Alpha Dragon_Taran

by Kellan Larkin

  “They roast their own beans,” Nosko says. He sips delicately at his cup, eyes closing to savor the taste. Now that is a good look on Nosko. He looks relaxed. Ever since he stepped foot in my shop, Nosko has been wound tight.

  I follow suit. “So, why a tattoo of your grandmother? Not exactly a romantic image to get, at least for your first. It is your first, right?”

  “It’ll probably be my only.” Nosko holds out his forearm and tilts his head.

  “Not a fan?”

  “Oh, that’s not it.” Nosko drops his arm and it falls between us to press to the bench seat. “I happen to think tattoo art can be some of the most original and beautiful in the world. Like graffiti.”

  It’s hard to fight my desire to scoot closer so our bodies touch. “That’s an interesting observation.”

  “You don’t think so?”

  “I absolutely agree. I’ve met some extremely talented artists who’ve picked up a gun and done some amazing work. Not everyone agrees about the beauty of tattoos, though. It’s still a stigma in our society.”

  Nosko turns on the bench, pulling his leg up so that it does touch me. The heat along his thigh has an amazingly calm effect on me. “It does still represent the fringe of society, sure. But the stories in the images, behind them. Of love, loss, being out of place, out of time…”

  The look on Nosko’s face is fascinating. It doesn’t take a genius to see that we’re from two different worlds, dragon breeds notwithstanding. Yet there is understanding in Nosko’s pensive expression. It’s intriguing.

  “So tell me about your grandmother.”

  We talk until well after lunch. After the bench, we stroll through one of the city parks that extends through the center of this neighborhood, which is studded with boutiques and restaurants. Subjects we talk about range from art to owning a business, to the most recent manufacture of electric cars and whether the batteries are environmentally friendly—something very important to Nosko.

  I’m listening with rapt attention and with more than just my ears. Every one of Nosko’s gestures is delicate and soft, but not weak. All telltale signs of an omega. He is soft-spoken but not a pushover. Whether we disagree on why sports figures should be compensated so highly for their job, or if it should even be considered a job or not, or if we agree that the newest design of the town hall looks like a mausoleum and not a functional business complex, the more we talk, the more passionate Nosko becomes.

  Beneath it all, every light touch, every brush of our bodies as we walk, every time Nosko looks up with his amazing eyes, my dragon wiggles impatiently. He feels the need to claim Nosko just like I do.

  The driving need to feel the connection between us, to test the boundaries of our attraction—and there is attraction, no doubt in my mind. The urge to feel our bodies locked together in sweat and heat and exhaustion drives me relentlessly.

  The more I get to know him, the more I appreciate the full package of man Nosko presents.

  As we continue to wind our way through the park, Nosko’s gestures are animated as he discusses a recent trip to a gallery. I see that we are the only ones in this world of green tucked away in the bustle of Stelline City. Background noise fades to a dull thud. I can even hear the birds, the sounds of nature. A dog barking in the distance.

  Unable to hold off any longer, I hook a hand beneath Nosko’s arm and pull him from the path to duck around behind a tree.

  Nosko’s expression registers surprise at being manhandled, but he shows no fear with being at a physical disadvantage.

  Another thing that fascinates me even more.

  Pressing Nosko against the trunk, I lean in, bracing my hands on either side of Nosko’s head. I think about asking for a kiss. The question is there, ready to be uttered, but the look in Nosko’s eyes says all that needs to be said.

  So I duck in and take the kiss, my tongue slipping easily past Nosko’s parted lips. There is no fight, no resistance. Nosko’s hands slide up my back and draw me closer. I’m not about to fight it. With our bodies pressed together, I feel the beating of Nosko’s heart. It matches the march of my own.

  When I break the kiss, Nosko pants lightly, his eyes giving him away again. It is so easy to read emotion in the young omega’s eyes. It reaches across the distance to me, dragon calling to dragon. “I’ve been waiting all morning to do that,” I whisper against Nosko’s mouth.

  “I’ve been waiting all morning for you to do that.”

  Good to have verbal verification, but not surprising. When our hands first touched in my shop, I knew this attraction was mutual and very, very strong.

  “I want to take you home with me.”

  “Don’t you have a grand opening?”

  “They’ll call if they need me.” I steal several gentle kisses, brief touches of our lips, and smile when Nosko chases for more. “Say yes.”

  Maybe it is only the span of a heartbeat, but the silence feels like forever before Nosko answers.

  “Yes.”

  2

  Nosko

  What on earth am I doing?

  When I got up this morning, the only task for my day off from the gallery was to find a decent tattoo artist who could do the memory of my grandmother proud.

  Now?

  I’m following the sexiest dragon I’ve ever laid eyes on home. We’ve just met but there’s no mistaking it, the attraction is crazy off the charts.

  The bonds of a fated mate are said to be very strong. At least, that’s what Grams always said to me. Never having experienced it, there is nothing in my experience to prove it or disprove it.

  Until him.

  At first, I didn’t recognize the fluttering in my chest as being more than just nerves. His piercing hazel eyes didn’t just look at me, they looked through me. Down into the deepest recesses of my soul.

  My dragon fluttered to life in recognition of my fated mate. All discovered in a simple touch.

  It is crazy.

  Broad across the shoulders, with a tapered waist, strong hips, and thighs that looked poured into his jeans, Taran is as close to perfection as I could have dreamt of.

  The kiss he laid on me at the park curled my toes. After that, I’m willing to follow him anywhere.

  This is not the turn I was expecting for my day.

  My logical mind screams this is not a good idea. I barely know the man, other than he is crazy talented. Everyone on the forum had nothing but good things to say about him. When I was able to get a peek at the magazine he was featured in last month, it was obvious then his reputation, which is stellar, is spot on.

  Plus, I know good art when I see it.

  It grieved my senior art project mentor in college when I expressed an interest in street art and the contributions the artists make in the art world.

  He said it was trash. I believe it is the most honest and pure exploration of the human spirit one artist can hope to achieve. Sadly, I appear to be in the minority in the art world.

  Taran Scalding is the epitome of that. The rock star of the ink world.

  Not only have I lucked out in getting him to design my tattoo, which will probably set me back a month’s rent, but now he’s leading me to his place.

  He refused to take the bus, even though Stelline City has one of the best mass transit systems in the territory. He wanted a cab. When I asked why, he said nothing.

  Who am I to refuse him anything he wants? My baser instincts only want him to kiss me like that again.

  My body aches for him to take me from head to toe. Sexy, commanding, and talented, all in one amazingly tight package.

  “What’s on your mind?” Taran finally breaks the silence I wasn’t aware I’d lapsed into.

  I am not sure what exactly to say. Grams said to always be honest. So I’ll be honest. “You.”

  He laughs, and his hand grips the back of my neck in a gentle, but oh-so-possessive hold. My dragon is doing back flips, and I’m trying to stay focused and not jump him in the back of the cab.

&n
bsp; Whether he pulls me in for another kiss or I lunge for him, the end result is the same. The same toe-curling experience overwhelms me again and distantly, I hear the whimper escape my throat.

  He smiles against my mouth before taking another deep kiss and all I want is for him to take me in the cab. I don’t care who’s watching.

  The cab comes to a stop and when I pull away, my heart is pounding hard in my chest.

  Logic once again tries to assert itself.

  I don’t know him.

  No one knows I’m here.

  I don’t know where here is.

  I am completely at his mercy.

  I should be afraid.

  Yet there’s nothing in my instincts that screams for me to change my mind. Especially when Taran smiles at me, reassuring, but with the promise of more.

  He slides out of the curbside door before holding it for me. Once the cab pulls away, he slides his hand down my arm to clutch at my hand. Our fingers twine.

  It feels perfect.

  It’s never felt perfect before.

  The row of brownstones extends the block, the uniformity of each stoop made unique by planters, colorful flags, or wreaths on the doors.

  Taran leads the way up the stairs to stop at one door. I make a note with little confidence I will remember before the day is done.

  If I’m lucky, I won’t remember my name, either.

  “Are you okay?” Taran reaches across his body to dig his keys out just so he doesn’t have to let go of my hand. I try to release his so he can key us into the building. His fingers tighten, not letting me go.

  Once we’re inside, he shuts the door behind me, locks it and tosses his keys on the small hall table. “Would you like something to drink? Water, juice which I assume is still good, beer, and maybe a little wine. I’ll have to check.”

  “Beer is fine,” I say, following him up the brief staircase to the main floor of his townhouse.

  He motions for me to sit on the large and overstuffed leather sofa before he disappears into the kitchen.

  The standout feature of his living room is not his large screen television, unless not having one at all counts, but the large pieces of framed tattoo art.

  Instead of taking a seat, I walk toward the wall, the art calling to me.

  Filling the frame, a dragon swirls around the figure of a cross, twined with barbed wire and roses. The colors are stark and vivid and the action is dynamic. The image is alive and in motion.

  It looks like it was done in oil. Closer inspection shows that it’s not oil but watercolor. Impressive, since watercolor is not an easy medium to work in.

  “That was my winning design for the contest.” Taran’s voice just off my shoulder startles me. I never heard him walk up.

  He holds out the beer for me and I take it, grateful to now have something in my hands. “It’s beautiful.” I take a sip and turn to look at it again. “It went on the man’s back, right?”

  “It did. Took us about eighteen hours. The man had an iron will against pain.” Taran is standing close enough that I can feel his body heat. It stirs up a mix of feelings that are hard to sort out.

  Attraction that transcends the physical, although that is certainly a huge factor. There’s a comfortable component to it, having Taran at his back as protection.

  One gentle hand smooths down my back and I instinctively lean into it. “What’s happening?” I ask over my shoulder.

  “Only what you want to happen, Nosko.” Taran’s breath ghosts across my ear. My resolve is weak in the face of it.

  What do I want?

  That is a question I have never examined too closely before. I was content to focus on my gallery. Mates, family were not part of the equation.

  All of that is shattered when Taran touches me. He speaks to a deep part of my soul that I try to keep closed off. Not for any dramatic reason stemming from any sort of trauma in my childhood. Nothing like that. It just isn’t important to me.

  Wasn’t.

  It wasn’t important to me.

  Taran pulls the bottle from my hand and sets them both to the side. His large hands cup my face. Our eyes meet and I am drawn into them as the whole world fades to nothing until all I see is hazel and passion and a deeper understanding of this indefinable tugging between us.

  I know what it is. Even never having experienced it before, I know it. My dragon knows it, recognizes it, cries out for it.

  It’s not something I can fight. I’m afraid it’s not something I want to fight. “You,” I whisper softly. My hands seek balance by pressing against his sides, thumbs hooking in his belt loops.

  Taran is in excellent shape. His body is firm. Every breath causes the muscles beneath my touch to move, and it’s an exhilarating feeling to know that much power resides inside him.

  “I’m glad.” He never once breaks eye contact as he takes a step back, then another. The visceral thrill that pulses through me knows where we are going. It’s why I came home with him.

  My feet are firmly on the ground but my dragon soars through the clouds in delight.

  Here is a man who will know me inside and out before we do anything.

  That is what fated mates are, for me.

  Two souls, separated at the beginning of our time on earth, looking to join each other again.

  Not everyone believes that and it’s okay. I don’t care about others. All I care about is this gentle man who is firmly and decisively guiding me to his bedroom.

  The door shuts with a soft click. The mid day sun shines brightly outside, but only pierces the semi darkness of the bedroom through the small slit in the heavy drapes at each window.

  Taran apparently likes the dark. His bedroom suite is carved from dark, rich woods, lending a distinctive cave-like feel to his inner sanctum.

  While I’m not fond of feeling so closed in, normally, here in Taran’s bedroom it feels safe.

  His eager hands are joined with mine as we hurriedly strip each other. I kick my shoes off and they land somewhere out from underfoot. My jeans and shirt join his shirt over the edge of the bed.

  Stripped bare before him, I have to laugh. “How did you manage to get me naked and you’re still half dressed?”

  “You called my winning tattoo beautiful. But that isn’t the most beautiful thing in this apartment right now.” Taran’s hands smooth reverently over my shoulders and chest, sweeping down across my waist and up my back. Firm pressure pulls me into him and his mouth descends on mine.

  It’s not a kiss. It’s a claim on me that I feel to my toes.

  I succumb to it willingly. I want more. I want him all. I want to give him everything.

  The dizzying flush of emotions makes it difficult to focus and I have to pull back before I lose my breath.

  “What?” Taran asks. A crease between his eyebrows forms and it’s almost cute on such a masculine face.

  “Need to catch my breath.”

  Taran hooks a large hand around to cradle the back of my head. Lifting me with his other arm like I’m a doll, he encourages me to stretch out on the mattress before covering me with the secure weight of his body.

  The button and zipper of his jeans scratch at my stomach and I can feel the hard line of his cock as it presses against me. I need to feel that in my ass and I whimper into another deep kiss to vocalize my impatience.

  He finds my hands, wrapping his fingers around my wrists, and stretches them over head. When he pulls back, his eyes are blown wide, almost all pupil from desire. I’m sure my eyes look similar. I want him so much the energy of need is coiling crazily in my gut.

  My fingers brush the headboard of his bed. “Hook your fingers to curl around the mattress to hold on.”

  Through my lust-fogged brain I am able to process his command and I comply, my fingers wiggling to squeeze between the end of the mattress and the wood.

  He places a soft kiss on my nose and smiles down at me. “Keep them there. If you move them, I stop.”

  Panic grips me whe
n he slides off me. I almost sit up, but remember his warning. I think it applies even now, so I relax against the bed, worrying at my lip with my teeth when I ask him, “Where are you going?”

  “Patience, my little dragon,” he says, and his voice takes on the rolling growl associated with his breed of dragon. Red Skulls are the largest of dragon forms, with large, intimidating human forms, and deep voices which rumble like mountain caverns.

  How can I possibly have any patience when he is so frustratingly out of reach? With deep breaths, I try to relax and wait for him.

  Standing at the foot of the bed, Taran is watching me with an intense gaze. It crawls along my skin as his eyes inspect me from my feet to my hands. And it does more than inspect, it devours. “Taran,” I whimper.

  Slowly, he undoes the top button of his jeans and peels them away. A distant part of my mind realizes he goes commando, as he steps from his jeans and kicks them to the side.

  With one knee on the bed, Taran wraps a large hand round one of my ankles and pulls. One of my hands slips from my hold on the bed and he stops and fixes me with a simple eyebrow lift.

  Sheepishly, I resume the position.

  He considers that for a moment before continuing. Grabbing my other ankle, he stretches my legs until they’re straight. With the flat of both palms, he pushes my thighs to spread them far apart. It gives him room to crawl up the bed to kneel between them.

  “God, Nosko, I can smell you from here. You’re driving me crazy.” His fingers dive between my ass cheeks and he fingers me, my slick so abundant his fingers have no resistance when they slide into me. “Your body is hungry, isn’t it?”

  “Taran, please.” I fight the rising hysteria, stopping just short of begging.

  “I’m getting there. I just want to enjoy watching you squirm.”

  I cry out in frustration, wanting to twist myself down to shove more of his fingers in me. Something, anything to fill me up. I’m almost out of my mind at this point.

  He chuckles softly and pushes a third into me. I feel the slight burn of being opened like I haven’t in far too long, and I arch from the bed from the pleasant pain.