by Lily Cahill
“We don’t have to…” he began. The thought of stopping now made him parts of him ache with frustration, but there was no alternative. He had told himself he’d protect her, and he would, no matter what.
Joy shook her head vehemently. “No, no, no. Not what I said. Just…gently, okay?” She smirked at him, just a playful little curl at the corner of her mouth. “At least this time around.”
He couldn’t help but return the look she was giving him. There would be a next time around, and another and another and another, because he knew now that no matter what, he would never let Joy Valdez go.
He moved forward, causing her to shuffle back until her calves hit the mattress. She tumbled onto it, lying back and splaying her perfect body over the comforter. He could feel his desire coursing through his veins—it was so much, and yet not enough. He wanted more of her. More of her skin, more of her needy, greedy noises, more of her warmth and more of every single part of her.
If she needed him to be gentle, then he would be gentle. He would make this evening all about her.
Vincent touched her knee, and her legs widened so that he could stand between them. He leaned over her, bracing himself on her hip while he worked at the button of her jeans. With aching slowness, he pulled down her zipper, then reached up to curl his fingers over her waistband. Joy arched her back and lifted her ass in the air, just an inch, so he could slide them down her long, long legs.
Now, there were acres of skin for him to admire. He picked up her foot and kissed one ankle, his lips moving up her calf to her knee, pausing only to taste the sensitive skin of her inner thigh. She was wet for him already. He could smell her desire, so close.
He skipped over her pussy, no matter how much it beckoned, to kiss at her belly button. Joy whined high in her throat at the omission, and he stifled a laugh against the soft curve of her stomach.
This was only a brief detour. He just wanted to taste every inch of her skin, first. She’d appreciate his attention to detail in the long run.
As his lips continued their progression up her torso, he lifted her shirt in tandem. Her hands joined his and pulled it up and over her head quickly—more quickly than he would have liked. He wanted to savor her, to enjoy every part of this process. Now that he had Joy Valdez spread out before him, he intended to take his time.
All of her skin was revealed to him at once, and he paused, frowning. There was a bruise spanning the length of her body in the shape of the seat belt. He brought his lips back down to her warm skin and traced them over the pattern.
Joy had other ideas. Her leg was thrown over the back of his where he hovered over her, and her hips were moving. He couldn’t tell whether this was a deliberate movement or an unconscious one—either way, her eagerness pleased him.
Still.
“You said you wanted gentle,” he said as he dipped his head to lap at her nipple over the fabric of her bra.
She moaned, arching toward his mouth. “Gentle, not…oh my God,” she panted as he sneaked a hand behind her back to undo the clasp, freeing her breasts. “Not dawdling.”
“If you can still think the word dawdling, I’m not doing this right.” He drew the straps down her arms and threw the bra across the room. Her breasts were round and full, heaving with everything breath. Vincent cupped one in his hand, rolling her nipple between his fingers.
“Trust me,” Joy gasped. “You really are.”
He circled over her nipple with his tongue, but he feared if he didn’t move on, he’d spend all evening lavishing attention on her perfect breasts. And, as Joy had so helpfully pointed out, she’d told him to be gentle, not to dawdle.
As his lips moved higher, tracing her collarbones and the base of her neck, his hand dipped low. He followed the curve of her body to her hip, then let it rest over her dripping sex. He could feel how wet she was for him, how she wanted him as bad as he wanted her, and a growl ripped out of his throat.
Mine.
He’d never felt possessive of another person before, not to this degree. But Joy was his, she belonged to him as a man and as a dragon.
Joy’s legs went wide as his fingers slipped between her lips, and she keened loudly when he rubbed his thumb over her clit.
“Yes, yes!” A string of nonsense left her lips. He didn’t think she’d be so quick to use the ‘dawdling’ now. “Vincent, please, please right there!”
Who was he to deny her when she asked so nicely?
He kept his thumb against her clitoris and then let two fingers plunge deep inside her, hot wetness all around him. She felt so tight around him as he pumped in and out, in and out. He could feel her legs twitching, could hear her desperate moans, but it wasn’t enough. It would never be enough.
He needed to be inside of her. Now.
He slid his fingers out of her, kissing lightly at her neck in apology as she let out a pitiful noise at the absence. Pushing himself up off the bed, he stood and undid his jeans, letting them fall to the floor beside hers. His boxers followed quickly.
The whole process took mere seconds, but it still felt like forever to be apart from her, not touching her skin. He covered her body with his own, reveling in the feeling of her against him, no more barriers, nothing between them but emotion and flesh. His cock was like iron; he couldn’t recall being this hard for someone in his entire life.
It pressed against Joy’s thigh as he moved up her body to kiss her. Her mouth was persistent against his own, even as her hands traveled down his sides and found his dick. He could feel her wriggling beneath him, trying to get him into position.
Vincent lifted his head away, laughing a bit. “Eager, are we?”
“Vincent, I swear to God, if you don’t—“
He decided he didn’t need to hear the threat. With one sure thrust of his hips, he was sheathed inside of her sweet, tight heat. They moaned in tandem, panting hot and heavy against each other’s mouths.
“That’s perfect,” she murmured, her voice raspy with need.
And she was right. She had never been more right, he would guess. Everything about the feel of her as he pulled out and slid back in, slow and deep, was absolutely perfect. Her legs curled around him, changing the angle and allowing him to drive deeper and deeper.
Her skin was like fire against his own, and she couldn’t control the words coming out of her mouth, half in Spanish, begging for more, more, more. He drove into her again and again, trying to be mindful of her tenderness but unable to stop himself from taking her. From the way she shivered, he thought she probably approved.
He brought a hand to her clit, rubbing gently in time with his thrusts. Her moans grew higher and higher, and she squeezed her eyes tight—she was going to come, and he couldn’t wait. He wanted to feel her tighten around his dick, squeezing him, knowing that he had given her that pleasure.
She broke over him, the sweet sound of her climax hitting him like a punch, and suddenly, he couldn’t control himself. His hips went hard and fast, the pleasure building at the bottom of his spine until it went taut and then snapped, and he called out her name.
It was perfect. She was perfect.
Chapter Seven
Joy
JOY WOKE UP TO SOME very pleasant aches—the tenderness of her breasts, the lingering sense memory of Vincent sliding in and out of her—and some not so pleasant ones. Her head was throbbing from where she had hit the car window, and her neck was stiff and sore from what she assumed was the aftereffects of whiplash.
What she would have given for something stronger than ibuprofen to ease the pain.
Her eyes fluttered open and she stretched, pleased to feel Vincent’s hard body pressed up against her back. Parts of him were very happy about their sleeping arrangement, it seemed, and she smiled to herself as she remembered the night before.
No one had ever touched her like that, had made her feel like that. When she’d come, her vision had blacked out for a moment. It had been unlike any other sexual experience in her life.
> And she wanted more of it. As soon as possible.
The previous day’s less pleasant events came flooding back to her, and Joy sighed. No matter how much she wanted to stay holed up in this shitty motel with Vincent and without clothes, it wasn’t possible for a multitude of reasons. For one, it was her sister’s wedding day. For another, someone out there was actively trying to kill Vincent.
Part of her wanted to push back against Vincent’s erection, or turn around and wake him with her mouth. It sounded fun, and just thinking about it made her feel like she was running ten degrees hotter. But it wasn’t a good idea. If they were going to get through this day, they needed to focus.
Safety first, then a wedding, and then they could have as much sex as they wanted. But the first two on that list had to be the priorities.
Unfortunately.
“Where are you going?” Vincent’s voice was a sleepy mumble as Joy sat up, moving out of his embrace.
His voice went straight to her heart. Nothing had ever felt like this before. Sure, she’d had boyfriends. She’d thought she’d been in love, a couple of times. But nothing had ever felt like this before. It was overwhelmingly right in a way she couldn’t quite describe.
“We need to get a move on,” she told him. She did not turn around to look at him because she knew the moment she did, she was lost. She wouldn’t be able to get out of bed again, not with him all sleep-warm and gorgeous and obviously wanting. “There’s some wedding or something we’re supposed to attend.”
Vincent gave an incoherent mumble and then sat up, rubbing at his eyes. His body almost glowed in the early morning light, showing off his perfect, tight muscles. She really needed to stop staring at him. He was making it very hard to make good choices.
“Have you called Felicity yet?” he asked as he stretched. His muscles were taut beneath his skin. Joy wanted to lick them.
Bad Joy, she scolded herself. Focus.
Taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly, Joy urged herself to cool down. “Not yet. I don’t suppose you think we can rent a car around here, do you?”
Vincent snorted. It was so inelegant, so human—the sound of it made something inside of Joy warm. Vincent didn’t always seem at home in his human form, had made reference to preferring his time as a dragon. It made him stiff and unapproachable, or so all the internet gossip said (of course she read the internet gossip, she wanted to know what those evil assholes were saying about her).
Now, here he was, naked in bed, smiling softly up at her, barely awake and already wanting her. He was being himself, his human self, and he didn’t seem in the least uncomfortable. She loved it.
But how to put that into words? How was she supposed to sum up what it was about all of this that made her so happy? Was there a way to say it without sounding clingy, or too emotional, or crazy? Objectively, she thought she ought to feel like those things described her perfectly. But it wasn’t true, she knew it in her heart.
This was something special. He was something special.
“Right,” she continued, hoping she didn’t sound as if she’d just been contemplating terribly mushy thoughts. “So, do you have any ideas on how to get to the wedding?”
Vincent grimaced. “Not one I like.”
Twenty minutes later, Joy hung up the phone with a sigh. “Felicity said that Blayze is leaving now to pick us up, and that Ramona is staying to help with wedding stuff, so there’s actually a possibility he might make it here on time.”
“Arryn couldn’t come instead?”
Joy laughed at his disappointed tone. “Apparently, she thought that Arryn would have a more calming effect on Damien. And probably everyone else, in general.”
“It’s hard to argue with that logic,” he said, shaking his head. “So we have, what, a few hours?”
“An hour and a half for a normal driver,” she said, sinking down on the bed. “But he actually picked me up from the hospital when I got out of rehab, so I know for a fact that he’s a maniac behind the wheel. If it takes him more than an hour, I’ll be surprised.”
Vincent sat beside her, reaching up and tucking a stray strand of her hand behind her ear. His fingers lingered there, so soft, and she closed her eyes, soaking in the warmth of his touch.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t pick you up,” he told her. “I was supposed to, but Arryn’s car stalled a few miles outside of town.” He huffed out a laugh. “We could have met weeks ago.”
Her heart leapt up her throat. She had to tell him how she felt. It was too overwhelming to keep to herself for another minute.
“Vincent ….”
“I think we need to talk,” he interrupted. His hand fell away, and she immediately felt bereft without it. “There’s … something I think I ought to tell you.”
He sounded nervous, and Joy felt her body tighten up. Why was he suddenly so tense, when a moment ago she’d just been thinking she’d never seen him look so relaxed?
“My brothers—well, Damien and Blayze, they…” He trailed off and shook his head. “I’m saying this wrong. There’s an old story. A fairy tale, about dragons. Timonius and Grizelda. Have you ever heard it?”
Joy furrowed her brow. What did this have to do with anything? “I don’t know much about fairy tales unless they’ve been made into an animated film with an accompanying Broadway musical.”
A smile fluttered at the corner of Vincent’s mouth. “Yeah, I think Disney skipped this one. It’s—it basically says that there’s one person out there for every dragon shifter. Dragon shifters are mostly male, of course, but there have been a few notable exceptions, and—“
“Vincent,” she cut in. “Your point?”
“Right. My point. Well, it’s a story, you know, but it’s based on true events, and now—now we think it might be more than a story. My brothers and me, I mean. Because both Damien and Blayze have found these women, and it’s been sort of—well, I mean. You’ve seen it. It’s incredible.”
He wasn’t looking at her. His eyes were staring down at the carpet, and that made something in Joy’s chest twist painfully. Why was he avoiding eye contact?
Her stomach dropped to her feet as things came together with a sudden clarity.
Vincent had told her last night that he’d never felt this way before, but now that they’d slept together, he had to know that these feelings, however strong right now, were temporary. There was someone else out there, someone who wasn’t a chubby ex-drug addict, someone who deserved him. He couldn’t even look her in the eye to tell her, he was so embarrassed.
Tears rushed to Joy’s eyes, but she stubbornly blinked them back. There was no use in crying.
“I understand,” she said, and got to her feet. She walked a few steps away from the bed, leaving her back toward Vincent. She couldn’t look at him, not when it felt like her heart was splitting open in her chest.
His eyes were staring holes into her back, but she didn’t turn around. She needed to be selfish about this.
God, it would be easier if she could take some Pixie Dust. It was hard to care when she was high, and right now, caring sounded ideal.
Vincent’s voice was soft when he asked, “You do?”
Joy swallowed down the pain rising up through her throat and nodded. She allowed herself one moment to collect herself. Just one moment, and then she turned.
If this was really happening, then she needed to leave this conversation with a little dignity.
“It’s fine, Vincent. Things happen, people sleep together. It’s not a big deal.”
Vincent’s brow furrowed, and he frowned. It was almost adorable, that expression on such a tough, rugged-looking man’s face. It did not make her façade any easier to maintain. Luckily, she had years of practice, thanks to being in the public eye.
“Not a big deal,” he repeated, sounding strangely flat.
“I mean, it was fun. It was really fun. But it’s probably best if it doesn’t happen again.” The next words felt like a knife to the heart, but sh
e forced them out of her mouth, anyway. “We can still be friends, if you want.”
Vincent looked up at her, and that furrowed brow was gone. His face was as flat and blank as his voice, his expression guarded from her. He was the unapproachable man everyone else saw, now, and that hurt more than anything else. She’d been given a glimpse of his true self, and that was all she would ever have.
“Friends,” he said. Shaking his head, he stood and began to hurriedly put on his clothes. He moved toward the hallway. “Excuse me.”
He didn’t slam the door as he left, but she felt like he had, all the same.
She didn’t want to hurt him. She hated that this was painful for him, too. But it was a relief, in a way, to be alone. As soon as he was gone, she gave in to the urge she’d been fighting. She let the tears she’d held at bay spring forth.
They ran down her cheeks; it felt like she had a never ending supply of them. But she knew she couldn’t cry forever. She needed to pick herself back up, smile, support her sister. There was a wedding to go to, and she was not going to let her personal drama ruin her sister’s big day. Felicity deserved better.
A half-hour later, Joy’s face was dry and she was clean, her hair drying in wet lanks around her face. It never dried quite right without a blow dryer. She still didn’t have any clean clothing, but it didn’t matter. Felicity would magic her something together—she probably already had. Even on her wedding day, Felicity was probably more organized and put together than Joy was.
Maybe if she had been a little more mature, she would have been better for Vincent…
She shook the thought way. Ultimately, it didn’t matter why she wasn’t Vincent’s one great love, it just mattered that she wasn’t. It was something she would have to dwell on some other time. There was too much hanging over her head at the moment—Vincent’s safety was more important than her hurt feelings, and so was Felicity’s wedding.
She could be heartbroken tomorrow. She just didn’t have time for it today.
She was stepping back into her shoes when the door to the room opened and Vincent stepped inside. He didn’t cross to be closer to her, didn’t look at her directly. He kept his eyes focused somewhere over her shoulder.
