The Dragon Prince's Promise (Dragongrove Book 5)

by Imogen Sera

  She watched him strangely for a minute. “Why couldn’t you help?” she asked.

  “I didn’t wish to,” he said, avoiding her gaze and staring straight ahead. He had regretted that word as soon as it had left his mouth.

  She shook her head. “You said ‘couldn’t’. Why couldn’t you help?” she asked again.

  When he didn’t respond, her hands which had been on his shoulders ran up his neck and came to rest on his cheeks. It was perhaps the sweetest thing he’d ever felt, and he closed his eyes for a moment to savor it. When he opened them she’d shifted up the bed some, so they were face to face.

  “Please tell me,” she said. “I know you’re not...that you’re not like you want me to think you are.”

  Her gaze was penetrating, but he didn’t look away. She was trying to see more of him, she was trying to see the best in him, and he was so, so tired of keeping up the charade that he’d performed for nearly a decade. “I wish I could explain,” he said, finally. It wasn’t enough, but it was something.

  “Why can’t you?” she asked.

  “It’s not...” he trailed off. “I wish I could explain that, too.”

  She smiled at that, a devastating smile that he was unprepared for. It knocked the air from his lungs, it pushed the air from the room. He wanted to close the tiny gap between them, to kiss her mouth like he’d done the day before, like he was afraid to do now. He wanted to hold her to him and strip her bare and lick every inch of her and push inside her and finally, finally make her his. He didn’t, of course, he just pressed his fingertips into her back a little more firmly, just inhaled a little deeper to savor her scent. He must have been crazy, though, must have been totally mad, because mixed with her familiar sweet scent was unmistakable arousal. He watched her sharply but she showed no signs of acknowledging it. His cock strained painfully against his pants.

  She just looked thoughtful, though. “You admit, though, that you didn’t fight for me to go home because you couldn’t?” her question snapped him back to his senses, back to their conversation. “Not because you didn’t care? But because—for some reason that you can’t tell—you couldn’t?”

  He met her gaze. “It would have been useless,” he said, hoping she didn’t hear the tightness in his voice. “It would have only given away...It would have been useless.”

  “I wish you would tell me things,” she said, but she rubbed her cheek gently against his arm.

  “There’s so much I can’t tell,” he said, “and...I can’t send you home, but what can I do for you? There must be something I can do for you.”

  She stared at him intently, then turned her head just slightly to press the corner of her lips against his arm.

  “What can I do for you, El? What do you want?”

  He was entirely unprepared when she spread her hands on his chest, and tilted her face up to him, and said, “You.”

  Sixteen

  “Please.”

  She didn’t know why she’d said it; she didn’t know why she didn’t regret saying it, why she wasn’t trying to take it back and turn from him, red-faced. She didn’t though, she just stared at him, boldly letting her statement hang between them.

  It wasn’t a lie. It was true, so true that she hadn’t been able to keep it in anymore. She wanted him; she wanted him desperately. She’d wanted him before he’d even opened his eyes, when his arms had been tight around her and his cock had been hard against her. And when he’d finally said what she knew was true, when he finally admitted that he wasn’t so terrible, she had to tell him.

  He hadn’t moved, hadn’t reacted in any way. His fingertips dug into her back a little harder, though, and she took it as the only sign she needed. She moved her hands to his shoulders and gripped them firmly, and then she leaned forward and closed the small space between them.

  She brushed her lips over his, just barely touching him, just wanting to gauge his reaction. She pulled back to study his face, but she couldn’t, because he was on her. His lips were hot and hard against hers, his hand moved up to cup the back of her neck. A sharp heat shot through her core at the contact; a pleasant flush warmed her from her head to her toes. He kissed her thoroughly, kissed her maddeningly, but seemed hesitant to go further—so she swept her tongue across his lips.

  That seemed to unleash something in him, because suddenly he sat up, pulled her to his lap, and kissed her more thoroughly than she’d ever been kissed. Their tongues tangled together and his hands were everywhere and his hard body was hot against her. She would fuck him, she thought, if it went that far. But it wasn’t just that she would, it was that she wanted to. She was surprised by the thought—it had been a very long time since she’d felt any desire in that way.

  Her nipples were hard under her nightgown and she shamelessly rubbed them against his chest. He inhaled sharply at that, so she smiled against his lips and took his hand in hers and pressed it to her breast.

  “Fuck, El,” he murmured against her mouth.

  She pulled her head back and grinned at him, and then arched her back and pressed herself into his palm. His fingers brushed over her pebbled nipple, and then his thumb rubbed over it. He caressed her as he leaned forward and pressed his lips to her collarbone, and to the hollow of her throat, and to the spot where her heart was wildly beating.

  She silently willed him to move lower, but he stayed as he was, torturing her with his soft caresses and kissing along her exposed chest.

  “I want your mouth on me,” she said, surprised as the words left her. She did want it, though, so she didn’t take them back.

  He looked up at her for a minute, and his gaze was scorching. She inhaled a shaky breath when he grinned wickedly at her.

  His tongue was hot on her skin, and when he reached her nipple she was so mad with need that she wound her hands through his hair and held his head there. He was licking and swirling and teasing and tasting, and then his mouth closed around it and sucked. She couldn’t help the moan that escaped her, she couldn’t help the way she pressed her hips into his, searching for any pressure or friction that she could find.

  His hand grazed her thigh, right where her nightgown ended, and paused there, resting heavy on her leg. She didn’t know what he was waiting for, didn’t know if he was teasing her or asking permission, so she pulled her nightgown up more, and pressed his hand against her inner thigh, and moved more deliberately. She moved in a way that each time she pressed against him, he could feel the heat from her, could possibly even feel the wetness that had collected just outside of her entrance. She wanted him, she wanted him desperately, but she needed him to touch her himself. She would encourage him—but she needed to feel wanted, too.

  His fingers brushed over her, and she jerked and exhaled sharply at the contact. She was desperate with need, her flesh was hot and swollen, and just his tentative touch had her almost finding her release. He grinned at that, and then his thumb found her clit, and then he was touching it with maddeningly light touches. When he finally relented and pressed against her, and then rubbed against her, she cried out and clung to his shoulders and shuddered in his arms.

  He pushed a finger into her all at once, as she was still recovering, and he groaned at the way she clenched around it. He lifted her, his finger still in her, and moved her to lay against the pillows. She pulled her nightgown up and opened her legs wide. She was crazy for him, desperate for him, her first orgasm not satisfying anything—just making her hungrier for more.

  He made a strangled noise at the sight of her, spread bare before him, and then his mouth was on her. He was licking her, slow and deliberately, and then frantically, and her hips moved in time to his mouth. His finger was still in her, and he added another, and then he was fucking her with them while he sucked on her clit, and she came undone again. She called his name this time, and his fingers stayed inside of her while she spasmed around them, and her heated flesh throbbed and quivered.

  “I want you,” she said, reaching for him. “Please, I
want you.”

  He looked up at her for a minute, an unfamiliar expression on his face. He hooked his fingers inside of her, making her gasp and squirm, and then pulled them out and licked them clean. She watched helplessly, mad with need. He put one hand on each of her legs and parted her wide, and then pressed a soft kiss against her thigh and rubbed his cheek there for a minute.

  A moment later, his tongue was inside of her—fucking her. She moaned and called for him, and then his fingers were rubbing over her clit while his other hand pinched and rolled her nipple. She held onto his head, desperate for anything to hold on to, but he was relentless. His tongue swept through her folds, circled her entrance, and slipped inside, over and over until she would do anything to make him stop, to make him continue, to make him push his cock into her and fuck her like she needed.

  When he murmured her name against her the sound rumbled through her body, and she wrapped her legs around him as she came undone. She was on fire and she couldn’t see and she couldn’t think, and all that she could feel was Tate.

  It took her long moments to recover, and when she could see again she was surprised to see him next to her. He kissed her forehead and her cheeks and her nose, and pulled her against him and rubbed his face against hers. When she reached for his pants, he caught her hand and kissed her wrist.

  “You need rest, El,” he said. “Please rest. I’ll stay to make sure you’re warm.”

  She pressed her face against his, exhausted. “You should stay because you like me,” she murmured, and then she knew no more.

  •••••

  Tate was coming undone. He shouldn’t have crossed the line that he just had, shouldn’t have done what he did. How could he possibly have refused, though, when she looked up at him with her big, blue eyes and begged him. The taste of her was still on his lips, the tightness in his chest was overwhelming as she slept in his arms, her chest rising and falling evenly.

  He stayed until he felt the earth straining beneath him, then stretched to kiss her brow. He added more fuel to the fire before he left, and ensured that she was thoroughly covered with furs and blankets.

  “I like you so much,” he whispered, then leaned to kiss her cheek. “I adore you.”

  She slept on, so he left as quietly as possible, shifting once he was outside in order to return to the cave as quickly as possible. As he descended into it, he could feel the strain the rocks and dirt were under, he could hear the awakened grumbling from far under the surface. He’d left it for too long.

  Once, when he’d first come to this place, the earth had required minimal soothing, minimal coaxing. It had easily bent to his will, and only a few minutes a day were necessary to soften its resolve and make the forces that pushed against the mountain rest. As time had worn on, it required much more than that. Now, he could hardly be away for longer than a few hours, and he’d taken to sleeping in the great cavern so far beneath the surface of the earth.

  Vodan had known, somehow, what Tate was capable of doing. That was why he’d sent him the dreams to begin with—the dreams where his mother and sisters were alive, the dreams where he could strike an easy bargain and they would live once more. Even now, he didn’t regret it. He’d had to take the chance, had to try everything possible before giving up on them. He hated this life, though, and hated this place. He longed to return to the life he’d once known; it wasn’t as easy as that, though.

  He wondered what would happen when the strain was too much, when the earth inevitably stopped listening to him and cracked open under the pressure. It was clear that the eventuality was fast approaching—with each passing day—as the world thundered and raged under his feet. There was little he could do for it, and even in the recent weeks he hadn’t been able to control the smoke that the great peak had begun to give off.

  He stripped, then sat in the middle of the cavern, as he always did. He shut his eyes and focused downward, down through the rocks and the crust and the boiling magma under him. He tried to not let his mind wander up to the little cabin down the path, tried to not think about the fact that the most fragile being here, right in the path of the great streams of molten earth and rock that yearned to break free, just happened to be the person who was the most precious to him.

  So he sat and he communed and he reasoned and he pleaded, and after several hours of calming, after several hours of begging with everything in him, he knew he had ensured the earth’s compliance for another day. It was wrong—it felt aberrant, totally against the natural order of things, but he had few options and even fewer ideas for how to fix it.

  Seventeen

  Elsie awoke alone, but there were new logs on the fire, so she didn’t think she’d been alone for long. She stretched out long in the bed, luxuriously, and mused over how utterly rested she felt. It had been an eventful series of days, full of despair and anger and lust, but after her rest—her long rest, she mused, looking toward the light outside her window—she felt renewed.

  She was a little sad to wake to an empty bed, but tried not to dwell on it. Surely he wouldn’t have pleasured her so thoroughly, without wanting anything in return, if he weren’t at least attracted to her. Surely his duties had called him away and he would return just as soon as he could.

  She wandered around the small room, bored and restless and ready to do something—anything. She settled on affixing more fur to her nightgown.

  Several hours later, she had a fur-lined gown. It was covered in uneven stitches and hung oddly on her, but it was warm and soft and hers. She wished for a mirror for what must have been the hundredth time, but she smiled down at her feet all the same. She’d accomplished something useful, and she wasn’t going to let her silly streak of perfectionism take away from that.

  It didn’t take long before she was bored again, and after sweeping through the cabin and again finding nothing to occupy herself, she pulled her cloak around her and ventured outside. The sun was high in the sky, and the clouds had parted in the rare way that they sometimes did. Everything about the place looked different in the sunlight, and she couldn’t help but let her hood fall from her head and tilted her head back.

  It felt lovely on her skin—like a warm caress, like an old friend. She supposed she suffered from a lack of sunlight; but then, she suffered from a lack of a great many things here. She missed her friends that she’d tried her hardest to turn into family, and she missed the palace that she’d tried her hardest to turn into home. She didn’t think that this place could ever be home; not with the short days and harsh terrain and cold that seeped into her every pore.

  She sat down, right there on the path in front of the little cabin. She kept her face turned to the sun, her eyes closed, savoring it. She tried not to dwell on the things she always did: on Juliette’s wellness, on her own ability to ever return home, and the so recently much more complicated situation with Tate.

  She was troubled that she hadn’t seen him, yet. It wasn’t unusual to only see him at dinner time, although some days he would knock on the door and keep her company for a few minutes earlier in the day. After the night before, though...

  At the time, she’d thought that he’d wanted her. Hadn’t she begged for his touch, though? Hadn’t she been the one to press her lips to his, hadn’t she always been the one who’d initiated any touch between them?

  She liked him. She more than liked him, but she didn’t know what word to give it. She was...consumed by him. He dominated her thoughts when she should have been planning to get home. He dominated her dreams when she should have been resting. The only time she wasn’t thinking of him or fantasizing about him was when she was actually with him, and lately she’d been so consumed by lust that she could scarcely listen to what he said, for fear of missing some tiny gesture that might mean something more.

  She sat there for a long time, until the clouds swallowed up the sun again and her nose was pink and sore. And as the sun moved toward the horizon, and the short day came to an early end, she pulled her hood up ov
er her head and descended the pebbled path toward camp.

  She didn’t know why she’d been alone all day, she hardly wanted to know why he hadn’t come all day, and she didn’t understand anything about her life.

  Eighteen

  There was going to be a storm. It was clear, even to Elsie, who had never spent much time watching the sky before. Dark clouds gathered ominously in the distance, and as they ate dinner that night, perched on the usual rock, Tate had informed her that they expected many feet of snow.

  She shuddered at that.

  Even being able to leave as she pleased and walk to the camp, she felt trapped enough in the cabin. The thought of being there for several days with no way out made part of her want to scream.

  “Will you stay with me, then?” she asked before she quite knew what she was saying. It wouldn’t be so bad with company. It wouldn’t be so bad with him.

  It was dangerous thinking. He hadn’t acknowledged what had happened that night, after he’d warmed her, so she didn’t either. She didn’t like ignoring it, but as days passed, she didn’t like that it had happened at all. She felt sad when she’d thought that it had been a turning point, and pathetic when she remembered begging him.

  He watched her for a minute. “I can’t, El. I can’t be away for so long,” he said, and she knew her face had fallen from the expression he made. “If you wish, though, you can bring your things and stay with me.”

  She nodded vigorously around her mouth full of food. “Yes, please,” she said. “A few days is a long time to not see anyone.”

  “It is,” was all he said.

  He walked with her back to the cabin, after they’d finished eating, and she pulled all of the soft linens from the bed. Tate had perused the books and selected several tomes to bring with them. She considered her things in front of her, in a messy pile across the bed. On a whim, she added the little box of sewing supplies, and then they’d each loaded up their arms and made their way slowly back to the camp.