by Loki Renard
Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Epilogue
Additional Books in the Dragon Brides Series
More Stormy Night Books by Loki Renard
Loki Renard Links
The Dragon King’s Pet
By
Loki Renard
Copyright © 2017 by Stormy Night Publications and Loki Renard
Copyright © 2017 by Stormy Night Publications and Loki Renard
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
Published by Stormy Night Publications and Design, LLC.
www.StormyNightPublications.com
Renard, Loki
The Dragon King’s Pet
Cover Design by Korey Mae Johnson
Images by Shutterstock/Liu zishan, 123RF/YuriyZhuravov, 123RF/Algol2, and 123RF/madllen
This book is intended for adults only. Spanking and other sexual activities represented in this book are fantasies only, intended for adults.
Prologue
“You have been a very naughty girl, haven’t you, my pet?”
A deep voice growled the words in a resonant timbre that made the object of his censure quiver with equal parts excitement and fear. Powerful and massive, the dragon loomed over the sweet curves of a young woman who tossed her head, her wide golden eyes appealing for clemency with puppy dog intensity. It did not work. Her bare bottom received another hard slap, the mark of the dragon’s palm blooming beautifully with all the others as she arched and squealed for mercy she truly did not deserve.
Blonde hair fell over her face in a golden cascade and was pushed back by the large hand of the dragon who possessed her. He tucked it behind her ear in a gentle gesture at odds with the stern punishment he was imparting.
“I’m sorry,” she gasped, looking up at him with wide eyes. “You know I’m sorry.”
“I know very little when it comes to you, pet. You are a continual surprise,” he growled gently. “I think I have you trained and yet again you misbehave. I am beginning to believe that you enjoy being disobedient. I am starting to think it is a trait common to all humans.”
Her cry was one of pleasure and pain mixed together as his palm met her bottom again, stinging punishment that made her squirm with need.
“It wasn’t my fault,” she moaned. “I didn’t know I wasn’t supposed to do that… you know I didn’t know…”
“You knew well enough,” the regal man intoned. “You know you have earned this. You’ve practically begged for it, haven’t you.”
“Yes, your majesty,” she moaned, her eyes half closed in ecstasy as his hands traced over her spellbound body.
“You are a mischievous little thing,” he rumbled, scruffing the hair at the back of her neck. “You know I tolerate a certain amount of play, pet, but I will never tolerate outright disobedience. Your will must bend to mine, or you will pay the price.”
Her eyes ran over his handsome frame with a hunger beyond mere mortal desire. The same expression hung in her gaze. She was yet to be taken and remained virginal, a frustration that grew by the day, hour, the very minute as this man kept her captive and toyed with her senses. He had taken her for his own, preserved her chastity even as he tore orgasm after orgasm from her sweat-shined body.
Now he went to his knees and blew gently against the straining bud between her thighs and a soft jet of warm air made her tingle. This man controlled the very elements as easily as he controlled the ebb and flow of her pleasure. Now he did both at the same time, streams of heat and then cold passing over the most tender parts of her sex until she cried out for release.
“You are so naughty,” he repeated sternly, his eyes lit with a love for this reckless young woman whose body begged for mating. Her juices of desire were dripping from her sex, forming little droplets on the hot bud of her clit.
“Please… take me… now…”
“Not yet, pet,” the dragon chuckled. “Not quite yet.”
Chapter One
“So are you coming, Mikkie? Tell me you are. It won’t be the same without you. It won’t even be fun.” Traci Markersham, a pretty blonde with wide blue eyes pouted at Mika Ferrier with an expression designed to make even the most stoic of resolutions melt before its power.
“I want to come,” Mika sighed. “But my mom wants me to study before I get to college, and my dad wants me to stay in the city.”
“Your parents are the biggest downers, Mikkie,” Traci sighed. “You need to ditch them already.”
The young women were sitting in Mika’s bedroom, on the top floor of a New York townhouse, a room festooned with all of the trappings of wealth. Her closet was full of clothes, many of which had never been worn; she had every electronic device that had come out in the past year, and some that hadn’t even come out yet. The walls held pictures of her riding horses, sailing, skiing, and of course, modeling.
She had been spotted by a talent scout at sixteen and for the past two years had been taking every job her parents had actually allowed her to take, which wasn’t many. Her mother didn’t believe it was a ‘healthy’ lifestyle, and her father seemed perplexed by the whole industry, but they didn’t forbid it completely. They wanted the best for her, she knew that. They loved her fiercely and they had given her everything they could.
A part of her felt guilty for letting Traci speak this way about her parents, but another part, the stronger, more rebellious part, kept control of her tongue. Traci was right from her perspective. Her parents let her do whatever she wanted. Hers never seemed to notice her at all, in fact. They were far too busy with their lives—social, professional, and otherwise.
“My parents are paying me to go to Ibiza for the summer,” Traci gloated. “My mom sent me out with her personal shopper to get ready. I got the cutest little skirt. It’s so short. It covers literally nothing. I can’t wait to wear it out.”
Mika giggled. Traci was always pushing the limits, and making it look good. She had been jealous of Traci for years, ever since they met in the third grade. Even back then, Traci had been the bravest and the boldest, leading their little group into trouble over and over again. Now they were free of high school, had their lives ahead of them, and Traci’s instinct for trouble was about to lead Mika astray. And Mika was probably going to let it, like she always did.
Her father really didn’t like her association with Traci, nor did her mother, but Traci’s father was a senator and her mother an heiress to a butter fortune and as a result they all moved in the same social circles.
“I don’t know,” Mika said. “I mean, can you really be drunk and dance for a whole summer?”
“If we get tired of alcohol, there’s always other things,” Traci said, her eyebrows lifting suggestively.
“I don’t know, Traci,” Mika said dubiously. “I don’t want to get into anything too crazy.”
“Anything too crazy, like sex with a guy,” Traci grinned teasingly. “Mika, this is the summer you become a woman. You’ve never done anything interesting or fun.”
Mika glanced at the pictures of her adventures and wanted to argue, but she knew what Traci meant. She’d never had sex and she’d never done drugs, and both those things were apparently prerequisites for adulthood in the eyes of every teenager she knew.
“It’s my parents. They don’t let me do anything,” Mika complained, twirling a strand of her blonde hair. Copper roots gave away the fact that she was naturally a redhead, but she had started dying it a highlighted blonde just to be different. Well, maybe not entirely different from all the other pretty girls, but different from her parents, which was all that really mattered. “I mean, I know the legal age is twenty-one for clubs and stuff, but I’ve been to Europe and they drink at sixteen there.”
“Your dad’s from Europe, right?”
Mika shrugged. “Something like that,” she said. “Some country with some name I never remember. He doesn’t like to talk about it. We never went wherever he’s from. We just usually went to France on a holiday, and he’s definitely not French. He didn’t speak a word of it.”
“Maybe he did something messed up back there,” Traci said. “There’s all kinds of weird stuff that happened in Europe, like the soviet states and, yannow, things?”
“I don’t think so,” Mika said. “He never does anything wrong. He’s the most straitlaced guy I know. He follows every single rule he can. And he makes me follow them too.”
“Yeah, your dad’s hot, but he’s boring,” Traci said.
Mika let the comment about her dad’s hotness slide. There were rumors that Traci had slept with some of their friends’ fathers, but her dad was an exception. He didn’t have any time at all for girls like Traci; in fact, he barely seemed to notice she existed.
They fell into a short silence in which Mika thought about Traci’s vacation plans. It did sound like fun. It would be the first time she’d been so far away on her own, but it was time she stepped out from under her parents’ wings.
“Okay, so I don’t think they’re going to say yes, but I don’t care,” Mika said. “I’m going. I’m eighteen now. I can do what I want. And what I want to do is spend the next month in Ibiza. I want to get out of this city and onto a beach.”
“Yay!” Traci clapped her hands together eagerly. “We’re going to have so much fun, and we’re going to meet so many hot guys. Guys from all over the world.”
“Better than the same ten guys we’ve known since forever,” Mika said with a dramatic yawn. “I can’t wait to meet someone new.”
“You can’t wait to lose your virginity, you mean,” Traci beamed. “I am going to make it my mission to get you laid, Mikkie.”
Chapter Two
An hour later…
“Come on, Mom, it’s a vacation! And I’m eighteen now. Are you going to make me go to Disneyland with you two forever?” Mika made her case, knowing it was futile and feeling frustrated as a result. She was right, she was eighteen now. She could get married if she wanted, but her parents insisted on treating her like she was still a little girl. It wasn’t fair at all.
Her mother pushed her reading glasses down her nose and looked over them at Mika.
“Ibiza is hardly a vacation spot, Mika. It’s a den of drug addicts and sex workers. Your father would never permit it.”
“I’m eighteen, Mother,” Mika reminded her yet again. “At some point, what he permits doesn’t matter anymore. I’m my own woman.”
“Oh, your own woman. I see.” Her mother’s cheek dimpled as she took her glasses off and fixed Mika with a look. “So, as your own woman, how will you be financing this trip of yours?”
“I make money modeling,” Mika reminded her. “And I have jewelry I can sell if I have to.”
“When I was your age, I was nose-deep in textbooks.” Her mother changed the subject, as she always did when she was losing an argument.
“When you were my age you were boring. Sorry I’m not,” Mika scowled.
At that moment, they were interrupted by her father’s arrival. He was a very tall man from which Mika had gotten many of her features. She had her mother’s hair and face shape, but her eyes held a golden ring at the very center of the pupil, which had expanded as she had aged to turn her once blue eyes almost as entirely as golden as his. There was still a hint of blue at the very edges of her iris, but for the most part her eyes burned gold. It was a very unique color that many people assumed was created by contact lenses, but her father claimed it was common where he was from.
She had his expressions at times, his broad smile, his laugh. She had his nose too, a smaller version of the sharp, straight bridge and neat nostrils. Her cheekbones were high and her lashes were thick and dark, usually further amplified by cosmetics. Her skin was a creamy color, the darling of makeup artists who always noted how smooth it was. Some even said that it was ‘thicker,’ less prone to wrinkling. She wasn’t sure what that was about, or if it was even true, but there was no doubt that between her parents, she had won the genetic lottery.
“What are my two favorite women arguing about?” Her father dropped a kiss on her head and continued on to embrace her mother from behind, wrapping his arms around her mother’s shoulders and smiling warmly at Mika.
“Your daughter wants to spend a month on a Spanish island where the main pastimes are alcohol poisoning and STD transfer,” her mother said, making Mika’s holiday plans sound like the worst possible thing in the universe.
Mika shot an angry look at her mother. “It’s not like that,” she said. “My friends and I want to take a summer trip before we all go to college. Almost none of us are going to the same place. It will be the last time we see each other. We want to make some memories that will last a lifetime.”
For a moment, she thought maybe her father was buying it.
“No,” he said, his tone definite as he crushed her dreams.
Mika pouted, but knew better than to try the “I’m eighteen, I can do what I want” line with him. Her father was immune to arguments like that, and he always seemed to be able to find some way to make her life almost impossibly difficult if she tried them. He had an almost perverse talent for making sure everyone in his purview behaved as he wanted them to—and for a long time, she had not been an exception.
That was about to change. She was going to Ibiza, and there was nothing they could do about it.
“Okay,” she said, forcing a smile. “I guess we’ll have to do something else.”
She slid away from the table, hiding her frustration and her anger.
“Don’t sulk,” her mother called after her.
“I wouldn’t dream of it, Mother,” Mika called back, failing to hide her bitter tone as she ascended the stairs quickly, blinking back tears of frustration. Why couldn’t they ever just say yes? Why were they always trying to interfere in her life?
* * *
“She’s going to make us feel guilty as sin,” Kate said to Vilka.
“Then we’re doing our job,” Vilka replied. “She is innocent. I will not send her into a den of drug pushers and sex addicts.”
“You’re right, of course. But…” Kate mused, chewing at the frame of her glasses. “At some point, she’s going to have to leave the nest, Vilka.”
“When she’s twenty-one, or eighty-one. Or whenever the laws of this country say I can no longer have sway over her decisions.”
“Technically, that time has already come and gone,” Kate said. “She’s not our little dinosaur anymore, Vilka. We need to give her some measure of freedom, or she’ll just rebel and there won’t be a thing we can do to stop her. She is right. She’s eighteen. There’s no law stopping her from flying internationally and…”
“This country’s obsession with freedom is tedious at times,” Vilka snapped. “It is overrated in my opinion.”
“It was better where you’re from, where women are locked away if they don’t do as they’re told?”
“Yes,” Vilka scowled at his wife. “My life was much easier when I could lock you up.”
“No,
it wasn’t. Besides, you didn’t want an easy life,” Kate reminded him. “You wanted a life with me and Mika. This is just one more challenge—in letting go. We don’t own her.”
Her husband’s eyes narrowed at her. “Do not tell me you are considering giving permission for this trip.”
“No,” Kate said. “It’s too far, and it’s too dangerous. But when she comes to us with something that’s even remotely sane, I think we should say yes.”
* * *
Mika was not defeated. She had known that her parents would likely refuse and she had a plan to deal with their resistance. First she left the matter a few days to make them think that she had forgotten all about it. Then she came to them with an alternative they really couldn’t say no to—a summer school in upstate New York offering pre-college classes.
She already knew that her parents would approve of it; it was tedious, boring, and totally sexless. According to the prospectus, she’d be spending eight hours a day working on chemistry and physics and mathematics. All subjects in which her mother had an innate talent, and all subjects in which Mika felt as though her brain was being forced to swim through jelly when she tried to contemplate them. She was much more her father’s daughter in many respects, more given to physical activities and the pursuit of beauty.
This time, they agreed, not just to let her go, but to pay for it all and to give her some space of her own.
“I have to get used to being on my own, Mom,” she said as she stood at the door, her bags packed not with sensible warm clothes for the cooler temperatures upstate, but bikinis and miniskirts that were practically uniform requirements on Ibiza. “I’ll call, but you can’t hover over me all the time. I need to get used to being independent, you know? Plus I’m going to be studying a lot.”
