by Starla Night
“We’re not really flying all the way to the French Riviera like this, are we?” she asked.
“Don’t you like to go fast?” he teased.
She pinched him. “Pyro.”
“No, I was going to borrow the car.”
He soared north, over the Columbia River dividing Oregon from Washington, and descended on the Onyx Corporation office building in the middle of a field. The small spaceship was hidden stored under a retractable tarp. He placed her in the passenger’s seat and then took over piloting, rising again and zooming across the Earth at physics-defying speeds.
Dragons could circle the Earth at incredible speeds in dragon form, but humans didn’t tend to enjoy traveling that fast without a sturdy wind and sound barrier.
Before long, the castle they’d rented out on the coast appeared below.
“Why’d you tell everyone we were going the long way?” she asked.
He parked on the crenelated roof and grinned. “Because I’ve got plans.”
She clambered from the shuttle and put her arms around him again. He lifted her, flew down to the penthouse balcony, and let them into the luxurious, palatial master suite. She trailed her fingers over the exotic teak, Chinese silk, and antique gold of the fixtures while her heels tapped the Persian tile. Pyro had booked this part of the wedding to satisfy her desire to experience Old World charms.
She flipped on the bathroom light. White statues and gold fixtures framed stunning—
Pyro flipped the light off. “Shhh. We’re incognito.”
Surprise caught her but her apology died on her lips and fury boiled up. She turned on him. “You did not just trick me into breaking into my own hotel room!”
He grinned and, loosening his collar as he tip toed to the bed, tossed her a careless shrug.
“Augh! Pyro.” She chased after him with a furious whisper, glad she’d left her bouquet with Melody because otherwise she’d beat him with it. “We’re going to get in trouble!”
He caught her fists with a laugh. “Just kidding. I already checked us in.”
She paused, one knee on the bed, no longer attempting to strangle him. “When?”
“When you were getting your hair and makeup done.” He released her and leaned back on his elbows, a satisfied smugness arching his wicked brow. “And you thought I was sleeping in.”
She had thought he was sleeping in. “Really?”
“Yeah. I knew you’d be worried.” He lay flat on his back with a grin at the ceiling. “This was fun though.”
She crawled up and lay beside him. The ceiling was painted with ornate gold and delicate lines similar to the designs on the ceilings of Versailles. “You’re a wicked male, Mr. Onyx.”
He put a hand under his head and grinned at her. “And you just married me.”
“For the second time.”
His amused gaze softened and dipped lower to the rising and falling of her breasts in the satin sweetheart bodice. Warmth kindled into a breath-stealing fire.
They got few chances for a date night, even though Brigid was already turning into a good sleeper and Amy’s mom was a willing babysitter. First, Amy had been healing. But recently, something always seemed to come up at the last moment with the company, crisis in the Dragon Empire, or a threat of world domination.
Even the small silver pendant peeking from beneath Pyro’s collar, etched in his Zentangle version of the aristocratic family crest denied to him by a long-dead matriarch, was a reminder. He had recreated it after taking Amy’s summer class teaching the Zentangle method — creativity for dragons who believed they lacked the ability to be creative — and she wore a matching design attached to a bracelet on her wrist.
She reached around the back for the top loop of her dress.
He stopped her.
Oh. Did he not want to use this short time to renew their vows with their bodies?
“Didn’t you want to…?”
“Yes.” The hunger darkening his red-threaded eyes matched his promise, but still, he drew her hands away from the clasps. “Don’t deny me the pleasure of unwrapping my favorite wedding present.”
Ahhh. She smiled and relaxed. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”
His grin turned lopsided. Her favorite expression on him. He captured her mouth for a wet, hot kiss. And then he lifted her onto her feet and turned her, undoing her buttons with his teeth.
In the dusky antique mirror, he knelt in worship of her, each button freeing itself with a hot, wet nip. She shuddered. Warm anticipation poured into her feminine center, bringing her to throbbing awareness.
The gown had enough stiffness to stand up on its own, so he stepped her out of it, removing her shoes. Then he extended a sharp claw and laid it against her shaperwear.
“No!” She rescued her expensive body-sculpting bra, corset, and pants. “I need these for the reception.”
“Your feminine curves are soft and enjoyable,” he protested, teasing the claw along the edge of the lace.
“But, uh, the only one I want appreciating them is you.”
His brows lifted. He retracted the claw, studied the shaperwear clasps with new dedication, and released the fasteners one by one.
It did feel deliciously relaxing to be free of the constricting garments, and she heaved a pleasured sigh as the last piece slipped off and she stood in only her bracelet, bare feet on the warmed tile floor.
In front of Pyro, she bared herself absolutely. Her stretch marks, her extra pounds, her total self. He had proved over and over that he found her endlessly attractive. Now, he buried his head in her belly and inhaled deeply, deriving new pleasure from what must surely be her sweaty, but certainly aroused, scent.
She stroked his fine dark hair. “How about you?”
He flexed. One moment, he was a groom in a loose gray suit. The next, red scales had erupted all over his body and his limbs elongated, bursting the seams and shredding his suit. And then he snapped back to human form, on his hands and knees, and utterly nude.
She captured one of the fluttering shreds of gray and lavender cloth. It took all her effort to keep her tone light. “I hope you have another outfit for the reception.”
“Kyan is bringing me one.” He rose and pressed her back onto the bed.
She let go of the cloth and descended willingly, pillowed by the soft fabric. Pyro destroyed fewer things now, but occasionally one of his possessions struck him as too full of important memories to be allowed to remain. He destroyed them before they could betray him. Preserving the memories of the good, old time before some potentially sad new memory could take the old away.
The fact that his wedding suit had ended up being a memory that was too important — like the baby blanket they’d brought Brigid home from the hospital in — was touching in its own way. And, after Amy had thought about it, it was much easier to preserve a shred of Brigid’s blanket in her baby book. In the same way, it was much easier to press a shred into her wedding album than the whole suit.
She stroked his chest. The ridges of old scar tissue were no longer red and angry, but they would forever be a reminder of how close she’d come to losing him.
He rested atop her, his hard cock wedged just millimeters from her throbbing feminine heat, his broad torso pressing her pleasantly down. “What are you thinking about?”
She focused on him. “You’re a complicated male, Mr. Onyx.”
He grinned, interested. “Why’s that, Mrs. Onyx?”
“Because you’ve gotten us all naked. I wonder what you’re waiting for.” She reached around and gripped his buttocks. “I wonder if you really want me.”
He dropped his forehead to hers, burning his dedication into her with his fiery eyes. “I can’t have you thinking that.”
She parted her lips, teasing him. “Then you better—”
He thrust. His cock slid between her slippery legs and buried deep into her feminine heat. Pleasure shuddered through her, stealing her breath and her mind.
He watched her
carefully, canting her hips to take him deeper, working his way to her favorite pleasure spot until he hit home.
She came undone.
He plunged into her slick channel, taking her from peak to peak, slamming his cock into her dripping, clenching, orgasm-wracked channel. She clung onto him like a fire in the darkness. He was her safety, her master, her worshipper. He stole her breath, her will, and her soul.
But she’d give it all to him anyway.
His control finally broke and he poured his release into her, sending her on one last soul-throbbing spasm of pleasure. He exhaled hard and collapsed on an elbow next to her, his masculine sweat mingling with hers just as their hearts and souls had mingled.
Outside, evening turned the sky pink and festive lights began to flicker on. Her stomach growled.
He rose. “Hungry already?”
“It’s been at least an hour since Melody’s power bar.”
He stroked her breasts, careful of the nursing-sensitive nipples. “Want me to get you a snack?”
“I’m saving myself for the chocolate fountain.”
Amy did a brief cleanup in the palatial bathroom, made a basic attempt to tidy her hair, and then wiggled back into her shaperwear and dress. Pyro appeared in the doorway fastening a new suit that looked close enough to the old that only his siblings — clothing company owners, all — would probably notice the difference. He helped her do up the dress, and then they sailed off the balcony and descended into the fairy-lit inner courtyard of the already-started reception party.
All of their guests had returned and been joined by hundreds more — all the dragon employees of the Onyx Corporation and Carnelian Clothiers had been invited, as had many of Pyro’s worldwide human friends and the members of Amy’s extended family who hadn’t cared to sit through an intimate wedding ceremony but couldn’t refuse a swank night in a remodeled medieval castle on the French Riviera.
One of Pyro’s human friends provided the club music for dancing. In addition to a chocolate fountain, they had real food and a dessert bar. Pyro removed and threw Amy’s garter, and tall Josh caught it, avoiding Melody’s raised brows with a pleased laugh and embarrassed flush. They were actually engaged already, but it was supposed to be a secret.
Amy threw her bouquet. Amber flew up in the air, over the crowd of jostling women, to catch it.
“Is that allowed?” Amy’s mother asked, bouncing a newly-awakened and bright-eyed Brigid on her shoulder. “Flying like that.”
“I’m not going to tell her no.” Pyro gripped the back of his neck as the naturally fire-breathing female archly claimed her prize. “Anyway, she’s already married.”
They cut the fabulous, five-tier, peach roses and pearl-studded wedding cake. Amy reminded Pyro that she’d threatened him with bodily harm if he should dare to try any shenanigans.
“My dad used to be in an Irish gang,” she whispered, the rose-flavored champagne cake and gold-dusted fondant in one hand. “The rest of my relatives are here too. They know how to use a shillelagh. And I will get in the first hit.”
He grinned in a way that was not at all reassuring and drew her close to whisper in her ear. “Smearing you with champagne, cake, and frosting is for later.”
Her mouth dropped open.
His grin widened and he used her moment of surprise to fill her mouth with a delectable morsel of sweet frosted promises.
The wedding cake was a big hit, but the bigger hit yet was Melody’s sculpted dragon Groom Cake. After guests and the official photographer had taken about a million photos, their caterers cut into it and began the service.
“There now.” Amy’s mom hugged Melody’s shoulders. “It all turned out right in the end.”
Amy sidled up to them. “What do you mean?”
“Huh? Oh.” Melody rubbed her even more exhausted eyes. “I got into trouble with ovens.”
“Ovens?”
The whole story came out. Melody had worked on her cake sculpting technique for weeks and even took a class just for their wedding. But the night before, when she’d been all ready, the new pan she’d bought wouldn’t fit into her oven.
“I had to put it on the lowest rack and then I couldn’t close the door,” she explained.
So at midnight, she’d driven to Josh’s house, but his oven was even smaller, so she’d called Amy’s parents in tears, waking them to use their oven, and was still furiously frosting when it was time to leave for the chapel.
“You pulled an all-nighter for our Groom’s Cake?” Amy hugged Melody. “I’m so, so sorry!”
“It’s okay.” She returned the hug, her exhausted gaze on the disappearing dragon. “It was worth it.”
Pyro’s best man stood behind them, licking the frosting off his fork. “So that’s your secret ingredient.”
“Huh?”
“Tears.” He teased her wickedly. “Despair and extra salt make the cake delicious.”
In her exhausted state, Melody gasped as though she actually believed him. “You can taste them?”
He clearly looked like he was going to string her along. Like Pyro, he enjoyed a little harmless teasing.
Amy stepped in. “You can’t. He’s being facetious.”
“Oh, thank god.” She scrubbed her cheeks. “I don’t think I got any tears actually in the cake, but I couldn’t ruin your big day the way I almost ruined everything else, and—”
“You brought us together,” Amy said firmly, stopping Melody from once more going down the guilty tracks of trying to protect the wrong people and almost getting Pyro killed. “And, I don’t see anyone complaining.”
In fact, while the wedding cake was clearly appreciated, wars were starting over guests trying to get a second piece of Melody’s gooey red velvet fudge cake with dense espresso frosting.
Melody’s worries slightly lifted. “I was thinking, maybe if the Etsy shop doesn’t work out, I might someday try professional baking. With a bigger oven, of course.”
Amy had been trying to talk her into it for nearly their entire friendship. “Do it!”
“Well, maybe…”
Pyro swooped in and grabbed Amy. “Come. It’s time for the first dance.”
“Everyone’s been dancing already,” she said with a laugh, but the flashing lights dimmed and romantic music started.
Pyro floated her to the dance floor while all the guests — who weren’t fighting for cake — quieted and moved to the side.
The opening bars of I’ve Had the Time of My Life filled her heart with rightness. A movie about a responsible girl and a hot guy from the wrong side of the tracks? She’d forced Pyro to watch Dirty Dancing to “learn more about human culture,” but really just because she’d wanted to snuggle with him romantically on the couch. Like so many things she did, he’d paid attention and taken her dreams to heart.
“Well, Mrs. Onyx.” He floated her across the dance floor, both literally and figuratively, holding her tight to his body as he waltzed her through the unfamiliar steps. “Was today everything you dreamed?”
“No.”
He tilted his head. Surprise gave way to new determination. “What can I—”
She pressed his lips with her index finger. “It was even better.”
He smiled slowly. She didn’t tease him as often as he teased her, but he was a good sport about it when she did.
“So,” she continued light conversation, “what do you think the rest of our life is going to be like? Routine?”
“I’m okay with that.”
But she actually guessed it was going to be just like their wedding. Everything they dreamed … and even better.
Thanks so much for reading! If you enjoyed this short story, please leave a review. See you in the next book!
STARLA
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Also by Starla Night
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p; Lords of Atlantis
Seduced by the Sea Lord
Sacrificed to the Sea Lord
Enslaved by the Sea Lord
Stolen by the Sea Lord
Surrendering to the Sea Lord (2018)
Spellbound by the Sea Lord (2018)
Secrets of the Sea Lord (2019?)
7 Virgin Brides for 7 Weredragon Billionaires
Dragon VIP: Malachite
Dragon VIP: Pyrochlore
Dragon VIP: Kyanite (2018)
Dragon VIP: Amber (2018)
Dragon VIP: Jasper (2018?)
Dragon VIP: Alexandrite (2019)
Dragon VIP: Flint (2019)
— Novella —
Dragon VIP: Syenite
Dragon VIP: Peridot
About the Author
USA Today bestselling author Starla Night was born on a hot July at midnight. She hikes, scuba dives, and swims naked in the ocean. She writes about hot, alpha merman shifters at StarlaNight.com.
She is a secret agent of the Mer-Human Alliance.
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