Dragon VIP_Malachite

by Starla Night

  Cheryl would, of course, be very happy. Just like she had been last night, sliding her tight channel over his hard shaft as he plunged into her and brought her to ecstasy. His cock hardened again in preparation. Perhaps they would have sex again tonight. He was ready.

  No. He had to stay at the office until he decided on the next product launch.

  But he didn’t understand this lingerie idea.

  “Lingerie is good in the short run,” Darcy had said. “Long term, comfy pajamas are the best. But when a woman wants to look and feel sexy and powerful, she needs killer lingerie to knock a male dead.”

  Then he’d had to explain that killing and knocking males dead was a metaphor for sex, not something male dragons had serious fears about.

  If only the Carnelians hadn’t figured out the pajamas! Once Mal found the leak, he would bite their head off. And not in the human sense of the word, either.

  Amber entered his office during the quiet end of the ordinary work day. “You have the signed marriage application?”

  He showed her the folder. She had asked for it earlier and then flounced from the meeting after Darcy’s teasing before Mal could show his copy. “Signed, dated, and filed.”

  She studied it. “Where is Cheryl?”

  “She is taking command of her new lair.”

  Taking command of it, rubbing her scent all over it, marking it as hers. That is what any female would do. It pleased him to think of her there, in the lair he had built, making it ready for their dragonlets. Perhaps she was even cooking him dinner. Humans did such things for their mates. Darcy had told him so.

  Amber returned the application folder to his desk. She lingered as though she wished to talk, which was unusual. Normally the siblings limited their conversations to business. But it was still an improvement. Before Mal had gathered them together to embark on this enterprise, even the closest siblings had been flung to the far ends of the Empire and spoke less than once a year.

  “She is happy?” Amber finally asked.

  “Of course,” he growled, irritated that her question took the same direction as Darcy’s. Perhaps Darcy had spoken to her. “Why wouldn’t she be?”

  Amber didn’t reply. She perused the other folders spread across his desk.

  “I want to speak with her tomorrow,” she said.

  “Call her.”

  “Here.” Amber moved to the doorway. “In person. Mal.”

  His teeth clenched. With Cheryl in the building, he would be unable to concentrate. But he didn’t refuse Amber. She was a dominant, fire-breathing female. “Fine.”

  She nodded and left him to his work.

  When the sun had long descended and his shoulder blades itched intolerably, Mal finally stood and packed his research into a black, leather briefcase to continue at his house. No, at Cheryl’s lair now. He pushed open the door and stepped into the glass-encased shaft, secured the door behind him, and zoomed up, out, into the night air. The roof descended beneath him and the large disc-shaped belly of their spaceship floated overhead.

  He flew across the star-speckled sky. The itching increased. He wanted to release his wings and feel the night. Stretch, breathe, exist. Think not of charts and products and coins but of living, breathing, and Cheryl.

  But that was dangerous.

  And they would only need to be retracted again minutes later, so he suppressed the urges.

  The lights of the lair were dim and romantic. Cheryl curled into a plush chair beside one of the giant, stone fireplaces.

  He swelled with rightness. Returning to her felt good. Appropriate.

  A twinge unsettled him. Cheryl had not married him out of pity or to be nice. She was his wife. She was happy. She would not leave.

  He landed on the icy-crusted pad and strode into the lair.

  Cheryl stood with a cry. “You came back.”

  Well, of course he came back. This was his home too. But the warble in her voice and the wildness in her damp eyes needled him with worry. “What do you mean?”

  She raced across the floor and threw her arms around him. “You left me here all alone.”

  Her shoulders shook.

  He held her small softness. Something was wrong. Very wrong. “This is your home.”

  “No.” She sniffed and stepped back, pushing him away. The distance felt cold. “This isn’t.”

  With those three words, she rejected him and everything he built for her.

  She started crying again. “Take me home. Right now.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Mal looked thunderstruck.

  At least, she thought he did. It was hard to tell through her tears. She wiped her wet cheeks and waited for him to say something.

  But he didn’t.

  Had he really expected her to hang out at his house all day, like it was no big deal, sitting on a shelf until he got home? Did he think she had no feelings? Or life?

  Did he think of her at all?

  “This is your home,” he repeated, latching onto the argument he thought he could control.

  Next, he would claim up was down and black was white.

  “It’s a prison. And it’s yours.”

  He tried to reach out to her.

  She stepped back.

  He flexed his empty hands, growling, and slammed a fist into the stone wall beside his head. “We’re married, so that makes this lair yours. And it’s not a prison.”

  “Well, it did a pretty good job of keeping me in.”

  “So you could claim it.”

  He admitted it!

  “You abandoned me,” she blubbered. “You left me alone all day with nothing. And I’m in pain and it’s all your fault.”

  “You’re in pain? Where?” He crossed the distance in an instant, gripping her elbows and searching for her wounds, drawing her against his masculine-scented, taut skin.

  His presence was like a drug. Her heart calmed as she fell under his spell.

  If she allowed herself to get swept away by his mesmerizing appeal, passions would overtake her, and she’d get stuck.

  She fought him off. “Don’t.”

  He released her but growled, low and deep. A razor’s edge of pain scarred his rough voice. “Touch me.”

  “No.”

  “I need to heal your pain.”

  “Tough!” She hugged her elbows. The last thing she wanted right now was his kindness. She was mad! “It doesn’t even matter. Look, obviously I misunderstood. Last night was a mistake. Now, I just want to go home.”

  His eyes glowed green with fury. His control seemed to splinter. He roared. “This is your home!”

  “It so is not!” she shouted back. “I could never live in this horrible place. I can’t stand it another minute.”

  He huffed out, his anger giving way to surprise. Then, hurt. He gathered himself, hunching. “Why did you stay this long?”

  Now they reached the crux of her anger.

  “How would I leave?” she snapped.

  “Just go.”

  So infuriating. “Do you have a hot air balloon hidden in your basement?” she demanded. “Maybe a jet pack you forgot to tell me about in the closet? Or are you expecting me to roll off a cliff like some goofy cartoon character to reach a road?”

  He frowned.

  Right. He had no idea. He didn’t think about her at all.

  “Cheryl, we are married—”

  “Stop.” She hugged herself. “We’re not even married.”

  “You signed the marriage application.”

  “That means nothing. We can cancel it all right now.”

  “You can’t cancel. We are married by your human laws.”

  “Wrong.”

  His eyes bulged. “Wrong?”

  “We still have to say our vows in front of a licensed professional, like a pastor or a Justice of the Peace.” And she couldn’t imagine him promising to love and cherish her for all of his days. He couldn’t even love or cherish her for one. The vows would choke her mouth.
r />   “So, when you signed.” He spoke through gritted teeth. “You knew it didn’t have any meaning?”

  How dare he.

  She sucked in a breath, fighting the squeeze on her tightening throat.

  “You were just being nice?” he snarled. “You lied?”

  “You’re the one who knew it had no meaning,” she cried. “You’re the one who lied!”

  “We melded our bodies in the ritual of dragons. I completed my marriage to you.”

  “Melding our bodies? Like sex? So, dragons marry whoever they have sex with? And that’s it? That’s all the ‘dragon marriage ceremony’?”

  She actually wanted this to be true. She wanted him to say yes and tell her she was stuck, they were married, and he wanted this. Everything else was a misunderstanding. He did love her and wanted to marry her.

  He opened his mouth and shut it again. Guilt flashed in his eyes.

  Her heart sank heavy in her chest. She rubbed the painful weight.

  She’d had long hours as the day crept into night and the moon shone hollow upon the snow to consider her situation. Although she didn’t understand why Mal had picked her to tease, the end result was a torment. It was cruel, and she hadn’t thought him capable of cruelty. That betrayal hurt the worst of all.

  “That’s what I thought.” She hugged herself even tighter and stomped her feet. “We’re not married. Not by your standards and not by mine.”

  “Cheryl—”

  She turned away and lifted her chin, refusing him. “And you abandoned me here all day. You didn’t think about me.”

  He stood in front of her, helpless hands flexing. “Why didn’t you say something when you called?”

  “You hung up on me.”

  “I did not.”

  Seriously. He couldn’t lie to her face like this. She had frickin’ been there!

  “Yes, you did,” she said. “You didn’t have time for me and hung up.”

  “You asked what my plan was for us. I said we’d talk when I got home. And we’re talking. Like I said.”

  “Hours later.”

  “I’m running a billion-coin company. I can’t drop everything on a whim to plan our future.”

  “I asked what your plan was for me today,” she screamed, throwing her fists at the floor and stomping her feet. She wanted to smack him hard.

  He smartly backed up and gave her space.

  She seethed. “Which was apparently to abandon me with nothing.”

  “I left you in your new home,” he roared.

  “Which is a barren stone fortress that doesn’t even have food!”

  “What are you talking about? Of course it does.”

  Huh? She crossed her arms. “It has food? Where?”

  He snatched her wrist, overriding her protest, and marched her into the strangely bare stone room. “Here. In the kitchen.”

  Okay. Fine. She forced herself to ignore the strong, sensual slide of his fingers against her bare wrist or the answering kindle of warmth in her belly. “I see blank walls.”

  “Well.” He tsked and tugged her forward. “You have to activate them.”

  She stared up at his face. “And how do I do that?”

  He looked at her and blinked. Like suddenly he didn’t know either. His gaze dropped to her lips.

  Hot awareness flared in her belly.

  He focused on her with such intensity it stole her breath. His chiseled jaw was so beautiful. She wanted to stroke it. Run her fingertips along the sharp edge and follow it with her tongue.

  It would be so easy to give in.

  He leaned forward and dropped his mouth to her—

  “No.” She stopped him with a hand between their mouths. His stubble scraped her skin. “Wait.”

  His dark brows drew down. Hurt clouded his green eyes. And something darker. Betrayal.

  She wanted to comfort him. Let him kiss her until all the confusing sadness of today disappeared, and he made her feel loved again, and she did the same for him.

  But she wasn’t ready to forgive him yet. He hadn’t apologized. Locking her in, whether they were officially married or not, was not okay. She couldn’t roll over because he made her feel like shimmying out of her clothes.

  Her stomach rumbled like a troll in a cavern.

  Right.

  She put her hand over her empty belly. “Please recall I’m starving.”

  His frown shifted to the kitchen. He sucked in a breath, leaned back, and pressed her hand to the pristine granite wall.

  Gold beads of light emerged on the corners of the stone and zipped across the granite like sparks. They circled her fingerprints and made glowing impressions.

  “Claim these as yours and they will open to you.”

  From her waist down, the entire lower wall pushed out to form a counter. Her hand rested on the edge and her thumb touched the flat front.

  Her thumb print glowed again; sustained touch had activated it. A chunk of the cabinet pushed out to reveal a big drawer. It whooshed open to reveal fruit pops… waffles… and the entire frozen foods section of a grocery store.

  The first section of the drawer held racks of frozen beef, the next section held chicken, the next one fish, then vegetables, fruits, ice creams, other desserts, and coffee. The endless drawer slid across the entire kitchen and hit the other wall, and still more bins seemed hidden inside.

  “There’s frozen food,” she said unsteadily. “Uh, why is over half of it coffee beans?”

  “Freezing preserves freshness.” He touched her hand to the rim of the counter again and the drawer reversed itself, sliding back until it was flush with the wall. “What do you desire? Lobster? Brie?”

  Yes, those sounded delicious.

  He tugged her forward, sliding her hand along the cabinets, over the counter, and along the back wall. The kitchen came alive with zipping gold sparks. Things folded in on themselves and flipped around like secret bookshelves in Batman’s cave. They revealed an espresso machine, oven, movie theater popcorn maker, and slushie machine. And those were just the appliances she identified before a second touch flipped them away.

  He collected entrees, led her to the dining room, and set out dinner on the rustic table. The moment he touched the table, silverware and napkins emerged, and a cushion inflated to cup and warm her butt.

  Amazing.

  What next? Was the silverware going to do Beauty and the Beast acrobatics and start singing?

  They didn’t.

  She hacked off a chunk of the expensive French cheese and slathered it on a crisp, stone-ground wheat cracker.

  Mal walked to a wall and touched the flat stone. A cabinet of glassware emerged.

  She swallowed the cheese and forked a thick slice of crispy, oven-roasted chicken loaded with creamy rosemary mashed potatoes. Her mood improved. “How was I supposed to know everything was hidden in this house?”

  “By claiming it.”

  That’s what he had said before. She puzzled over the phrase.

  He touched the wall next to the glassware. A wine bar opened out of the wall and, behind it, stairs descended. He disappeared down them and, a minute later, returned with a dark red bottle with an old French label. He touched the edge of the bar and it closed over the stairs, returning to the seamless wall.

  The answer unexpectedly emerged. Much like the secrets of this house.

  “So when you left me here to ‘claim my house,’ you expected me to walk around and touch everything? Like, rub myself on the walls and floors and the furniture?”

  He nodded as though it were obvious.

  “You could have given me a hint,” she said.

  “It never occurred to me you wouldn’t do this.” He poured a glass of ruby red wine and placed it in front of her. “It’s the dragon way.”

  She crunched into another rich, cheese-covered cracker, drank the glass of fantastic wine, and broke into the freshly roasted garlic-buttered lobster. Perfection.

  And then she pointed out the obvious.
“You know I’m not a dragon.”

  He watched her eat warily without taking anything for himself. “Yes.”

  “Just checking.” She slathered another chicken slice with the aromatic potatoes. Her stomach thanked her for the food. It was the best she had ever eaten. “Because I did, you know, use your desk and your phone, and I sat in that armchair. And none of those had any secrets.”

  “The chair reclines.”

  “That’s not exactly a secret with armchairs.”

  He stared at her, palms open. “You selected the three pieces of furniture in the house that hold no secrets.”

  “And I also used your bed, and your bathroom, and—”

  “I was unclear.” The hint of growl returned to his voice. He offered the bottle. “Another glass?”

  God, yes.

  But hell, no. She couldn’t afford to go out drinking so she was a light-weight, and she definitely couldn’t afford to get drunk with him right now.

  Cheryl covered the mouth of the glass with her palm. “I need to get home.”

  His chin dropped. “You still wish to leave me?”

  “Yes.”

  For an instant, tiredness seemed to overwhelm him. He stared at the bottle in his hand. His eyes, already framed by dark shadows, seemed to sink deeper into exhaustion. His right shoulder shifted, and he flinched as though he were experiencing a muscle spasm between his taut shoulder blades.

  She wiped her buttery fingers on a napkin and rose.

  His chiseled jaw clenched. Muscling through his momentary pain. He swept from the room and his rough voice summoned her. “Time is wasting. We leave now.”

  See? She crumpled the napkin. He couldn’t wait to get rid of her. He was too busy.

  She was an afterthought.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Mal flew through the night. His woman curled around him where she belonged. Except he was returning her to the city where she would leave him forever.

  Cheryl rejected him.

  She hated his lair. She negated their marriage. She refused his touch, his passion, him.

  “I need to get my tablet,” she said, as the sprawling suburban lights clustered into the metropolis beneath them. “It’s at the school you kidnapped me from yesterday.”