Claimed by a Dragon (Fallen Immortals 9) - Paranormal Fairytale Romance

by Alisa Woods

  “Leksander! Yes. Oh, God, yes.” Then her words dissolved into whimpered cries… and then the angelsong hit. The sound ricocheted around the small room, battering them both as her body convulsed, grabbing at his cock and milking it as she came.

  Oh, fuck. But he held off, keeping his own climax at bay as he kept pumping into her. When she’d crested the wave of pleasure, and her song dimmed, he slowed and pulled her away from the wall. Gripping her shoulders with both hands, he swung her towards the bed. He was still buried deep inside her, and it only took a step to get her bending over, hands flat on the thin pad of her mattress. In this position, he could really grab hold and let his wild side loose.

  He caressed her pert little bottom. “I have to say… I very much like this view.”

  She was still breathing raggedly, the sweet flesh of her sex all inflamed from coming once. The trick would be getting her there again before he lost it. He gripped her hips and drew back to slam into her. She cried out his name and nearly tumbled over with the force of it.

  “You all right there, love?” He stayed buried until he got a response, just a whimper, but it was enough. He started slow, pumping in and out, but that didn’t last long. Soon he was jack-hammering into her, driving the tight-coiling need low in his belly tighter and tighter. Her soft cries and calling of his name spurred him on. They rocked the bed with the violence of it until she was all the way up on the mattress, knees digging in, hands braced against the wall, toes curling in the air as she cried out.

  Finally, he felt it coming—his balls tucking up hard, an eruption about to blow. He kept pounding through it, holding her against his insistent slams, but when it hit, he nearly doubled over, sinking in and welling up a deep and guttural growl. Possessive. Instinctual. It wasn’t his wyvern, but it was damn close.

  She brought out the beast in him.

  He came and came, emptying everything he was into her. And then the exhaustion swept up and grabbed hold of him, dragging him down. He brought her with him as he collapsed on the small mat that somehow would serve as their bed for the next six weeks. He would have to conjure something more comfortable, but right now, he just curled around her, touching her everywhere, holding her close.

  She murmured into his chest and nuzzled into him. Then she sighed the deep sigh of complete sexual satisfaction. At least, that’s what he hoped that was. Her limbs were heavy, her eyes closed, and for angelings who never needed rest… she seemed halfway to unconsciousness already.

  He kissed her gently on the cheek, closed his eyes, and let sleep take him.

  “I do not think this is wise,” Erelah said.

  Leksander was leading her through Markos’s Dominion. Neither time nor day mattered truly in the angel realm, and there always was someone in the halls or the gathering room or the training room. They would be spotted.

  “If I had to stay in that tiny cell of yours one more minute…” Leksander gave her a devilish backward glance as he led her along the glowing crystal-walled hallways. “I’d have strung you up to the ceiling again.”

  “I can think of worse fates.” She smirked.

  He chuckled quietly but didn’t slow down. So far, they’d only encountered one angeling on his way to the training room, but Devos had stopped cold in the hallway to stare. Of course, word had gotten around that Erelah and her mate were here. They’d been making love in her cell for over a week, and the entire Dominion could hear her moans and cries and angelsong if nothing else. Normally, if one heard moaning in Markos’s realm, it was a fair guess that someone was serving time in one of the Penance rooms. When she had shown one of the smaller ones to Leksander—just a quartet of stations—he’d been very… aroused. Ever since, even though she said he could conjure whatever restraints he wished in her cell, he’d been after her to return to the rooms themselves. For decidedly non-Penance purposes.

  She’d finally agreed if only to offer some diversion.

  She absently patted her belly. It was slightly rounded now, and her child grew stronger every day. She could feel his angel power increasing, which both swelled her with Pride and planted seeds of worry in her mind. Markos was right that with the baby’s strength would come the ability for Elyon to sense him. Perhaps. She didn’t understand how well the angel might discern an infant angeling amongst a Dominion full of them. Normally, when an angel or angeling Fell and produced a child, the mother remained somewhere in the mortal world—until either the shadow or light forces showed up to claim the child, the mother, or both.

  She had already been claimed.

  But she was no ordinary mortal woman seduced by angel power. She and her baby were the beginning of a new day for angelkind. As the days and hours passed, she felt more and more strongly that this must be Righteous—if not, how could it be? Her True Love for Leksander made all their Lustful lovemaking no longer a Sin. They’d been making love for a week while inside Markos’s Dominion! Such a thing was unprecedented. That dangerous surge of Pride kept rearing up each time she gave herself over with abandon to Leksander and all his pleasure-taking and receiving—and yet she remained in the light. Her wings proved it every day, and each day, her Pride surged a little more.

  Would that be her downfall? And then, what of the baby?

  As Leksander led her down one turn after another—he had quickly figured out the tangled layout of Markos’s domain—she tried to imagine what the Dominion would be like if all angelings of the light mastered this skill as she had. This ability to keep the darkness at bay, seemingly without effort, while enjoying every position and pleasure Leksander had to offer.

  It would be an orgy like the angel realm had never seen.

  Except in shadow.

  This made her frown even as Leksander pulled her to a stop in front of a door. He waved it open and stood on the threshold with her at his back.

  “Fuck me,” he whispered, in awe of the contents of the Penance room.

  She edged past him and gave the half-smile he seemed to love. “I think that’s my job.” Then she sauntered into the room and took a fresh look at the equipment she would only have considered for pain before.

  There was the stock, wooden clamps meant to hold an angeling’s wrists while she knelt and considered her Sins. Also hooks in the ceiling meant for tying and hanging—the kind of immobilization that Leksander had played with before, but here was meant to remind an angeling of his Humility. Then there was the whipping wall, something rarely used, and only because an angeling’s guilt was threatening to pull them down into shadow. A flogging released the guilt, and the wounds were quickly healed, given an angeling’s immortal nature. The pain was a release. But that was definitely not something that interested her for use with Leksander… although she suspected he might enjoy it. It would pain her too much, and not that edgy pain/pleasure that often tipped her into orgasm—she simply could not administer his “punishment.” Finally, there was a cage for confinement, too small for standing much less wing expansion, and once again meant for Humility training. But the pleasure potential of that would be limited.

  She turned to face Leksander.

  He was still standing by the door, though it was now closed. His eyes were glazed with some imagined pleasure. She would definitely fulfill whatever fantasies he had for her in this room. But first, it was long overdue for him to take a turn in these games.

  “Conjure me a rope,” she said with a smile. She held out a hand to beckon him further into the room.

  His eyes took on a hungry cast. He lurched forward and fell to one knee, a long length of rope appearing in his outstretched hands. “My lady.”

  She took it and smirked. “Now, up against the wall.” She waved her fingers at the whipping wall with its shackles made of iron, two for the wrists and two for the ankles, spread wide. She would bind him tightly, but since he conjured the rope, he could easily release himself. Not that Leksander would do such a thing, no matter how much she tormented him.

  She knew his Pride would not allow it. />
  He hustled over to the wall and stood against it, arms and legs spread. She had to suppress a laugh—he was facing the wall. “This is not a flogging, my love.”

  He turned around, almost looking disappointed.

  She grinned. “Not that kind, anyway.” She magicked away her clothes and unfurled her wings, letting the rope drop and drag as she approached him. “Hands up,” she commanded, lifting her voice to just below angelsong.

  He jolted from the onslaught of sound then raised his hands flat against the wall again. He was still wearing his clothes, but she would take care of that in a moment. First, the binding. She made an effort to not touch him except for the hand she was binding to the elevated cuff. Her expertise in knot-tying came mostly from assisting other angelings in their Penance, which was not often, but definitely required skill. A true Penitent wished to be trapped in their Penance, no hope for release until the appointed time. Thus, the knots needed to be secured with both physical strength and magic, as an angeling in agony could summon a lot of power to their aid.

  For Leksander, she didn’t want him wiggling free—he would have to magic his bonds away, which would be a confession of weakness she felt sure he would resist.

  Once the wrist was bound, she bent to secure first one ankle with the same rope, then the next. And finally, the other wrist. Then she stood in front of him, naked, wings extended, allowing him a full view of that which he could not touch. The smile playing on his face, which he did not seem able to hide, would soon be banished.

  She reached forward and seized hold of his clothes, ripping them asunder.

  He gasped in surprise, then his eyes shone. “What punishment do you have in mind for me, Mistress?”

  Such games he liked to play. “All the torments you have subjected me to,” she said brusquely as she set about ripping the sleeves from his arms and the last shred of trousers until only tatters remained clinging where the ropes had bound him. She stood and propped her hands on her hips. “Your Penance is to suffer in kind. I may allow you to climax. I may seek my own without you. We shall see.”

  His grin fell from his face. “You wouldn’t.”

  “I might.” She smirked and turned around, extending her wings to their full length. Each wingtip brushed an opposite wall, but it was more extension than she’d managed in a week cloistered in her cell, except for their brief sojourns out to tour the Dominion.

  She could hear Leksander breathing heavily behind her. She flexed her wings back, letting the feathers graze his skin. Just a light brush evoked a gasp from him. Then she brought them forward and flexed them back again, this time harder. If she wished, her wings could strike a moderate blow, but she just wanted to tantalize him with the view of her naked body and the touch of her wings. Then she spun, slowly, a seductive circle which displayed her body for him while dragging the fine brush of her feathers across his skin.

  His impressive erection was hard to miss.

  When she stopped, her back was to him again. She walked backward, slowly swaying her hips until her back and bottom were pressed against his chest, trapping his cock between them. Then she traveled the length of his body, up and down, a seduction of touch, her body against his, no hands, just the electric magic sparking between them.

  His groans were her reward.

  Just when that contact seemed to please him a little too much—especially as his cock caught on the curves of her body—she stepped away. Bearing in mind how much he liked the view when taking her from behind, she bent over, giving him full visual access to her sex. She glanced over her shoulder to see him straining at his ropes, eyes hooded with lust and trained on her bottom. She reached back between her legs, pleasuring herself in a way she made sure he could see. He twitched, and the strangled sound he made was very satisfying.

  Although her own hand, less so. As much torment as it caused him, it was infinitely less satisfying than his talented fingers. She would do anything to please this man, but restraining her own need to truly have him was proving the more difficult part.

  She straightened and turned, running her hands over her breasts and body the way she’d like for him to—by the way he was panting, he wanted that, too. But not yet. She wanted to bring him to that mind-blowing climax that he’d worked so hard for her to obtain. For that, she needed to discipline herself.

  She stopped just inches away from his swollen cock. She grasped it hard.

  “Fuck,” he gasped out. Then she released him, and his strangled curse was followed by more reflexive twitching against his restraints.

  Avoiding all contact with his cock, she nevertheless endeavored to touch, lick, kiss, or bite every other part of his body. Using feathers and mouth, tongue and teeth, she covered him with her love.

  “Please,” he begged. “Please, just… please.”

  It surprised her how much she enjoyed that part.

  But his entreaties worked a magic on her that was hard to resist. When she licked her way up from his toes for the second time, she nibbled closer to his cock, licking every inch of skin right up to the base… but leaving the rest twitching in the air. The masculine scent of him filled her senses. When he started bucking away from the wall, she held him still, hands on his hips, pressing back. His swearing took a more colorful turn.

  Finally, she could resist no longer. She took his cock in her mouth, as much as she could manage, and sucked hard.

  “Fuck!” Leksander cried out, followed by a delicious sort of whimpering as she worked the length of him with her mouth and her tongue and the firm grip of her hand. She flexed her wings as she bobbed her head, working the visual for maximum effect.

  She was so devoted to her task she nearly missed the popping of air and flash of light that announced the arrival of angelkind. She jerked back, releasing Leksander’s cock from her mouth but remaining on her knees.

  A shadow angel. And one she knew.

  “It’s true!” Micah gasped, shock riding his face. “You’ve stayed in the light.”

  Erelah recovered her senses and leaped to her feet, bracing for combat. What was he doing here? And wielding that blade?

  He jabbed his shadow blade in her direction, but without menace. “Why don’t you have your blade?” he cried out, distressed.

  “I don’t—”

  “Doesn’t matter.” He dropped his gaze and shook his head like he was trying to figure something out.

  “Erelah!” Leksander fell to the floor beside her, having released his own bonds. “What the hell is happening?” He seemed ready to throw himself at Micah, which would only result in bloodshed.

  “Quickly!” Micah said, surging forward.

  Leksander moved in front of her, but he would only get hurt that way. She blocked him with her arm. Micah reached her… and stabbed her with his blade!

  It was just a glancing wound on her arm, but she screeched—in anger and surprise—and knocked his blade hand away. Then she pulsed power, knocking him back, but his wings unfurled, and he quickly surged toward her again.

  Only now, he held the blade grip-forward, as if offering it to her. What was he doing?

  “Take it!” he hissed. “And use it on me. Quickly!”

  She grabbed the knife but then hesitated. What in all the angels—

  “Now!” he said, looking wildly around the room.

  She barely caught his meaning and lunged with a warrior cry just in time. She sailed forward, blade raised, and sunk it in his chest just as another shadow angeling popped into the room. Micah cried out—no doubt with real pain—and grappled with her, bringing her to the ground with him. She easily rolled out of his grip, leaving him wounded on the floor while she launched off the restraining cage and near wall to circle back to the second angeling. It was a female, and she was already on the attack, leading with an underhand swipe of her blade. Erelah spiraled out of the way, wings bashing against the stockade and the ceiling and the walls, crashing her to the floor. The cramped space was throwing the shadow angeling off as well.
She retracted her wings and vaulted over the stockade, coming after Erelah.

  “No!” Leksander leaped at the angeling, shifting midair, but he barely slowed her down.

  She pulsed power to throw him back, escaping the flail of his talons and still coming after Erelah. But her beloved had delayed the angeling enough for Erelah to be ready. Just as the attack reached her, she surged up from the floor, bringing her blade in a devastating arc that sliced the shadow angeling wide open. Her angelsong ripped through the room, but she fell at Erelah’s feet, gasping for air. Her body was nearly split in half—a wound she could not hope to recover from—and the convulsions were unbearable to watch. Erelah knelt and quickly severed the angeling’s head, ending the torment.

  It was a Mercy.

  It also sickened her to the core.

  Erelah dropped to her knees, clutching her stomach. The baby’s power pulsed erratically. Leksander was instantly at her side. Across the room, Micah staggered to his feet, clutching the wound in his chest. She’d aimed true, missing his heart and lungs and piercing just next to his collarbone. Leksander reflexively moved in front of her, but Micah just gave her a nod and twisted away through time and space.

  “What the hell?” Leksander said, his voice still filled with shock.

  “Micah has saved us.” Erelah grimaced and struggled up from the floor. “Someday I will owe him a multitude of lives.”

  Leksander scowled at the small wound Micah had inflicted on her. “What is this?” It was no doubt to make the ruse convincing while giving her time to escape.