. Now you know what it means.

  She wasn’t entirely sure about that, but she did know she belonged with him. So she pushed her shoulders back, pumped her hips, and flexed one more time.

  Tristan groaned, and she watched as he came absolutely, utterly undone. His mouth opened in suppressed cries, and his biceps bulged. Then he made a garbled sound and reared back on his heels.

  “No,” she cried as they separated.

  But Tristan was already on his knees and lifting her hips off the bed. A split second later, he thrust in, and she cried out.

  Deep took on a whole new meaning at that angle, but damn, did it feel good. Blood rushed to her head, and a wave of emotion gathered within her, steamrolling everything away. Tristan bowed his head in total concentration. Then, when she thought she wouldn’t last a moment longer, he pumped in one last time.

  Her body shuddered, and her head spun with a thousand images, though none of them made sense. She was flying — no, soaring over the ground. Fire crackled around her lips, and the air around her heaved. A church bell tolled, and the green slopes of a vineyard blurred under her wings.

  Whoa. Wait. Under her what?

  Wings, that inner voice laughed.

  A shadow moved over her, and she knew it was Tristan with her in bed. But her mind reassembled the image, making him a dragon flying directly over her, spreading his wings and roaring into the night, daring anyone to come between them.

  Mate, she whispered. Or had Tristan said that?

  She opened her eyes slowly, and there they were, naked, sweaty, and wrapped around each other in bed. At first, Tristan’s eyes were vacant, as if he were living that scene too. But when he focused on her—

  She arched, hit by an aftershock of pleasure. Tristan tightened his arms around her, holding her as she shuddered. Then, when she was panting and exhausted, he settled her on the mattress and brought his lips to hers in a searing kiss.

  Her eyes flew open. That kiss was hot. Hot as…dragon fire?

  Tristan’s eyes remained closed, his lips sealed around hers. Really sealed, taking away her air, but giving her air at the same time. It filled her lungs, warming her from the inside. The heat spread through her chest, to her arms, and all the way to her toes. She found herself cupping his face, hoping he’d never let go. Because holy crap — what a kiss. One that was all the way over on the other side of the ecstasy meter from where she’d just been. One extreme was the sheer exhilaration of sex. The opposite was that kiss — peaceful and serene, yet every bit as intimate. If sex was an inferno, this was a warm, sensual bath, and she sighed, letting it sink in.

  It might have been seconds later or an hour when she opened her eyes. Tristan had slumped over her, his cheek along hers. When she stirred, he did too, slowly rubbing up and down.

  Natalie’s mind spun. The best sex of her life. Visions of flying, even breathing fire. A kiss like none other…

  “What was that?” she whispered, reliving it.

  Tristan stopped nuzzling long enough to look her in the eyes. “Dragon kiss.”

  His mouth remained open as if he might say more, but after a pause, he went back to nuzzling.

  “Dragon kiss, huh?” She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and let her fingers caress his back.

  He rolled to his side, proppin
g himself up on one elbow quietly — nervously? — awaiting her judgment.

  She licked the last hint of heat off her lips and nodded. “I like it.”

  Tristan broke into laughter, and for the next minute, the huge, empty apartment echoed with the sound. Enough to make Bijou appear around a corner, then scowl and stalk away.

  Slowly, Tristan settled down again, and his face grew pensive.

  “What?” she asked.

  He shook his head, then murmured in French. “Where were you?”

  She blinked, caught off guard. “Where…?”

  “Where were you my whole life?”

  She bit her lip, and for the next happy thumps of her heart, they lay there, marveling at each other.

  “Where have you been my whole life?” she whispered at last.

  Tristan broke into a smile that was a lot like hers — part sorrow at what they had been missing all along, and part wonder at finally feeling…

  Complete, her inner voice filled in.

  Natalie bit her lip, studying Tristan. Yes, complete. But there was still so much she didn’t know about him — or even herself. Then she shooed those thoughts away. She’d done enough thinking — and discovering — for one night.

  Tristan shuffled around, spooning her from behind, and they lay together without uttering a sound. The few times Natalie opened and closed her eyes, she focused on his fingers, wrapped around hers, keeping her close. Keeping her safe.

  Then, feeling more tired and satisfied than she’d ever thought possible, she slowly, peacefully, drifted off to sleep.

  Chapter Twenty

  Tristan woke with a groan, reluctant to budge from Natalie’s side. He’d been sleeping so well — the sleep of the just, as a former sergeant of his would say — but now, a boulder was rolling at his bedside, or so it seemed. He cracked an eye open. He had been planning to sleep through till morning, but judging by the darkness, it was only three or four a.m. Paris was still sleeping, and dammit, so should he.

  He turned, ready to turn one hand into a claw and lash out. It was a special night. An amazing night. The first ever with his mate. Who dared disturb that?

  Two shining eyes regarded him in silence, and that awful rolling sound broke out again.

  “Bijou,” he groaned.

  If Natalie hadn’t been sharing his pillow, he would have thrown it at the cat.

  Bijou blinked then batted at the watch on the bedside table. It rolled, bumping and rattling as it went.

  “Bijou,” Tristan hissed.

  The cat purred as if to say, Do I finally have your attention?

  If wrath counted as attention, then yes, Bijou had it. Tristan flopped back and stared at the ceiling, counting to ten. The last time Bijou had made a racket like that, he’d locked the little beast out on the roof. But the cat had started yowling, and Tristan had been forced to let the monster back in. And when he had…

  He growled at the memory. Bijou had sauntered in then strutted right back out. The cat didn’t care where he was. He just enjoyed torturing dragons. There was no winning with him.

  “You’ll wake Natalie,” Tristan tried.

  Bijou seemed to consider for a moment, then smacked the watch again — a little more softly, so it didn’t make quite as much noise, but enough to get under Tristan’s skin.

  “What do you want?” he demanded.

  Bijou looked up smugly as if to say, Guess.

  Tristan swung his jaw from side to side. God, did he hate cats. Little ones, at least. Liam and the other feline shifters Tristan knew were mostly okay. Of course, they all had that prima donna streak in them, just like Bijou did.

  Did the cat want food? Did he want to go out? Or was it all a ploy to lure Tristan out of bed so Bijou could sneak in next to Natalie?

  The cat rattled the watch again, and Tristan finally gave in.

  “Okay, okay, j’arrive.” I’m coming.

  Sliding out of bed shouldn’t have taken much effort, but with Natalie there, Tristan almost gave up. It was only Bijou taking aim at the watch that made him force himself to his feet. Bijou scampered to the kitchen, but Tristan stood at the bedside for a moment, watching Natalie sleep.

  Her hair was mussed, and her hands still clasped at her chest, leaving space for his fingers to curl around hers. She looked so peaceful, so content. So…part of his life, somehow. She fit right in. Or she could, if she wanted it as much as he did.

  His heart just about tripled in size as his dragon murmured, I want it. More than anything.

  The problem was, she was a Fire Maiden. The proof was in the visions that had swept through her when they’d bonded. Normally, he couldn’t read her mind, but those images had come through loud and clear. In them, she was a gorgeous, copper-colored dragon. Most dragons were brown, black, tan, or green. The rare shades between copper and gold were the sign of a legend.

  Fire Maiden, his dragon breathed.

  He took a deep breath. That Natalie had dragon blood, he knew. That she was special, any fool ought to be able to see. But part of him must have been hoping she wasn’t descended from Liviana, Queen of the Dragons, just to make things easier for them. But now, reality sank in.

  She was a princess. He was a nobody.

  He pursed his lips. That didn’t matter, did it? They would find a way. But, hell. Alaric and the others would put up a fuss, and—

  Bijou popped his head around the doorway, glaring. Must I summon you again?

  Tristan sighed. There were times he could have sworn the cat was a shifter, but no. Just a pint-sized monster who thought he could boss dragons around.

  Tristan walked to the kitchen slowly, resolving not to ruin an amazing morning with thoughts of forbidden. Bijou, meanwhile, wound between his legs, nearly tripping him.

  “Natalie fed you, you beast,” he murmured, reaching into a cabinet for a packet of cat food.

  Bijou looked on eagerly, then turned up his nose.

  “Et maintenant, qu’est-ce que tu veux?” Now, what do you want? Tristan demanded. When Bijou looked back at the cabinet, Tristan shut the door with his foot. “You get what you get, mister. I don’t eat salmon most nights.”

  Bijou looked on, miffed, as Tristan thumped the packet over the edge of the food dish.

  The nice lady uses a spoon, Bijou’s sour expression said.

  Yeah, well. Food was food.

  Wrinkling his nose at the smell, Tristan toed the dish closer to Bijou, then turned to the sink. Footsteps sounded behind him, and he whipped around. It was Natalie, padding to the bathroom, still half asleep and as gorgeously naked as she’d been in bed. He gulped and forced himself to go back to bed. Much as he would have liked to wait for her — and maybe even replay that sensual embrace by the windows — that probably wasn’t best. Americans were shy about their bodies, though he didn’t know why. Especially not a body as perfect as Natalie’s. So he went back to bed and stared at the ceiling, waiting.

  The sheets carried Natalie’s heavenly fragrance along with the sticky-sweet scent of sex. He licked his lips, savoring the last traces of Natalie’s kisses. A perfectly unique, perfectly Natalie taste that made him love her even more. Other women tasted like something else — cherry, strawberry, or whatever the heck was in the stuff they put on their lips. But Natalie tasted like Natalie. Pure, honest, unpretentious.

  He reached out, touching the space beside him and gazed toward the windows. In a few hours, a new day would dawn. What kind of day would it be?

  He would give anything for a nice, quiet day for the two of them. A stroll in the park, hand in hand. A stop for a crêpe or at the confiserie. Then they’d walk home with a nice bottle of wine and maybe spend a few hours in bed.

  But a sinking feeling warned him of what really lay ahead. The confrontation with Marcel meant it was time to see Alaric and exercise damage control. But, merde. How? He’d nuzzled Natalie hard enough that no shower would erase her scent.

  Not that he wanted to erase it. He wanted to flaunt it — not as a trop
hy, but as a sign of his intent. Natalie was his mate, and he had every right to celebrate that. He wanted to parade his love around like Hugo and Clara, who got to exchange all the I’m so in love with you looks they wanted. But Tristan couldn’t, not when it came to a Fire Maiden.

  He frowned. Finding one’s mate ought to be a joyous occasion, not a dilemma. What if Alaric kicked him out of Paris? What then?

  “Hey.” A whisper pulled him out of his thoughts. It was Natalie, standing beside the bed, her arms held shyly over her chest. But the minute their eyes locked…

  Natalie smiled, and her shoulders relaxed. Tristan’s blood surged with that instant pull, that instinctive recognition.

  Mate, his dragon hummed.

  Mate, a faint voice echoed, making his heart swell.

  He could feel the dragon stirring inside her. A powerful, confident presence that had been there all along, like a single jewel hiding under all the treasures of Natalie’s personality.

  Just wait till we make her our mate, his dragon murmured.

  His heart skipped. Then she would be a dragon, too. A formidable one.

  Fire Maiden, his dragon whispered.

  Then Alaric’s words echoed in his mind. Forbidden.

  Wordlessly, he held up the sheet, and Natalie slid right in. Not just into bed, but into his arms — and into a nice, soft kiss.

  “You’re worried about something,” she whispered.

  He shrugged. “That stopped when I saw you.”

  She lit up and cupped his face, stroking his chin with her thumb. He leaned into her touch, practically purring like that goddamn cat.

  “So soft,” she murmured, tracing his stubble. Then she bit her lip. “Your eyes are glowing again.”

  So are yours, he wanted to say. Faintly, but definitely glowing with a mix of contentment and apprehension.

  He gave a tiny nod. “Dragons do that when they’re happy.”

  Happier than I’ve ever been, he wanted to add. But a little scared of the future too.

  Her lips curled into a broad smile that faded all too quickly. “Your eyes were glowing red after you fought.”