by Starla Night
Her heart sank. That was what she’d been unable to tell Mal. The logo wasn’t just a joke. It was disrespectful.
“Today’s art world is cut throat. Survival requires more than competence; it requires brilliance. Cheryl, show us your brilliance.”
But she… she had. As much as she could. That was the problem. She was lacking in brilliance.
The tears closed her throat. Heat burned her nose and prickles stung her eyes in warning. She clenched the hem of her hoodie. “That’s it.”
Her professor noted something on his tablet. “Well, how about the rest of your weekly practice pieces? Perhaps there’s a third-best you’ve overlooked.”
She shook her head.
He sighed. “Mark your self-assessment.”
She reached for the assignment paper to record how she had failed to execute the assignment.
“Select some of your earlier assignments and we’ll go over them after class. We’ll decide on a third piece to mark up for the final show.”
Her professor started to leave, then backed up and jerked his thumb at the images cycling on the wall monitor.
“Take out that logo before a dragon alien flies by and gets offended. There’s no telling what they might do.”
Something banged on the upper story balcony windows high above them. Her classmates shrieked.
A powerful man in a gray silk suit clambered through the upper story window and zoomed down. He landed between her and the rest of her classmates, on his leather loafers, with a muscular thump.
“Mal!” she gasped.
What was he doing here?
His incendiary green eyes gleamed. Powerful hands closed around her arms and drew her against his hard body. “Come with me.”
“What?”
The ground fell away. She gasped again and clung to him. It was like holding onto a human-shaped rocket ship. Only it was Mal, and this wasn’t an illicit brush. She grabbed onto delicious muscle and squeezed.
Her classmates pointed in shock and her professor shouted after them.
They zoomed for the ceiling of the art building, exited out the large upper story window, and sped across the evening sky.
Something terrible must have happened. Like the office building burned down, or a war was starting, or… or a kind god made Mal telepathic and her cries for help had compelled him to rescue her from the horrible critique.
Since it wasn’t the last one, it had to be bad.
She squinted tears as the Portland metropolis blurred under her feet. “Where are you taking me?”
“Somewhere safe.”
They rocketed east, away from the pale sunset. Sharp air tore at her clothes and lashed her hair. She ducked her head against the pounding onslaught.
Mount Hood loomed, a pointed peak dominating Portland’s skyline, and grew in size as they approached its white cap. Early June snows blanketed the upper reaches. Suspended from the top of an outcropping rested an impossible fortress that, like him, defied gravity.
Awe flooded her, followed by a thrum of heat. She was in danger, he was taking her to safety, and he’d brought her to the one private sanctuary she’d never expected.
His home.
Chapter Seven
Mal alighted on the outer balcony and released her with an order. “Inside.”
Cheryl staggered. Her tennis shoes skidded on the ice and she plopped on the frozen stone. Chill seeped through her thin jeans. Blizzard-puffs of snow scratched her ears and cheeks.
The whole trip from Portland to Mount Hood, which took hours by car, ended in a little under five minutes. She hadn’t been able to focus on hugging him as much as she wanted because the flying part was distracting. And this was probably her only chance.
She rubbed her palms on her jeans. At least she’d gotten to hug him.
And she couldn’t stop shaking. Partly it was the snow-capped, glacier-harsh winds smashing hard, powdery snow on her hoodie; partly it was from flying across a metropolis like she’d been launched from a cannon; and partly it was because she was here, at Mal’s house, with Mal.
When she was in danger, he came for her.
Her heart thudded.
Mal stood in front of glass sliding doors. A blue light scanned his eye. Lights flickered on throughout the house and the balcony doors slid open. A gust of comforting heat covered her, then was ripped away by the harsh winds.
Mal turned, saw her on the ground, and frowned. He lifted her to her feet one-handed. “In.”
More touches. Yum.
She forced her worn tennis shoes across the frozen marble and into the fortress. Heat enveloped her and chased away the chill. The balcony doors closed behind them.
She drank it all in. This was probably her first and last time in his house. She had to savor every moment.
The inside of the fortress was set up like a giant lodge. Fires blazed in three fireplaces. To her left, a large stone room seemed strangely bare. In the middle, a hallway terminated. To her right, a living room branched into a palatial office.
Mal stormed to the office. A mahogany desk presided over one wall. That was so like him. He stationed himself behind it.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, finally getting enough warmth back to stop her teeth from chattering. “What’s the emergency?”
“You.” His green eyes glowered at her.
Was she in trouble? What had she done?
Wait. Had her disrespectful, cutesy logo offended one of the other dragons and now her life was in danger?
Mal removed a yellow folder from inside his suit jacket and threw it on the desk.
Was that… the marriage application? No way.
He opened the folder and stabbed the marriage application. “You didn’t sign.”
It was what she thought it was. Little tingles shimmered through her. Pixie dust.
Laugh or yell? Her hands trembled. He had stolen her out of class and frightened her.
Well, stolen might be the wrong word. She had wanted to escape by any means possible, and he had answered her prayers, but there would be consequences for her grades, and…
He was looking at her in accusation.
She found her voice. “You can’t be serious.” Oh good, she sounded normal.
The green intensified. “Why?”
“You kidnapped me out of my final portfolio review. That affects my grade, Mal. My professor’s going to be pissed.”
“I’ll explain it to him.” Mal picked up his big, black corded phone.
She tapped the hang-up button. “It’s too late now. And you scared me. I thought it was a real emergency.”
“It is a real emergency.”
“How is this an emergency?”
“You must sign and become my wife.”
Her chest throbbed.
No. Way. This wasn’t possible. He didn’t really want her. She was hallucinating. There was some mistake.
She shook her head.
His anger flared. “What stops you?”
A gorgeous, gruff, billionaire CEO wanted her. Cheryl. Soon-to-be-unemployed, assuming she passed this class and graduated, graphic design intern Cheryl. There was just no way.
“Do I have a rival?” he demanded.
She snorted. “No.”
“Then.”
He dropped the phone on the desk and threw back his shoulders, exposing his arrogant chest in its tasteful gray button-down.
“I run the company that will be number one outside Draconis! It is worth billions of our coins and even more in yours. I am a fit male capable of many fights. I have a full wingspan for mating flights and I will give you as many dragonlets as you wish. Am I not a suitable male to be your husband?”
The phone made the cannot-connect ringing noise. If you would like to make a call, please hang up and try your call again.
That was it. There, that was definitely it.
She picked up the phone and put it back in its cradle.
He pushed the pen at her. “Sign and becom
e my wife.”
She shook her head.
“No?” He growled and the defensive, almost hurt tone she detected inside his office returned. “Why not?”
He was a fit, hot, billionaire. She couldn’t be his only choice or his last choice, which were the only two choices that made any sense.
Her voice lodged in her throat. Her questions crystallized into a whisper. “Why me?”
“You are Cheryl.”
That meant nothing.
He stared at her as if he had answered the question and now it was time for her to sign.
He was her boss. His heart was in the right place, even if he lead with his hard head.
Mal would never intentionally hurt anyone. Even his greatest rival he wanted to beat in the boardroom, not in the street. And she didn’t want to hurt Mal either. She just wanted to understand.
“Why do you want to marry me?”
“Because I must marry, and I will marry you.”
“You must have a million other options.”
He shook his head. “No. My option is you.”
Her heart thumped. The delicious heat turned up. Don’t get too excited. He didn’t mean it the way it sounded. He hadn’t been in love with her from the first week, hadn’t felt the hot-cold kiss of destiny the moment he defended her to the other manager.
“Why?”
He still didn’t get it.
“What is it about me that makes you think I’d be a good wife?”
“Why are you my choice?” He blinked and frowned. “Don’t you know your own qualities, hobbies, and interests?”
Well, it sounded like fishing for compliments when she asked like this. Mal wasn’t the flowery type and didn’t praise people just to charm them. And she could not comprehend this. She was an ordinary college graduate about to become a starving, unemployable artist who produced greeting cards nobody wanted.
“It doesn’t seem real,” she said. “You’re interested in me? It sounds like a dream.”
“A good dream or a nightmare?”
“The good one,” she assured him. “But surreal. Say whatever you want, but I can’t believe you have feelings for me without proof.”
“I can do proof.” He crossed the desk, drew her into his arms, and kissed her.
Thoroughly.
His iron-hard grip held her melting body upright as his lips pressed to her mouth.
Oh. God.
This was a dream.
The pressure of his lips was firmer than she’d fantasized. His mouth was hotter. His breath tickled her cheek. Rough, masculine stubble scraped her chin.
It wasn’t a dream. She’d never imagined stubble.
Mal was kissing her.
His scent teased her with promises of naked skin and sensual arousal. Her feminine center throbbed between her thighs, hungering for the male who sweetly dominated her.
He swept his tongue across her seam and nibbled her lips. “Cheryl. Open for me.”
She obeyed.
He growled and swept his tongue into her wet mouth. Thrusting into her deeply, every stroke discovered, enthralled, claimed. He teased her teeth. Sensations overwhelmed her.
He consumed her until the world faded to black. Everything was him. Gorgeous, powerful, domineering Mal.
Her knees went weak.
Mal lifted his head. His eyes crackled with green fire. Ownership stamped across his implacable features. “You are mine.”
She licked her deliciously bruised lips. His flavor remained, indelibly imprinted on her. “That was my first kiss.”
“Mine also.”
She sucked in a breath. Really? Had she misjudged him? Despite his physique, attractiveness, and dominant masculine strength, had women avoided him? Or had he buried himself so completely in his work that he was also still a virgin?
“Did you never have a girlfriend, or, uh… anyone? Or any romantic relationship? In your life?”
He shook his head decisively. “Only you. Now.”
“Mal…” Then, reality slivered into her tenderness. “Um, me neither. I don’t know what I’m doing.”
“I do.” Confidence blazed in his powerful form. “Jasper showed me educational videos. I understand human sexuality very well.”
Educational videos?
In her moment of distraction, he growled and turned her to the marriage application. “Sign.”
She did so.
God, she was nuts. This was nuts! A rich, handsome dragon asked her to marry him, kissed her senseless, and then, while she was still weak in the knees, she signed and marked the application date.
He pulled the pen out of her hands and drew her against him.
His gaze intensified with mesmerizing heat. “We consummate our marriage. Now.”
Chapter Eight
After marriage came sex. Mal was ready.
Cheryl had signed the marriage application. That was the human form of marriage. Now she must perform the dragon rites of opening her body to him.
His chosen bride licked her sweet lips and stood on tip toes to nuzzle him. “I do.”
Exaltation pounded through him.
He gathered her softness in his arms and flew her to his bedroom. She gasped as the floor fell away from her feet.
His wings ached to emerge and his scales jumped beneath his skin, but he suppressed both urges, holding onto his human form with iron control. He did not want to frighten her. And it was unnecessary—dragons mated in dragon form, but Cheryl could not. He would… what did humans call mating? Love? He would love her as a human.
There were already obvious differences. Dragons did not kiss. When he had heard of the strange human phenomena, he hadn’t been able to imagine why someone would want to mash their faces together, but now, he understood.
Cheryl tasted like an addiction. She made sweet noises that hardened his cock. He craved her more now than he had ever craved anything in his life.
He needed to taste her again.
Her small hands twined around the back of his neck. Accepting him. Needing him back.
He laid her in the center of his dragon-sized bed and ripped his clothes away, shredding them. He needed to press his nude form to hers.
She rose on her elbows and studied his nakedness with her wide brown eyes. This was a familiar look. Was she studying him even now like an artist?
He needed her to study him as a man.
“Touch me,” he commanded.
She sucked in a breath. “I’ve been looking for so long, I can’t believe I’m really here.”
“Believe.” Mal rolled on top of her, resting his weight on his knees and elbows, and flexed his biceps.
She sighed with pleasure.
But he needed more. He took her hand and pressed her cool palm to his hot belly.
Her eyes flew to his face. “Um…”
“You must touch me.”
“I don’t know what I’m doing. It won’t feel very good.”
“It will feel very good.” He pressed a kiss into her palm. “Now. Everywhere.”
She stroked his shoulder. Hesitant and soothing. Testing out his shape. Learning about the male she claimed.
“Yes,” his hissed into her ear, and sucked on her soft lobe.
She gripped his shoulders and moaned.
Moaning was what he needed. Her, out of control, driven by him to the edge of passion.
He rolled onto his back and flipped her on top. She squeaked. Her jeans-clad thighs straddled his abdomen. His shaft pressed against the seams.
Mal gripped her waist. The flat bones made the perfect rest for his large hands. He would grip here later when he thrust into her slick channel.
She teased her lower lip between her teeth. Her hands rested on her thighs. She stared at him with longing.
He needed more than stares.
“Touch!”
She jumped and brushed his pectorals with her fingertips. Feather-soft, at first, then harder, like an artist sculpting clay. Her thumbs tested his fl
at, dark aureoles and moved down the bulging ridges of his abdominal muscles.
Her tongue teased the corner of her lips and the color of her cheeks darkened. She rubbed her cleft against his shaft.
He throbbed with readiness.
She caressed his pectorals. Her touch owned him, imprinted her scent onto him. Now all females would know he belonged to her.
Her hands drifted lower. She scooted back. Her wide eyes fixed on his hard cock. Her pink tongue wet her lips.
He pulsed with her silent encouragement.
She hesitated.
“Cheryl,” he growled.
Her hungry gaze flicked to his eyes, then trailed down his wide chest, taut abdomen to the hard V and back to his proud cock. With shaking hands, she carefully wrapped her talented fingers around his long shaft.
Pleasure throbbed in his cock.
He thrust against her palms.
Surprise and then interest lit her features. Her beautiful lips parted. The syrupy scent of her arousal increased, clouding his mind with hunger. “Could you come like this?”
If she meant spill his seed, the answer was yes. “Immediately.”
Shock flashed in her eyes. “Just from me touching you?”
From her touch, and also from the blush warming her cheeks, and the sexual heat rising from her body, and her intoxicating taste still on his lips, and her sweet hips gyrating in too-tight jeans, and the scent of her arousal he, too, was going to possess.
Hot pleasure pooled in his scrotum and shot out of his cock, unloading in her hands and striping her clothes in his white, creamy semen.
“Yes,” he said.
Her surprise turned into a wonder-filled smile. She looked down at his markings, the peak of passion she had brought him to, and her wonder turned to a pleased expression.
She should be pleased. She had done this to him and it was only the beginning.
His cock hardened again in her dripping hands. “Now, you.”
Shadows of doubt crossed her face. “Me?”
“Take off your clothes.”
“Um, what do you mean? This is all new to me.”
“Me too. Clothes off.”
“Um, how about just the bottoms?”
