Queen of Dragons: Steamy Fantasy Erotic Romance (Dragon nights Book 1)

by Tasha Bell

  “Christian stop we shouldn’t.” She said weakly, not sure she meant it at all. He took no notice and pushed his mouth back down onto hers, one of his arms was around her shoulders the other made its way up her vest to caress her breasts. Viviana was certain this was going far too fast, she had only experienced one suitor previously, and it had taken them many months of dining and conversing before they tentatively made love. She could sense that this was going to be different, that Christian wanted to dominate her, not to ride her gently then apologise. She wasn’t sure she’d have been able to stop him even if she wanted to.

  He lifted her vest over her head and pushed her down onto the furs, his hand behind her head, forcing her mouth onto his. He moved on to kiss her neck and she closed her eyes as she lay back and felt his long dark hair on her chest. She gasped in pleasurable pain as he took her nipple into his hot mouth and bit it gently. His mouth making a line of little kisses as it travelled down her sternum, over her belly to the top of her trousers.

  Viviana had never felt so alive, each kiss seemed to last for an eternity and awaken nerve endings she never knew she had. She felt her body responding in an ancient way that was completely divorced from her intellect. She was moving to an older more primordial rhythm, like something animal had been awoken in her. She raised her hips as Christian put his hands her waistband and slowly started to pull off her trousers. Once they’d been added to the pile of discarded furs Christian began to kiss his way back up the inside of her naked thighs. It briefly flashed through her mind that this muscular man, who was so strong and determined to have his way with her, was her childhood friend, and that she should not be doing this, but her body took over and she felt her hands eagerly pulling Christians head up towards her centre.

  Viviana had never been pleasured in this way before, her last suitor had touched her down there, but his fingers had been inept and clumsy and he had hurt her. He kissed the tops of her thighs and worked deliciously inwards until she was biting her lip with anticipation. Finally his knowing tong flicked onto her womanly nub and she cried out. Despite the obvious power in his body, and the anger in his mind, It didn’t feel like anything Christian could do would hurt her, he seemed intent on her pleasure, running his tongue in longs strokes up her cleft to circle her sensitive clit. She dug her fingers into his long dark hair and heard herself moan, a ragged sound she didn’t know she was capable of producing. The shimmering roof of the snow cave seemed to dance in front of her eyes as she lay back and gave in to pleasure.

  Her noises and writhing only encouraged Cristian. He reached out one of his large tanned hands and placed it on her neck pushing her chin up and her head back as he worked with his mouth. She cried again, it was almost too much to bear, she was so sensitive. Her back arched, pushing her breasts towards the ceiling of the snow cave, she tried to wriggle away from him but his hand pinned her to the furs, she was going to explode. She shouted out as she felt herself dropping into orgasm, her legs shook and eyes rolled and at that exact moment Christian raised himself above her and thrust himself inside her, taking her in one long exquisite stroke.

  Looking up she saw Christian’s lithe muscular chest above her and the tensed outline of his strong jaw, he did not smile and seemed to grimace as he thrust into her. He reached out and grabbed one of her wrists pinning it up behind her head, then did the same to the other. With her arms held outstretched behind her head and his weight on top of her there was no way she could move. She put her chin to her chest and looked down her body to where it joined with his. His movements became more powerful and Viviana got the feeling he was pounding away at ten years of anger and resentment towards the highborn, as if by overpowering her he could destroy all the class barriers that had been put in his way. There was a relentless need to the force of his fucking, she was thankful that she was so wet with desire or she would have struggled with his size and ardour.

  She could feel the stone of the snow-cave’s floor through their rugs as he pushed into her with all his weight. “Take it, take it, take it.” He said through his teeth it was not a command she was in any position to disobey, she was powerless in his arms, her head banging against the fur covered stone as she threw it back, the deep well of pleasure inside her welling over once more. Christian let out a roar and she felt him release himself inside her. For a split second he stared deep into her eyes before collapsing onto her, his heart beating wildly.

  He fell asleep still on top of her, beside their roaring fire as the blizzard raged outside. Viviana stroked his hair and let him rest. She got the feeling it was a very long time since Christian Gardner had felt at peace. After a while she heard his breathing slow and deepen as he drifted into sleep. Very gently, careful not to wake him, she reached out and pulled open the drawstrings on the leather bag. The inside was filled with fresh, sweet smelling hay, she reached down through the dried grass until her hand touched something smooth and cool. She pulled the covering away and very nearly screamed in surprise. An elongated sphere, almost as big as her head, with an iridescent rainbow surface like the mother of pearl inside and oyster – a dragon’s egg.

  Chapter Seven

  Miranda Carter sat in front of the mirror brushing her long red hair and thinking about the five months she had spent in captivity. It had been such a shock to see poor Kit have to run off naked like that, especially when they’d been having so much fun, and she hated being forced to watch David and Chris hung in the village square. There poor little legs jerking around like that in sunshine. It had been a horrible day all round, and that night they’d taken her back to castle Brookmere, Sir Robert Herriot’s ancestral home. She didn’t know why they were taking her there, but from the comments they made, and the way they handled her she had been certain that Matt Tindall and his sons were going to force themselves on her, just like they’d tried to do to Kit’s poor sister. She wondered what had happened to them, she pleaded with the Captain to tell her every day, but he just wouldn’t budge.

  When they arrived at the castle Miranda’s fears had proved to be unfounded. Captain Bates had turned out to be a perfect gentleman. He had insisted she have a proper chamber, with a proper bed, and had kept the thugs away from her, even striking one of Matt’s sons hard across the cheek when he tried to fondle her. That first night she had been questioned for hours, about where Kit had gone and what his plans were, and about what Harper was doing in the tavern. She’d felt so sorry for herself, sitting there in that hard chair trying to answer questions she knew nothing about. She’d told them that she didn’t think Kit had any plans, he was just a bit of fun, that if he did have any plans she certainly didn’t know what they were, and that Harper was in the tavern because Alexandra had taken a fancy to him. Eventually Miranda had broken down, tearfully shouting that she didn’t know any more, and could she please go home now. The captain had stroked his moustache and looked deep into her eyes with his cold blue stare, she felt he was probing her soul, but eventually he had told her “I believe you.”

  She’d asked if that meant she was free to go, but the captain had told her that it was truly a regrettable state of affairs, but that she was still considered a potential subversive by the crown and by Sir Robert, and that she would have to stay in the castle under arrest. Captain Bates had reassured her that he would personally do everything he could to ensure her comfort during this unfortunate confinement, and that he would petition the capital to have her released. He had been true to his word and she’d eaten well, each meal accompanied by a glass of wine from Sir Roberts’s cellar. And after dinner Captain Bates had visited her every night, to chat about his day; the militias he had organised, or the subversives he had arrested - Miranda couldn’t believe there were so many in Amvale. Sometimes they’d play a game of chequers and he’d talk about all the steps he was taking to get her released or he’d tell her about his childhood - growing up the third son of a minor noble, knowing he’d never inherit any land or power so he had to go out and get it for himself. Over time sh
e had grown used to her captivity, her pail skin whitened away from the sun and she spent hours every day in front of the mirror, brushing her dark red hair to a brilliant sheen.

  She found the hardest part of her confinement the lack of physical contact. Miranda knew that the women of Amvale considered her a loose woman, someone not to be trusted around their husbands, but she just saw herself as a very tactile person, she liked the touch of other people, and if that touch happened to be particularly intimate then so be it. Locked in the small room she spent a lot of time thinking back to some of her past experiences, back to the pair of blond farm boys she’d met one summer, or the buxom blacksmith’s daughter who had taught her the way around another woman’s body. She even thought of Kit and his weird hobby of pretending to be a horse. Every time the handsome Captain had come to see her she longed for him to reach out and grab her, to throw her roughly on the bed, or kiss her softly on the lips. She had spent hours wondering about what his trim little moustache would feel like on her soft delicate skin. When he came into the room she always made sure that she showed him a little cleavage, or that her skirt was rucked up high on her leg, but he had never once made a move to touch her.

  Turning away from the mirror she slipped on one of the new dresses that Captain Bates had provided for her and waited to hear his key in the door. He’d been teaching her to read using an old manuscript illustrated in vellum, and she was exited to tell him about a story she’d read that day about a knight and a dragon. When the door finally swung open she turned around to meet him and her bright smile dropped, instead of the elegant Captain she saw the leering Matt Tindall. He stepped inside the small room and Miranda rocked back against her dresser, shocked at his rank smell, for five months the only person she’d had any contact with had been the elegantly perfumed Captain, she wasn’t used to the more everyday smells of old beer and sweat that Matt carried in with him.

  “What are you doing here Matt?” She asked.

  Matt leered at her, drinking in the curves of her body under her thin dress. He had discarded his agricultural worker’s clothes and now wore some sort of uniform, a grossly sloppy imitation of the elegant black leather one worn by Captain Bates, he couldn’t pull it off nearly as well as the blue eyed officer, Miranda thought to herself.

  “I’m to take you down stairs.” He said in a gruff voice.

  “You mean I can leave the room?” Said Miranda excitedly, it was the best news she had received in months.

  “Yes,” said Matt. “But you’re to wear this.” He held up a thin strip of black material.

  “What’s that?” Asked Miranda.

  “It’s a blindfold my lovely.” He said before striding over to her chair and tying it securely round her eyes.

  Miranda did not know where Matt was taking her, he guided her through corridors and down flights of stairs with a series of rough shoves in the small of the back. She had tried to create a mental map so she could find her way back to her small secure chamber, but they had taken too many turns and double-backs for her to keep a track of. She felt the air getting colder and damper as she descended, and guessed that she must by now be down in the roots of the castle, below even Sir Roberts’s capacious wine cellars. Eventually Matt told her to stop and she heard the sound of a lock turn in a door. The room she was pushed into was obviously not well used, the door creaked open on its hinges, and when Matt shoved her inside the air tasted stale, like it hadn’t known a breeze in centauries. Matt pressed down on her shoulders and she found herself sitting on a hard stiff-backed chair.

  “Hands behind your back.” He said abruptly. Miranda complied and felt her-hands being tightly bound together and tied to the back of the chair.

  “What are you doing to me?” She shouted, she couldn’t bear the feel of this room, the atmosphere was cold and cloying, and she could feel the damp all around her. “Take me back to my chamber at once Matt Tindall, or you’ll answer to Captain Bates.” She said, trying to stand but finding that the chair was bolted to the ground. “Take me back upstairs Matt, I don’t like it here. I don’t want to stay here.”

  She heard Matt’s laugh as he walked through the door and closed it behind him leaving her tied, blindfolded and alone in the dark chamber. “Matt come back, let me go!” She shouted. He said nothing but she heard the click of the lock sliding back into place. Matt whistled jauntily as his footsteps faded away from her down the corridor. “Captain Bates!” she shouted “Help me!” but there was no reply, she was alone in the dark.

  ***

  Viviana sat on a mossy log, taking a break from her pole-axe training. For the first time in months she could feel some warmth in the weak, low sun. It had been a tough winter. At first the rebels in their mountain valley had refused to accept her and her friend Alexandra. They said that women in the camp would cause conflicts among the men, that they’d distract them from their work and lead to fights. But after Alexandra had shown them what she could do with a stew-pot they had agreed to let the two women stay, on the condition that they lived in separate accommodation from the men, and on no account conducted any romantic relationships within the camp. Harper and Alexandra had looked pained when they agreed to this condition, but Viviana was upset to see that Christian agreed without hesitation.

  It had been tough for all of them in different ways. Christian had been shocked when they had walked down from the snowy pass and found out that the rebel camp consisted of twenty-three outlaws huddled around a collection of shabby huts. Viviana could see the disappointment etched on his brooding face. He had been expecting a huge and battle-ready army that would thunder down the mountain like an avalanche, sweeping all before it. Instead he barely had enough men for a game of kick bladder. For months he had been in a terrifyingly black mood, and Viviana had hardly dared go near him.

  Over the course of the winter two more had joined them. Viviana had been delighted to see her loyal page Hugh who had staggered into the camp few weeks after them on unsteady and bleeding feet. He had said that he was going to serve his lady whether it be at Loxley Hall or a hut in the mountains and Christian had shouted at him and said that no one was serving anybody up here, and if they wanted to stick to the old order they should both leave the camp at once. The second new arrival had come as the snows began to melt in the pass, he a brought horrible news from the village where Captain Bates and his men were cracking down on anyone they thought might be a subversive. Apparently Matt Tindall, drunk on power, had beaten one of the blind men from The Bull Tavern half to death in the village square for laughing at Matt’s new title - Chief Keeper of the Peace - and King John had levied a new flat-rate tax across the nation, having found his coffers bare after the long war. Christian had cheered up at each piece of bad news, reasoning that the more disheartened the people were, the more likely they were to support his rebellion.

  Viviana had arrived in the shabby camp with no knowledge of cooking and no intention of learning, so she had spent the winter training in combat with the men, leaving Alexandra to prepare mouth-watering casseroles and breads with the scant ingredients available in the outlaws’ stores. At first Viviana had found the men in the camp ridiculous, they were so zealous and passionate about their revolutionary cause that they had turned the highborn class into monsters in their imaginations, into a mythic group of people who existed only to bring pain and suffering to the common-man. When she heard them talk about the supposed plots of the feudal lords to further humiliate and disenfranchise the serfs Viviana thought about her peers, about Sir Robert Herriot, and knew that the revolutionaries were wrong. The landowners didn’t want to make their lives worse, they just didn’t care about them. To a highborn the simple people were a resource like livestock – better if they were healthy, but if a herd had to be slaughtered occasionally then so be it.

  She looked down at her forearms resting in her lap, over the course of the winter they had grown strong and muscular from hours of wielding her axe. She knew that if she were to look in the mirror know
she would not recognise herself as the highborn lady she had been. Her once lustrous hair was tied back in a rough plat and her face was caked with dirt. Viviana realised that for the first time in her life she felt strong.

  She heard a screech echo between the high peaks and looked up in time to see the leathery wings of Vultonis as he flashed in front of the sun. At first those in the camp were certain that the egg would not hatch, that it was too cold in their mountain pass, but Viviana had told them about the dragon’s nests on the high peaks and reassured them that the egg stood a better chance than anywhere else. No one knew how long ago the egg had been stolen, or for how long it had lain in the treasury of the pretender king, perhaps a century or more, but the move to high altitude once more seemed to do it good, and it had begun to vibrate.

  Viviana had watched over it for long weeks, in turn with the others, they were all terrified that it would be carried off by one of the large grey wolves that haunted the pass. In the end she was the only one who had been around to witness the hatching. She had hardly dared breathe as the shell fractured and a small sharp tipped snout forced its way out, followed by a large golden eye which had locked immediately on to hers.

  In the early days they worried the miraculous baby dragon, the first seen in the Borset Mountains for three generations, would slowly starve before their eyes. It would not take any food, and lay on its side mewing weakly, barley the size of a house cat. Finally in desperation Viviana had ripped up a rabbit from her bare hands and hung strips of it, raw and bleeding, from her mouth. the dragon, now named Vultonis had bent its head on its long scaly neck and snatched away the flesh.