by Meg Ripley
“God, I can feel you,” he said on a sharp intake of breath, and she knew he didn’t mean her mouth or her hands. He meant he could feel the fire roaring through her. A fire that couldn’t be quenched or drowned. A fire that could only be stopped with matching flames.
Mads jerked her from him and lifted her like she weighed no more than a doll, carrying her the short distance to his desk. She spread out over the wide, smooth mahogany expanse and drew him as close as she could.
“I want to see.”
“What do you want to see, mein Schatz?” He leaned in close, his mouth moving over hers.
“My dragon.”
She felt his smile and then his broad wings filled her vision. They were still wounded from battle, but not truly damaged, and they were still majestic. She felt his shaft against her thigh, moving up her leg, and she unconsciously moved toward him, rocking closer. She knew she could never take his full length, but her pussy was so wet, quivering and ready that she didn’t stop the tip from sliding between her lips.
“My dragon,” she said between gritted teeth, thrusting her hips forward and impaling herself.
First, there was the sensation of stretching, a low burn that was only chased away by the other, immediate sense of relief. She bent her knees, bracing the bottom of her feet against the desk and thrust forward, claiming even more of him between her legs. It was too much but just enough, just right, and it felt so good, like she could never survive it and she could never get enough of it. Her body was made for his, and soon there was no twinge of pain, nothing to match the explosive pleasure she felt with every long, slow rock of her hips.
He was hers. Nothing, not even death, could claim him. He was hers to claim, take, and have. She didn’t know how to understand her new identity, what it meant to her and how it might change her, but she did understand this. The balance they found between them, the sense of the completion of one whole from two halves.
April’s body was fully unleashed, unlocked, unhindered. Wave after wave of pleasure rolled through her, finite and dazzling. She knew there was something more, though. A final release that she couldn’t quite conceptualize but she still raced towards. Her blood boiled and her skin pulled tight and she thought she might be on fire. She might have created actual sparks between their bodies and was being consumed by a glorious, merry haze. Eyes unseeing, she reached for him, fingers running over scales and talons and then his hands closed around hers.
Her eyes focused just as Mads thrust into her raw body, his velvety smooth shaft filling her to the hilt. His eyes were green when they met hers—no sign of the dragon at all. The moment between the gorgon and her dragon gave way to the touching of man and woman. She saw herself reflected in his eyes—beyond that, she saw a reverence she’d never experienced before. Wrapping herself around him, she pulled even closer, as close as she could, and buried her face in his neck as the final lightning bolt reverberated through her. She clenched down on him, holding him deep while she rode out the final crests of pleasure.
“Oh April…oh my sweet.” She felt him tense and tremble, felt the moment of his release like another shockwave through her. She shivered and jerked her hips, every incidental moment of contact an overload to her system.
16
Mads had been in possession of Dracheschloss for centuries, but it had been decades since he spent so much time there. Once the world rushed into modernity, with all its attendant comforts, Mads built himself a new empire of glass and steel, and a new throne, high on top of the world. And though he still could see the people scurrying like ants, he lived among them, enclosed by their laws and boundaries, surrounded by their humanity. He’d been content.
But with April secure in his arms, he felt free.
The castle was hers now. Perhaps it had always been. Perhaps he had conquered it not for glory, but so he could provide his mate with her own sanctuary. Perhaps she herself had claimed it from the moment the first stone was laid. She wore the face of a young woman, but Mads now believed her life began more than twenty-six years ago.
He gazed down at her, making a loving note of her slightly crooked nose, the little quirk of her lips, the dimple in her chin, the shape of her eyebrows, the flush of pink across her cheeks. She was an angel now, peaceful and sweet; nothing like the woman he’d seen in his library. The woman who had staked her claim on him and branded him for life. She had been living fire, writhing and welcoming. The heat from her body had been so overwhelming that for the first time, he hadn’t felt the fire burning him from the inside out.
She’d been so hot he now had a ring around the base of his cock—a slightly red circle to match the mark on her thigh.
He dropped his mouth to her cheek, closing his eyes and pausing to inhale the scent of her skin and her sleep. She was having pleasant dreams and not the nightmares he feared she would. Shifting against her, he wrapped his arm around her waist to pull her even closer, fighting the urge to shed his human appearance so he could enclose her with his wings. More and more, she brought out the dragon.
My dragon. Yes, her dragon, as this was now her castle. Even his life now belonged to her as she was the only reason he still existed. His memories of the fight were sketchy, and he didn’t know exactly how Savannah had bested him. He didn’t remember hitting the ground. He remembered only the cold—the frigid, bitter cold. A cold he thought he could still feel in the core of his bones. Just before the cold had frozen him forever, there was a single, glowing spark. And from that spark, life was allowed to return.
She moaned softly and shifted back, pushing her ass against his member. His body responded immediately, the mark throbbing to life. Within seconds, he was painfully hard and ready to take her again. With a low groan, he rolled onto his back, trying to get himself back under control, listening for the sounds of her waking. She continued sleeping, but no longer peacefully. Not quite. She moved until she found the heat of his body again, rolling over to lay across his chest, her head coming to rest on his shoulder.
“I think I’m dreaming about you,” she mumbled.
“Are you? Is it a good dream?”
“Mmmm.” She slid her hand down his body and grasped his dick. “I was dreaming about boats and suddenly—” She squeezed him, stroking from the top down. “Suddenly I see this.”
“Do you like boats?”
Her chuckle was throaty and sleepy. “Not as much as I like this.”
“Oh...oh.” Her fingers slid over the mark and the rest of the blood in his body rushed to his cock. Electricity spiraled from his balls to his throat and everything in between clenched with the anticipation of more. The contact had been so brief, but the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end.
“What was that?” She lifted her head, blinking the sleep from her eyes.
“It was…” He exhaled, cleared his throat and tried again. “It was something new.”
“What?”
He reached over and turned on the bedside lamp, casting enough light to show the delineation on his skin. She gasped, reaching out to touch him but pulling away at the last second. “What is that? Is it a burn?”
“A type of burn.”
“Does it hurt?”
“No more than the one on your thigh.”
“On my thigh?” Her eyes widened. “I did that to you?”
“Yes.” His hand went to her thigh. “Which is only fair.”
“Does it feel like mine feels?” She leaned forward, the tip of her tongue emerging to slide along the mark. His fingers immediately clenched into tight fists and for a moment he forgot how to breathe, or maybe he simply lost the ability due to the constriction around his chest. The heat of her tongue disappeared and he exhaled in a long, slow sigh, already craving more.
“I think that’s a yes,” she murmured.
He pulled on her shoulder, guiding her back up his body so he could claim her mouth. She threw her leg over his, straddling his hips, his cock sliding between her slick, swollen folds. She rocked her hips, grinding against h
im as their tongues danced. Her nipples slid over his chest, hardening and drawing his attention.
“Honey, please,” he moaned against her mouth. Her skin was so soft, so welcoming and pliant that it only increased his need for her. He could have reached between them and angled his cock to drive into her, but that thought didn’t occur to him. He felt bound, tied in place by invisible ropes, completely at her mercy, willing to bend to her will in all things.
April broke the kiss and sat up, settling more firmly on his member. Her blonde silky hair was a tousled halo, her eyes still heavy with sleep, her lips full and bruised from the force of his kiss. She reached behind her to grip his shaft and reposition herself, rising to come down on his aching flesh. Inch by inch, she consumed him until she was fully seated, igniting the mark into a lit fuse.
She began to rock. Slowly at first, almost hesitantly, but it wasn’t a pace she could sustain. Not when he jerked his hips upward, begging her silently to move faster, harder; to ride him until they were both soaring. His eyes were half-lidded but marked every detail—the golden beauty of her face, the sway of her breasts, the rapid beating of her pulse. He’d tried to get her on top before, but this was the first time she’d been interested in the position, and he really hoped it wouldn’t be the last.
Especially since it freed his hands to explore every inch of her while she commanded the rhythm. He massaged her full breasts, weighing them against his palms, squeezing and stroking and god did he love the way they felt in his hands. He loved the solid feel of her against him, loved the shape and curves of her body as she rose above him, loved her rapid gasps and shouts that seemed to take her by surprise. Loved the way she tensed and her eyes widened when he found her clit, pressing his thumb over the sensitive tip and massaging with slow, careful intent.
“Oh...oh god...oh...oh my god…” Her body trembled around him, like the earth before a great quake. He could feel it building within her--he could hear it in her voice and sense it in the way she jerked, the way her rhythm altered, punctuated with short, rapid strokes. His balls pulled tight, the base of his spine tingling with warning that soon he would not be able to hold himself back. “Oh Mads.”
April slammed down one final time, her channel clenching and quivering around him as the pleasure swept through her. He rose to meet her, muscles pulling taut as he spent himself. She collapsed forward, falling into the safety of his arms, and they slowly came back to the earth together.
“I love you, mein Schatz.”
“I love you, my dragon.”
Sleep was already pulling her back, and this time he felt himself following her into the darkness. He closed his eyes and unconsciously tightened his hold on her, slipping away into dreams infused by his love’s scent, her warmth, and the peace she brought him.
THE END
Part VI
The Vampire’s Prized Possession
The Vampire’s Prized Possession
I opened the shop and went about my normal routine of assisting customers, moving items and assessing the condition of questionable antiques. My day was ritualistic, predictable, and slow—until he walked in.
He almost reminded me of the man I had seen in my dream: tall, muscular, and exuding a dark intensity that I found irresistible. I felt like my heart stopped the moment I sensed him walk through the front door. He gave off such an intense energy that I could literally feel him from across the room.
When he looked at me for the first time, my heart stopped for just a moment. The room felt a lot smaller as his eyes caught mine, and suddenly, I had the feeling that he was looking at me the way a hawk would survey its prey.
I opened my mouth to speak, but found it difficult to think clearly enough to form proper sentences. My mind kept racing with the realization that I had seen him before.
It was then that I realized...he was the man from my dream...
1
"You don't want to buy this one," she said, placing the small clock back on the table. "Bad history."
The man before her sputtered, "Wh-what do you mean, bad history?" He pointed vehemently at the small antique. "This clock has been in my family for several generations! If I wanted my fortune read, I’d go to one of those circus crooks, not the local antique shop."
"Sorry sir, my granddaughter has spoken." Miriam's grandfather put his arm around her protectively. "Her judgment has always served me well, and I’m not about to begin doubting her now."
"Bad history," the man mumbled. He snatched up the little clock and angrily shoved it into his backpack, turning hotly on his heels as he walked out the door of the small antique shop.
"So?" Her grandfather looked at her expectantly. "What's the verdict?"
"I'd say call the police on this one. I think it might be stolen," Miriam explained.
"I don't know how you do it," he said, scratching his head, "but I sure am glad for that gift you have." He smiled proudly at her, then proceeded to hobble to over his back office to make the anonymous report.
Miriam had the uncanny ability of sensing where an object came from, whether it was store bought, or had a history that went back hundreds of years. Miriam didn't know how she knew, she just did. Although she couldn’t tell what the previous owners’ specific identities were, she could sense the type of individuals who owned these objects before they made their way into her grandfather's antique shop.
Perhaps she wasn't gifted, as her grandfather put it, but just had a sense for appraising antiques.
Either way, her grandfather was the only one who had noticed her unusual ability, which was why he'd enlisted her to work in his shop over the summer. It worked out, as Miriam needed the cash to pay for her studies in the fall.
She liked the casual pace of working with antiques. The store was quiet, which created the perfect atmosphere for reading up on the historical topics she’d be studying in the upcoming fall semester. She hoped to one day work at a museum, and working here was her first step towards that goal.
The bell above the door jingled and Miriam looked up from her book.
"May I help you?" she called out when she realized she wasn't able to see the customer. The front door was obscured by a bookshelf filled with baubles. She moved out from behind the desk, wondering if the disgruntled man had returned. She heard someone breathing, but no reply. She sensed something was very, very off. "Excuse me?" she called out again.
The door jingled again, signaling that the stranger had left. She paused for only the briefest moment before she decided to pursue the mystery customer, fearing that he might have stolen something.
As she swung the door open, she toppled over a small cardboard box that had been left on the front steps. Miriam let out a few frustrating expletives and realized that the strange customer was nowhere in sight. She quickly picked herself up and dusted off her jeans, kicking the box for good measure; just then, she noticed the fresh scrapes on her hands beginning to sting.
It would appear that the mystery customer had left something behind. She was curious to know why someone had found it necessary to leave behind a box full of—well, she wasn't quite sure what it was yet. She decided, against her better judgment, to carry it inside for further inspection.
As she brought it in, she called for her grandfather to come take a look. The older man shuffled his way out to the front counter, took stock of her bedraggled appearance and raised a curious eyebrow.
"Don't ask…"
"I wouldn't dream of it," he chuckled. "What's in the box?" he asked as his attention turned to the package in Miriam's arms.
"I don't know, but want to take a look?" Her eyes gleamed with the excitement of a mystery.
Miriam pulled back the cardboard flaps in order to take a peek inside.
"Yeah, it looks like it's just junk."
"Are you sure?" her grandfather prodded. He reached in and pulled out a copper medallion. "Here," he said, extending the shiny object towards her, "why don’t you hold this and see if you can get a reading on it."<
br />
Miriam took the medallion, but as her fingers touched the ridged sides, she felt nothing. It appeared to be valueless junk. "Nothing," she reiterated.
Her grandfather shot her a curious look. "Perhaps," he mumbled as he began rummaging through the box.
"Well, while you explore your new treasures, I'm going to go clean myself up." She held up her scraped hands as proof.
As she cleaned her wounds, she pondered the possible reasons why someone would leave this box on their doorstep. The cynical part of her figured a neighbor was cleaning house and saw their shop as an opportunity to do the old dump n' dash.
"Typical," she muttered. She finished up in the bathroom, then returned to the front counter and her book, yet, despite her best efforts to focus her mind on the words in front of her, her eyes kept roaming to the box in the corner.
She put her book down in frustration. Miriam knew she wouldn't be able to focus until she gave the items a second look; she wanted to make sure she didn't miss anything.
As she peeked inside the box, it was the copper medallion that drew her attention. She picked it up and played with it in her hand, turning it over and rubbing her thumb over the rough edges. Despite her best attempts to use her gift to gain a reading on the object, she felt nothing. This was odd, as Miriam usually had no problem picking up on an item’s past.
She picked up a different item: a small tin cup. Her mind began to tingle as her senses came alive; this had been a birthday gift for a young boy.
She picked up the medallion again: nothing. It was like trying to read a blank slate.
Miriam pocketed the medallion and returned to her book. She figured the piece was worth holding on to, at least until she could discover the reason why she couldn't read its past.
