by Meg Ripley
“God, I can feel you,” he said on a sharp intake of breath, and she knew he didn’t mean her mouth or her hands. He meant he could feel the fire roaring through her. A fire that couldn’t be quenched or drowned. A fire that could only be stopped with matching flames.
Mads jerked her from him and lifted her like she weighed no more than a doll, carrying her the short distance to his desk. She spread out over the wide, smooth mahogany expanse and drew him as close as she could.
“I want to see.”
“What do you want to see, mein Schatz?” He leaned in close, his mouth moving over hers.
“My dragon.”
She felt his smile and then his broad wings filled her vision. They were still wounded from battle, but not truly damaged, and they were still majestic. She felt his shaft against her thigh, moving up her leg, and she unconsciously moved toward him, rocking closer. She knew she could never take his full length, but her pussy was so wet, quivering and ready that she didn’t stop the tip from sliding between her lips.
“My dragon,” she said between gritted teeth, thrusting her hips forward and impaling herself.
First, there was the sensation of stretching, a low burn that was only chased away by the other, immediate sense of relief. She bent her knees, bracing the bottom of her feet against the desk and thrust forward, claiming even more of him between her legs. It was too much but just enough, just right, and it felt so good, like she could never survive it and she could never get enough of it. Her body was made for his, and soon there was no twinge of pain, nothing to match the explosive pleasure she felt with every long, slow rock of her hips.
He was hers. Nothing, not even death, could claim him. He was hers to claim, take, and have. She didn’t know how to understand her new identity, what it meant to her and how it might change her, but she did understand this. The balance they found between them, the sense of the completion of one whole from two halves.
April’s body was fully unleashed, unlocked, unhindered. Wave after wave of pleasure rolled through her, finite and dazzling. She knew there was something more, though. A final release that she couldn’t quite conceptualize but she still raced towards. Her blood boiled and her skin pulled tight and she thought she might be on fire. She might have created actual sparks between their bodies and was being consumed by a glorious, merry haze. Eyes unseeing, she reached for him, fingers running over scales and talons and then his hands closed around hers.
Her eyes focused just as Mads thrust into her raw body, his velvety smooth shaft filling her to the hilt. His eyes were green when they met hers—no sign of the dragon at all. The moment between the gorgon and her dragon gave way to the touching of man and woman. She saw herself reflected in his eyes—beyond that, she saw a reverence she’d never experienced before. Wrapping herself around him, she pulled even closer, as close as she could, and buried her face in his neck as the final lightning bolt reverberated through her. She clenched down on him, holding him deep while she rode out the final crests of pleasure.
“Oh April…oh my sweet.” She felt him tense and tremble, felt the moment of his release like another shockwave through her. She shivered and jerked her hips, every incidental moment of contact an overload to her system.
****
Mads had been in possession of Dracheschloss for centuries, but it had been decades since he spent so much time there. Once the world rushed into modernity, with all its attendant comforts, Mads built himself a new empire of glass and steel, and a new throne, high on top of the world. And though he still could see the people scurrying like ants, he lived among them, enclosed by their laws and boundaries, surrounded by their humanity. He’d been content.
But with April secure in his arms, he felt free.
The castle was hers now. Perhaps it had always been. Perhaps he had conquered it not for glory, but so he could provide his mate with her own sanctuary. Perhaps she herself had claimed it from the moment the first stone was laid. She wore the face of a young woman, but Mads now believed her life began more than twenty-six years ago.
He gazed down at her, making a loving note of her slightly crooked nose, the little quirk of her lips, the dimple in her chin, the shape of her eyebrows, the flush of pink across her cheeks. She was an angel now, peaceful and sweet; nothing like the woman he’d seen in his library. The woman who had staked her claim on him and branded him for life. She had been living fire, writhing and welcoming. The heat from her body had been so overwhelming that for the first time, he hadn’t felt the fire burning him from the inside out.
She’d been so hot he now had a ring around the base of his cock—a slightly red circle to match the mark on her thigh.
He dropped his mouth to her cheek, closing his eyes and pausing to inhale the scent of her skin and her sleep. She was having pleasant dreams and not the nightmares he feared she would. Shifting against her, he wrapped his arm around her waist to pull her even closer, fighting the urge to shed his human appearance so he could enclose her with his wings. More and more, she brought out the dragon.
My dragon. Yes, her dragon, as this was now her castle. Even his life now belonged to her as she was the only reason he still existed. His memories of the fight were sketchy, and he didn’t know exactly how Savannah had bested him. He didn’t remember hitting the ground. He remembered only the cold—the frigid, bitter cold. A cold he thought he could still feel in the core of his bones. Just before the cold had frozen him forever, there was a single, glowing spark. And from that spark, life was allowed to return.
She moaned softly and shifted back, pushing her ass against his member. His body responded immediately, the mark throbbing to life. Within seconds, he was painfully hard and ready to take her again. With a low groan, he rolled onto his back, trying to get himself back under control, listening for the sounds of her waking. She continued sleeping, but no longer peacefully. Not quite. She moved until she found the heat of his body again, rolling over to lay across his chest, her head coming to rest on his shoulder.
“I think I’m dreaming about you,” she mumbled.
“Are you? Is it a good dream?”
“Mmmm.” She slid her hand down his body and grasped his dick. “I was dreaming about boats and suddenly—” She squeezed him, stroking from the top down. “Suddenly I see this.”
“Do you like boats?”
Her chuckle was throaty and sleepy. “Not as much as I like this.”
“Oh...oh.” Her fingers slid over the mark and the rest of the blood in his body rushed to his cock. Electricity spiraled from his balls to his throat and everything in between clenched with the anticipation of more. The contact had been so brief, but the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end.
“What was that?” She lifted her head, blinking the sleep from her eyes.
“It was…” He exhaled, cleared his throat and tried again. “It was something new.”
“What?”
He reached over and turned on the bedside lamp, casting enough light to show the delineation on his skin. She gasped, reaching out to touch him but pulling away at the last second. “What is that? Is it a burn?”
“A type of burn.”
“Does it hurt?”
“No more than the one on your thigh.”
“On my thigh?” Her eyes widened. “I did that to you?”
“Yes.” His hand went to her thigh. “Which is only fair.”
“Does it feel like mine feels?” She leaned forward, the tip of her tongue emerging to slide along the mark. His fingers immediately clenched into tight fists and for a moment he forgot how to breathe, or maybe he simply lost the ability due to the constriction around his chest. The heat of her tongue disappeared and he exhaled in a long, slow sigh, already craving more.
“I think that’s a yes,” she murmured.
He pulled on her shoulder, guiding her back up his body so he could claim her mouth. She threw her leg over his, straddling his hips, his cock sliding between her slick, swollen folds. She rocked her hi
ps, grinding against him as their tongues danced. Her nipples slid over his chest, hardening and drawing his attention.
“Honey, please,” he moaned against her mouth. Her skin was so soft, so welcoming and pliant that it only increased his need for her. He could have reached between them and angled his cock to drive into her, but that thought didn’t occur to him. He felt bound, tied in place by invisible ropes, completely at her mercy, willing to bend to her will in all things.
April broke the kiss and sat up, settling more firmly on his member. Her blonde silky hair was a tousled halo, her eyes still heavy with sleep, her lips full and bruised from the force of his kiss. She reached behind her to grip his shaft and reposition herself, rising to come down on his aching flesh. Inch by inch, she consumed him until she was fully seated, igniting the mark into a lit fuse.
She began to rock. Slowly at first, almost hesitantly, but it wasn’t a pace she could sustain. Not when he jerked his hips upward, begging her silently to move faster, harder; to ride him until they were both soaring. His eyes were half-lidded but marked every detail—the golden beauty of her face, the sway of her breasts, the rapid beating of her pulse. He’d tried to get her on top before, but this was the first time she’d been interested in the position, and he really hoped it wouldn’t be the last.
Especially since it freed his hands to explore every inch of her while she commanded the rhythm. He massaged her full breasts, weighing them against his palms, squeezing and stroking and god did he love the way they felt in his hands. He loved the solid feel of her against him, loved the shape and curves of her body as she rose above him, loved her rapid gasps and shouts that seemed to take her by surprise. Loved the way she tensed and her eyes widened when he found her clit, pressing his thumb over the sensitive tip and massaging with slow, careful intent.
“Oh...oh god...oh...oh my god…” Her body trembled around him, like the earth before a great quake. He could feel it building within her--he could hear it in her voice and sense it in the way she jerked, the way her rhythm altered, punctuated with short, rapid strokes. His balls pulled tight, the base of his spine tingling with warning that soon he would not be able to hold himself back. “Oh Mads.”
April slammed down one final time, her channel clenching and quivering around him as the pleasure swept through her. He rose to meet her, muscles pulling taut as he spent himself. She collapsed forward, falling into the safety of his arms, and they slowly came back to the earth together.
“I love you, mein Schatz.”
“I love you, my dragon.”
Sleep was already pulling her back, and this time he felt himself following her into the darkness. He closed his eyes and unconsciously tightened his hold on her, slipping away into dreams infused by his love’s scent, her warmth, and the peace she brought him.
THE END
Playing With Fire: Dragons Of The Darkblood Secret Society
I've always done my best to work hard and stand apart from my father's shadow, but it seemed like he was setting me up to fail. When he assigned me a new client, Adventure Isle—a run-down amusement park in the middle of nowhere—I knew I'd have to find the investor of a lifetime to succeed.
I was looking for a man with more money than sense. What I found was a man who had no money at all, but he did have a beautiful daughter, Shayne. A beautiful, ball-busting daughter that I wanted from the second I laid eyes on her.
She controls his money, but she controlled my heart from just about the moment we met. She called herself Mary and I never had a chance.
But just when I find myself in her bed, exactly where I want to be, she gets the call. Her father is dead; killed by a dragon.
And things are about to get a whole lot more complicated when the woman of my dreams learns that I'm a dragon, too.
With a long sigh, Jason Cross dropped into the brown leather chair at the furthest end of the lounge, loosening his tie with one hand and tossing a folder aside with the other. Before the next breath, a waitress appeared at his side with a drink in hand.
"Thank you, Mia." He gulped it down with a single swallow and signaled his need for another.
Mia’s sharp eyes flickered over his strained face and she nodded, sauntering back to the bar at the same deliberate pace she always used. She did not work for tips and she couldn’t be fired, so she moved through life at her own speed. But she knew everybody’s drink, knew when to change it up, and knew when to lend a sympathetic ear.
"Hard day?"
Vincent Ryder helped himself to the seat across from Jason. Artist, speculator, investor, inventor, and general man about town, Vincent was a renaissance man who didn’t wait, or ask for, invitations. The constant smirk on his lips gave him an air of arrogance, but Jason wouldn’t call Vincent an arrogant man. He always backed up his big talk and he was a good man to have in your corner, so Jason was one of the few who didn’t find his smirk intolerable.
"Yeah, you could say that," Jason said.
Vincent reached for the discarded folder. "You have a new project." It wasn’t a question and he didn’t wait for Jason to invite him to have a look. He flipped through the first few pages, went back to the beginning, read them again, and then blinked at Jason.
"Exactly," Jason said.
"Why am I looking at a Ferris wheel and three children eating cotton candy?" He tilted his head. "This photo is at least twenty years old. Is that Ferris wheel still standing?"
"It’s twenty-five years old, and apparently, yes, it is."
Vincent frowned. "You couldn’t pay me to get on a Ferris wheel that old."
"Of course not. No one wants to ride anything that old. Keep looking. It gets better."
Vincent returned his attention to the folder, his frown becoming so deep it was almost comical as he studied the accompanying glossy photos. "Has your father gone crazy? This place should have been closed a decade ago."
At least a decade ago. Most of the rides were dilapidated; most of the booths had been boarded up. The remaining booths held "treasures" from a previous generation—knock-off toys and cheap stuffed animals that were losing the war with time. Frankly, the place looked more like a set from a horror movie about a theme park than a place anyone would want to take their family to.
"I don’t know. Maybe. This is apparently a completely legitimate account. What he was thinking when he took on the client, I can’t tell you."
"Maybe it’s some sort of hazing ritual?"
"After over a year in the company? It feels more like he’s setting me up for failure."
"Why would Damian want you to fail?"
The question brought him up short. Growing up in his family, the choice to become an investment banker really wasn't a choice at all. His great-grandfather had started the firm and the males of every generation to follow had just been funneled directly into the company. His cousins and brother took positions with perfunctory titles and almost no actual obligations, but generous compensation packages.
Jason chose a different route. Instead of going directly to his father after graduation, he took a job at a rival, albeit much smaller, firm. He took his mother’s maiden name and found a tiny apartment on the West Side, determined to rise through the ranks on his own. He imagined himself building an empire to rival his father’s and then his old man would finally be forced to respect him—to regard him as an equal.
Reality was a cold slap in the face six months later when his father’s firm bought his employer. The message was clear and rather than pushing back, Jason settled into his new job, did his work, and kept his head down.
His hard work paid off, and three years after his forced employment with the firm, he was on the cusp of a huge promotion—one he was certain he earned. The only person who knew his true identity was his father, and his father’s input was not necessary for this next step. The only thing that could thwart his aspirations was a giant, Ferris-wheel shaped blot on his record. A failure at this pivotal time could change the committee’s mind, delaying the promo
tion, or worse, tabling it indefinitely.
"Maybe he doesn’t want me to get the promotion. Maybe he’s still mad I snubbed him five years ago. Maybe he wants to teach me a lesson."
"What lesson is that?"
Jason accepted the second shot of whiskey from Mia and gulped it down, tingling from his nose to his toes. "That I’ll never be able to escape his hold. I’ll work where he wants me to work and I’ll do it on his terms at his pace and there’s not a damned thing I can do about it."
Vincent swirled his drink over his ice cubes and took a long swallow. "Maybe you should teach him a lesson."
"What do you mean?"
"If this is about controlling you, show the old man that it’s going to take a lot more than this, frankly transparent, attempt at professional sabotage."
Vincent flipped through the images and financial statements again, his eyes narrowing thoughtfully. Mia appeared at Jason's side again, this time presenting him with a slim, black folder.
"What? No more whiskey?"
"You need to keep your wits about you," she said before returning to the shadows behind the bar.
Jason looked down at the folder, his fingers gliding over the embossed image of a medieval dragon, powerful and bulky, its wings like leather-encased wrought iron cages. Depictions of dragons from other cultures always amazed him with their willowy, serpentine bodies and squared, almost dog-like heads. There were rumors that those dragons still existed, but if so, they were deep in hiding, as encased in secrecy as Jason himself.
Jason opened the folder and looked at the paper inside. He scoffed and pulled it out of the folder, tossing it onto the table in front of him.
"The old man?" Vincent asked.
"Who else?" Jason craved another drink but Mia was right. He did need to keep his wits about him. “I just got away from him two hours ago, and he can't even wait until Monday to rub this in my face."
