by Lori Devoti
Joarr stepped back, so he could study the witch. She moved to the side, watching him, too. They were like two cats deciding when to pounce.
He held out his hand. “In the human world, I believe they would shake now.”
She glanced at him from the corner of her eye. “Seems like overkill.”
He took a step forward. His knee pressed against hers. “Humor me.”
She tilted her chin. “I could, I suppose.”
“Well, then…” He leaned down and plucked her hand from her lap, stroked his fingers over the fine bones visible beneath her skin. “So soft. You’re exactly as you were when I last saw you.”
“As are you.”
It was both compliment and insult on both of their parts. Joarr smiled. Then he leaned down to capture her lips with his.
He expected her to resist, or at least play at resisting, but instead she grabbed him by the back of the head and jerked him onto the bed beside her.
He didn’t object.
Her lips pressed against his. He opened his mouth and let her tongue find his, while his hands roamed her body. Her loose shirt gaped around her shoulders. He pulled it down, baring the tops of her breasts. He moved his lips from hers to her neck, flicked his tongue out, tasting her. Her skin was warm now. The glow that he’d noticed on her face seemed to cover her body. Her scent was stronger, too. He inhaled, wondering how she could smell so fresh after days in his cavern followed by hours here in this dingy room.
The bed beneath them creaked, as if reminding him where they were and how bad the conditions were. He pulled her against him and turned onto his back so she was shielded from the questionable linens by his body. Her skirt bunched around her waist; she straddled him. Her golden hair hung like a curtain over one shoulder and touched the mattress beside his face.
She ran her hands over his shirt and slipped the tiny buttons from their holes. “Can you remove them yourself?” she asked.
Without shifting, she meant. He shook his head no, and shoved her shirt up and over her head. Her skin was smooth and pale, but with the glow he’d noticed earlier—almost as if someone had sprinkled a bag of his gold dust over her body. And her breasts…were perfect. Round with peach tips and a tiny mole that lay just on the inside of one, the left one…over her heart. He leaned up and kissed it.
She laughed. “My flaw. You found it.”
He kissed it again. “A pearl is a flaw to the oyster.” He tugged her hips closer, sitting up as he did. She was facing him now, her eyes staring directly into his.
She draped her arms over his shoulders. “I don’t think you believe that.”
He paused, surprised. “Of course I do. I value everything.”
“Then why is your treasure all gold and jewels?”
He cocked his head, not understanding her at first. “My treasure is everything I own. You only saw the gold and jewels. The rest, the stone from a Svartalfaheim mine, the brick from a human street, even the leg from a dwarf’s discarded chair—I value them all. All are my treasure. Dragons may be greedy, but we value each thing for what it has to offer—not what some world or being says it is worth.”
“Worth is in the eye of the beholder?” she murmured.
“Of course, and I see worth in everything, beauty in everything. Why else would it be so hard to let anything go?”
* * *
Joarr’s words disturbed Amma. She’d been half joking when she’d mentioned her mole, and half not. Neither of her sisters had any imperfections—not a mole, a wrinkle, not even a freckle. They were perfect from head to toe.
The mole that he had kissed had been one cause of her great quest, one reason she’d stolen his chalice and traded it to the Collector. It had been one of the signs that she wasn’t like her sisters, wasn’t perfect. One more reason to find out who she was and where she’d come from.
She’d hoped she’d find something great, something that made up for the ruthless determination and sense of self her sisters had and she lacked.
But she hadn’t. She’d found nothing but outrage and hurt.
As if sensing her distress, Joarr pushed his fingers into her hair, lifting it off her skin. Then trailed kisses down her neck. “I love your mole,” he murmured. “I have never seen anything more perfect unless—” he kissed the hollow of her throat “—it would be your skin. Or perhaps—” he trailed his lips up her neck, pressed a tiny kiss, no more than a peck, against the corner of her mouth “—your lips. But then there are your eyes.”
She closed her eyes. He kissed each closed lid. “They are like nothing I’ve ever seen before, and your hair.” He wound the locks around one hand and stared at them as if they had turned to pure gold under his touch. “I would trade a mine filled with gold for such treasure.”
Her gaze darted over his face, not sure if he was playing with her or was serious, but when he turned his blue gaze toward her she saw the truth in his eyes. There was no lie there, not even a tease. Just pure admiration.
She blew out a breath, placed her hands on his shoulders and shoved him backward onto the bed. “Enough talking,” she murmured.
His shirt was completely open now. She pushed it to the side and ran her palm over the hard muscles of his chest. She had been with a number of males, both magical and mundane, but she had never been with anyone who excited her as much as the dragon. He was attractive, of course. She had never met a forandre who wasn’t. But Joarr also oozed power, and not just magical. He had a confidence that could only come with being one of the oldest, most revered beings that existed.
Who didn’t want to capture a dragon? Who wouldn’t love to bed one?
But Amma’s attraction to Joarr went past that, or she was beginning to believe it did. He talked of treasure and that is how he made her feel—rare, special, like no other female existed who could compete with her. And while she told herself the same, there was something about the glow in Joarr’s eyes that made her actually believe it.
Her hands on either side of him, she leaned down and twirled her tongue around his nipple. His hands moved to her back, his thumbs ran along her rib cage until he found the undersides of her breasts.
She breathed out, warm air on the skin she’d just moistened. He placed his hand behind her head and pulled her lips to his. His lips firm, his kiss was strong and possessive. Heat shot through Amma. She trailed her fingers down his chest, her nails scraping his skin.
His dress pants were already undone, but her skirt was still wrapped around her legs, constricting her movement. She jerked the tie at her waist loose and wiggled to free herself.
He didn’t seem to notice, kept kissing her, his tongue moving slowly and sensuously around her mouth. Then his hands found her breasts. Heat poured from his palms; his thumbs flicked over her nipples. She moaned and squirmed until she’d shoved her skirt off her body and forced her underwear to follow. Still kissing her lips and kneading her breasts, he lifted his hips. She tugged his pants free, too. He wore no underwear; she wasn’t surprised. The skin beneath his pants was smooth and radiated heat like a fire burned inside him. Which she supposed it did. She didn’t understand where dragons got their fire, if they stored it like she stored magic or created it as the need arose.
Right now she didn’t care. She was only interested in having him inside her—warm and pulsing. Pulling in and out, driving her passion to the point where she might explode.
And magic—there would be magic. She should siphon what she could; caught up in their lovemaking, Joarr wouldn’t notice. He would be too lost in the pleasure.
But as he moved his mouth from hers, placed his lips over her breast and rolled his tongue over her nipple, she realized she was lost already. She didn’t care about pulling magic. That would have to wait. All she cared about right now was being with Joarr and experiencing the magic of the moment, not stealing some to use later.
When they both were naked, he ran his hands up her sides. His warmth seeped into her. Without thinking, she returned the favor
, slid her hands down his, over his arms and onto his chest, power flowing from her palms as she did. She didn’t have fire to offer like he did, but she had the magic she’d pulled earlier. It seemed natural to share. She formed it into something soft and warm in her mind. Surprise lit his face; he smiled and his blue eyes darkened.
His entire body radiated heat. Sweat trickled between her breasts. He lapped at it. A new bead formed; he lapped at it, too, lifting her up so he could trace its path down her torso. As he held her almost overhead, he buried his face in the curls that covered her sex and breathed into her core.
His breath filled her, teased and tickled her all at the same time. She squirmed, the feeling so intense it made her uncomfortable—too intense. Her breasts tingled; her sex tightened. He swirled his tongue over the nub that was hidden there and blew again. Her head fell back and her back arched. Caught up in pleasure, she couldn’t hold on to him any longer, was dependent on his strength keeping her in place—and he didn’t weaken, kept her there, his face pressed against her sex, his breath filling and teasing until her own breaths came in fast puffs and her heart thumped inside her chest.
Hot and wet and desperate for him to fill her, she let her head fall forward and thrust her hands into his hair.
“Joarr,” she rasped.
He didn’t stop. Another wave rolled over her. She squirmed against him. “Joarr.” Again and again, he flicked his tongue over her. Then as she quivered with release, he lowered her down, positioned her so she was poised above his rigid sex.
Struggling to gain control of her pounding heart, she pulled in breaths and knelt over him. He grabbed her by the hips and positioned her body so the tip of his sex brushed hers. Then slowly he edged inside her.
Her body tingled…with magic. As their arousal grew, magic swelled around them. It was everywhere. With each breath, she pulled it into her lungs. As he slid deeper inside her, it touched her there, too. Caused her body to quiver and her hands to shake. She didn’t have to pull power. Their union seemed to be making it; for the first time in her life, Amma felt as if she were creating magic, not just stealing another’s.
She felt strong. Stronger than she had ever felt before, even when her stores were full. This new sensation, from creating rather than stealing…she’d never imagined how incredible it would feel. She’d never imagined it was even possible.
How was it possible? The question tickled at the edge of her consciousness. Perhaps it was just a trick of her mind, swathed in so much pleasure she couldn’t discern where Joarr’s actions left off and hers began.
Beneath her, Joarr moved and the question was quickly forgotten. He was fully inside her now. She pressed her palms into his chest and concentrated on moving her body up and down, on the delicious slide of his sex in and out.
Power sizzled against her palms. She released it as heat…fire. She could see her palms glowing red, but felt no pain, and Joarr didn’t seem to, either. Instead he seemed impassioned. His tempo increased, the blaze in his eyes burning so bright Amma couldn’t look away.
“Let it go,” he murmured. “Don’t hold back.”
Without asking she knew what he meant. He wanted her magic, wanted her to unleash whatever she still held inside.
She shouldn’t; she needed it if she wanted to escape him. She bit her lip, one tiny bit of logic holding out, screaming at her not to give in.
He lifted her, then lowered her again. Her body fully encased his length, and she knew she couldn’t resist, knew her orgasm was upon her. It was now or never. She had to choose. Logic or passion.
With a scream, she chose. She unleashed every bit of magic that had built up inside her. Twin streams, red then blue, poured from her palms into his chest. Her body quivered, her back arched and Joarr’s did the same.
Together they found their release. Joarr poured out his heat while Amma let her magic flow. Pleasure swirled around her, pounded into her, so intense it verged on pain. Then when they both were physically and magically spent, she collapsed on top of him, her heart beating loudly and her magic completely drained.
She closed her eyes and folded her fingers against her palms.
Stupid. So stupid.
Joarr reached up to stroke her hair, then pulled it back from her face. She couldn’t look at him; she was too overwhelmed, didn’t understand what had happened, why she had lost herself, how she had given up her goal so easily.
“You shared your fire,” he murmured. “I didn’t know…” He ran his fingers down her arm. She pressed her face against his chest, wished she could pull her hair back over her face, hide. She’d never felt so exposed. “Thank you,” he finished. Then he leaned up and pressed a kiss to her forehead.
Amma froze. Thank you. She’d never had anyone thank her for anything before. Maybe because she had never done anything for anyone before. She and her sisters took. They didn’t give or ask. But she realized, not anymore. She’d broken that pattern.
She placed a hand over her mole. Her sisters would never understand this.
Her face pressed against Joarr’s chest, she breathed in his spicy scent. Funny, even though she knew she had just wasted all the magic she had struggled to store, she didn’t feel as if she’d lost anything. This seemed to be becoming a trend when she was around Joarr. One she needed to break.
Joarr wrapped his arm around her, his hand cupping her hip. And she relaxed against him. She stopped her mind from wandering to her sisters and what they would think, stopped her mind from wandering at all. She just enjoyed where she was and the heat that still wrapped around her and Joarr like a cocoon.
* * *
Joarr lay on the stained bedclothes with Amma draped across his body. She had shared her magic. He was shocked. He’d wanted it, but hadn’t expected it. He would never have dreamed this witch, who had only stolen from him and lied to him before, would do such a thing. Magic was precious to a witch—much more precious than a dragon’s heat or cold.
A dragon could produce new fire and ice on a whim, but magic for a witch? Especially a witch in Amma’s position who had been completely drained…
Sharing her magic was a gift. A gift she had chosen to give him. It swirled inside him, stoking his fires to degrees he’d never reached before.
With Amma’s magic pouring into him, he could have melted rock, turned the world around them into molten lava. Or frozen the boiling pits of Muspelheim.
With Amma’s magic pouring into him, he could do anything.
Did she realize that?
He doubted it, but still, the sharing had made the sex into more than just an act. Made it into a true union, a melding of their powers, something only dragons did as far as he knew.
He ran his fingers down her spine. She shivered. Without stopping his movements, he raised the temperature of the fire inside him and warmed her with his body. She sighed and relaxed against him.
He realized then she wasn’t just quiet; she was asleep. For how long? And once she awoke, then what? Would they discuss what had happened? Or pretend it hadn’t?
Did the sharing mean as much to her as it did to a dragon?
He knew she wouldn’t tell him, not unless he asked. And he wouldn’t.
Because he didn’t want to say it out loud, didn’t want the rule of the Ormar hanging over them. Melding was yet another thing regulated by the dragon army. The power it created was too intense and made the dragons involved too strong. Because of that, dragons melded only once and then they separated. Any children that came from the union were divided—boys to the males, girls to the females—and the adults, the lovers, were never allowed to be together again.
