Again, I am impressed by how much she has been able to cobble together. Impressed and strangely proud. For all her crude language, my she-wolf is much more clever than I gave her credit for previously.
“Also, there is no other way to explain why else Xenon would have—”
She abruptly stops.
“Why Xenon would have what?” My pride gives way to suspicion upon hearing the name of the male near the top of my revenge list.
A small wave of sadness ripples over our mate bond before she answers. “You’re right. You’re not him. Not yet, at least.”
“Not ever,” I insist. “You will not be able to manipulate my flame as you did his.”
She twists up her face and sucks on her teeth, “Okay, it wasn’t manipulation, Supervillain. It was love. But I don’t feel like fighting tonight, so let’s just save this subject for another day.
With that, she sets aside the pot and climbs into bed and curls up beside me.
No, I do not like this Back to the Future film. My male works haven’t so much as stirred since the nonsense began. However, in a stunning betrayal, they give instant rise as soon as Ola joins me in bed and snuggles in close.
This time Ola doesn’t tease me about my obviously aroused state. Merely lies there with me as the late 20th-century entertainment concludes by laying the groundwork for an unnecessary sequel.
“Want to see Back to the Future II?” she asks when the screen fills with an image of the sequel’s poster art and a countdown clock.
“Whyever would I wish to spend any more time with these ridiculous characters?”
“Blank screen,” she calls out when the second film attempts to play with a swell of stringed instruments underneath the Universal logo.
“You’re right. The sequel sucked all the balls,” she admits. “Plus, there’s something way more important we should be doing right now.”
She raises up one arm, and it is impossible to ignore the soft brush of her breasts against my side as she does. I have the sense it will take another long time for my male works to retract when she leaves tonight.
“What do you believe we should be doing right now?” I ask. My voice is less strong than I would like it to be.
“It’s alright,” she says, stroking my beard with the back of her hand. “He told me everything. And I know why you’re afraid.”
“He told you? Everything?” My flame collapses with the new possibility that what I most feared her finding out about had already been revealed.
“Yeah, he did.”
The pretender is gone. Disappeared forever from what I can tell. But in that moment I wish to have my torturer back, just so I can yell at him and beat him for his stupidity. Why would he tell her that? Why would he give her such power over—
“He told me you really were a virgin before my heat and that you were cruel our first time because you were afraid of hurting me. And I just want you to know you don’t have to be. He and I figured it out, and you and me will too.”
Oh…
He told her I had never had sex with another. Only that I had never had sex with another.
Relief ripples my flame, even as I testily defend myself. “I would not call it fear. More a practical consideration for a previously unthought of act with an inferior species.”
Her hand stills against my beard. “Why do you do that?” she asks. “Why do you start hurling insult grenades whenever I get too close?”
Because you are right. You are right about my abject fear of you. In fact, there is nothing in this universe that scares me more than you.
But out loud I answer, “I do not like or appreciate being manipulated, Ola, which is clearly what you are attempting to do with your false sympathy and offer of sexual congress. But nothing you say or do will save your wretched fathers from my wrath. I will not be swayed from my re—what are you doing?”
My flame crackles with unease when her eyes hood, and she suddenly begins leaning forward, her lips inching closer to mine.
“Shutting you up,” she answers before taking my mouth in a slow, deliberate kiss.
Well, she is slow and deliberate.
I immediately become ravenous.
I don’t merely receive her kiss, I return it, pressing my neck forward to devour her lips. She tastes delicious. Better than the stew. Better than pride even.
And my body roars with frustration when she abruptly pulls away from the kiss and repeats inside my head, “All you have to do is say please.”
“Please.”
The single word falls out of my mind into hers without reservation or thought, shocking both of us.
“Did you just say what I thought you did?” she asks. “Did you actually say the P-word, or was I dreaming?”
This is my chance. To make a denial. To take back my pride.
But in the end, I find myself answering, “Please…do not make me beg.”
She could. She could do just that. That’s how much power she has over me in this moment. Both of my seeders throb with the exquisite pain of wanting her. Needing her. I am a drakkon brought low, and it would be incredibly easy for her to take advantage of me in this situation. Extract further degradations and promises.
But instead of lording her power over me, her entire face softens…right before she takes my mouth again. And this time there is nothing soft nor deliberate about her kiss. It is just as hungry as mine. Hungrier even.
She pulls away, and I groan, missing her mouth. But then she removes her robe and the nightgown.
My breath hitches. She is naked underneath her clothing. Completely naked without so much as a pair of underwear. I find myself mesmerized by the sight of her as she swings one leg over my body.
My writhing secondary cock starts spurting uncontrollably when she takes the primary in her hand. The substance isn’t seed, I vaguely recall from one of the lectures my father gave me about what to do when it came time to breed my fated mate. Rather it is a sort of lubricant that allows for us to breed our drakki with more ease.
Apparently, Ola is aware of its function too. “Don’t need it upfront,” she says, regarding my spurting secondary cock with a knowing smile. “But your second guy’s free to take my ass.”
Such crude words. Too crude. Yet my secondary cock plunges into her second hole without hesitation.
I am in. Both my cocks are buried deep within my mate. I have never in all my millennia felt a pleasure so exquisite. My flame roars, blazing up every nerve ending in my body.
And then she places her hands upon my chest and begins moving.
My mind blanks with the motion. Then, I instantly lose all sanity. There is only the crazed pleasure of this and the madness of being inside her but unable to touch her.
“Let me out. Let me out of these shackles!” Unable to control myself I rattle my chains against the iron bars and attempt to compel her with a desperate craze.
“I can’t…I can’t…” she chants. Tears brim in her eyes, as she regards me with a helpless look. I’m not certain if she speaks to me or herself.
In the end, it matters not. Her chant cuts off with a sharp cry when she arrives at her pleasure. The sudden loss of her riding motion should mean the end of my own pleasure, shackled as I am.
But the clamp of her around both of my cocks…the sight of her with her head thrown back, bountiful breasts heaving as the pleasure wracks her body…it’s too much.
I explode into her, both cocks spilling copious amounts of seed without care or thought of procreation.
And somehow that is not the best part.
The best part comes when she lowers herself down, her lips once more finding mine.
I accept the kiss greedily at first, my entire body straining against my chains with the desire to touch her.
But then I remember myself. Remember who she is. Who I am.
Remember the plan.
I deaden my half of our mate bond, and this time, it is she who lets out a surprised groan when I cut off the kiss.
“Let me out of these chains, Ola.”
She stills, the lazy contentment fading from her eyes. “I should go. Can you do that retracting thing with your dicks?”
Despite not immediately knowing what that “retracting thing” is, I find in the next moment that I am able to pull my male works back into my scaling with a mere thought. The fact that she knows my body better than I do doesn’t sit well with me. Not at all.
Nor does the sight of her scrambling off my body and pulling back on her nightgown and robe. She turns to leave again. While I can only lie here helpless.
“I will free myself from these chains,” I warn her.
She pauses, shoulders tightening, but doesn’t turn around.
“And when I do,” I continue with a lazy tone, “I will no longer be afraid of hurting you.”
As expected, she turns around, eyes blazing.
But instead of yelling, she simply runs her eyes down my fully exposed body. “I’m looking forward to making you say please again tomorrow,” she tells me.
I don’t answer. Am careful to keep my half of the mate bond as numb as I wish I could be when it comes to her.
But I can tell by the way she smirks that I’m not doing a good enough job of masking my impotent rage. I have failed. Again. Because of her.
I will remember that, I tell myself as she turns and leaves.
Chapter Seven
OLA
“You will not best me tonight,” he says when I walk in the next evening with my two pots. One for soup and one for bathing.
I let my eyes trail down his body, to where his second dick is visibly squirming underneath his scales.
“Good to see you too, Triple D,” I answer with a grin. And unlike him, I don’t bother to suppress my side of our mate bond.
I let my anticipation flow over it. I’ve been looking forward to breaking him all day, and I want him to know it.
He’s looking way better I notice during my scan. Like, weirdly better. He began gaining weight even before he woke up after a week of sleep. And I swear he’s put on at least ten more pounds since I saw him last.
“Do you plan to feed me, or will you stand there ogling me all night?” he asks.
My heart squeezes. That high-handed question is so the opposite of anything Other Damianos would have said to me. Sometimes it feels like the dragon I fell in love with didn’t just disappear.
Sometimes it feels like he died.
But I’m not the only one manipulating our mate bond. He keeps his side dead to prevent me from getting too close, and I only show him what I want him to see.
“Sorry, Triple D. I know you’re…” I flood our mate bond with a shit ton of grade A lust before finishing with, “hungry.”
He grits his teeth but does a pretty good job of resisting. We get all the way through dinner, a sponge bath, and a doc about the rise and fall of the Byzantine empire without his dicks coming up for another huge hello.
“Okay, I guess it’s time for me to go,” I say, raising up on my elbow after I tell the wall screen to go blank. “Kiss goodnight?”
He stiffens, and his side of our mate bond goes even blanker. Like he’s doubling down on the numb.
That’s alright. I let him know that I’m feeling enough desire for both of us as I climb halfway on top of him to kiss him again.
I can feel both his dicks. One hard. One squirming, underneath my thigh. But he just lies there, refusing to respond to my kiss.
I pull away, wondering if I really have lost this battle. But then a single word slips into my mind, “Please.”
I grin. Then pull him out of his scales. But not for a handjob this time.
“Let me know if you enjoy this as much as Other You did,” I say before taking as much as I can of his main dick into my mouth.
He makes the same noise Other Damianos did the first time I gave him a blow job. A rough sound, somewhere between a screech and a guttural roar.
And I smile around his huge erection, as I begin stroking his jealous second dick, relishing the similarities between this Damianos and the one I lost.
This dragon’s body responds in the exact same way to a BJ. And I gotta say, the rattling of the chains as he tries to touch me is a nice touch.
Though there are some disappointing differences. I miss the feel of the other dragon king’s hands in the hair he’d braided and the awe-filled shouts of “Reverence, how you do honor me with your mouth!” And not going to lie, I’d felt some kind of powerful knowing how good I was making Other Damianos feel, thanks to our mate bond. He’d been the one receiving, but his sensations were my sensations, and damn, if they didn’t make both of us feel good.
I’d been able to tell when Other Damianos was getting close, by the way his pleasure began rippling a lot quicker over our mate bond. But since this Damianos was being so stingy with his feelings, I can only guess when it’s time to back off and give his second dick some attention while simply holding the other pulsing dick in my hand.
But it looks like I guessed right. I’m reminded of Other Damianos again when the second dick goes dangerously still—a sure sign even without the mate bond that it’s about to erupt. With a fond chuckle, I switch back to the cock he used to call his primary seeder.
I could have easily gone on like that all night, but just like Other Damianos, this one couldn’t take much more after the second switch.
“Please, I would like to spill inside of you.”
Yet another thing Other Damianos would have pleaded.
I happily grant this request, climbing Dragon Mountain, and taking us both on a ride.
The next night, he says please as soon as dinner is done.
And the night after that, he doesn’t even rattle the chains after I tell him to calm down. Just lies there and let me take command.
My beast has finally learned to heel.
And I wake up the morning after our third bout of hot prisoner sex feeling fantastic. Not just because of the amazing time I had on top of Mt. Damianos last night but also because of the renewed sense of hope.
He’s saying please on the regular now, and he’s stopped fighting me. That’s progress I can build on. Real proof that the version of him I fell in love with was still inside there.
“Maybe I can take you to finally meet him tonight,” I whisper to the not-so-little baby sleeping in the travel crib Uncle Clyde dug out of the pile of baby gifts we keep on hand for our kingdom’s expectant mothers.
But unlike a regular baby, he can already fit in the bottom part of a travel crib at less than two-weeks-old since he looks and is even heavier than a three-month-old.
Also when he sleeps, he lets out these weird snore snorts with little plumes of steam falling from his flared nostrils.
I stroke a hand over his golden wings. They’re so brilliant, they look like sleek metal, but they’re leathery to the touch with thick piping lining the outside of each wing. Bone or muscle? I wish I knew.
Maybe I should ask Fensa—
That thought cuts off as it so often does.
Fensa is sequestered somewhere far away on an island, I remind myself. Because of the man shackled to my uncles’ bed. And if he knew where she and her family were, he’d most definitely hurt them, possibly imprison them, and maybe worse.
I try to push all thoughts of getting in contact with Fensa out of my mind. But twins aren’t known for their independent nature. And as hard as it was for me to make and keep friends growing up with my ballbuster personality, I’d become one co-dependent bitch by the time we turned eighteen.
Though Fensa never copped to it, I suspected she decided to go to grad school in Arizona because she knew that was the one place I wouldn’t follow her ass. Because A, it was hot as hell—a deal breaker for most wolves since as a species, we prefer colder climes. And B, I’d already accepted an early royal apprenticeship with my uncles, so I had to go to college close to North Dakota.
I’d do anything to protect her, but the unnat
ural feeling of not being able to see or even talk to my twin sister on the regular sits like a dull ache in my chest.
“Yet another reason we really need to convert your father from a vengeful sociopath into the dragon who faded on us,” I say to the baby, sleeping in the crib.
I reach down to pick him up. “And where are your uncles, by the way? Usually, they’re knocking on the door with bottles by now, claiming you’re starving!”
The one other difference between this and a regular birth…for some reason, my milk had never come in. Probably a good thing since Bazzi’s teeth were already coming in like sharp little razors and he had what I could only describe as a super aggressive appetite the few times he was awake.
And I don’t want to say my uncles have spoiled me since I got back, but they’re definitely taking this Poppa business seriously. Usually they’d be here by now with a King Poppa tote bag filled with bottles of warmed up formula.
No big deal.
I take my fussy 33-pound baby downstairs myself, more worried than annoyed by my uncles no show as I walk into the kitchen….
Where I find Kyle and Clyde at the island counter talking quietly over five bottles already made and lined up in front of them.
But their conversation stops when I enter the kitchen from the back of the house stairs. “Ola!” they both say, like I’ve shocked the shit out of them just by coming down the stairs.
“Hey, Poppas, what’s up,” I answer, taking one of the bottles they’ve made and sticking it into my baby’s demanding mouth. “Bazzi and I were honest to God worried something had happened to you this morning. You get a late start?”
Instead of answering my question, they exchange looks.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, the relief of finding them down here safe and sound beginning to fade.
“Ola, let’s talk in the receiving room,” Kyle says, picking up three of the four remaining bottles. His tone is a gentle suggestion. But I can tell it’s not really a suggestion, by the way Clyde grabs the last bottle and my elbow at the same time, before guiding me toward the living room. Technically he’s retired from beta duty, but he continues to add actions to all of Kyle’s “suggestions.” Like they’re still the ones in charge.
Her Dragon King (Her Dragon King Duet Book 2): 50 Loving States, North Dakota Pt. 2 Page 6
