How to Love Your Dragon

by Lexxie Couper

  Freya took another sip then set it aside, satisfied the world had become a lovely amber haze of fuzzy. She turned her back to Petra to see Courtland boasting to his pig friends about their mate, and burped again, wiping the back of her hand over her mouth.

  Claire leaned in low, putting her arm around Freya’s shoulders and pulling her in close. “You’re going to puke.”

  Freya nodded. Yeah. The first burp was usually her sign. “Good. Make sure you park me in front of that pig. I want to graffiti his beer gut with my vomit.”

  Claire squeezed her shoulders harder. “Freya, from experience, I suggest you put a sock in it. Let me take you home and you can rant and carry on all you like, but not here.”

  She hated when Claire was right. Even in the beginnings of a serious buzz, Freya knew she was right. Knew it was be dangerous to carry on like this. Knew it could come back to bite her in the ass. But mostly, she didn’t care. If it landed her in one of the prison camps, at least she wouldn’t be mated to Courtland Dodd.

  “Freya!” Claire hissed. “One last opportunity to move of your own accord or I’m carrying your drunk butt outta here. Over my shoulder, fireman-style, so everyone can see the holes in the ass of your ratty sweats.”

  “The horror.” Freya rolled her eyes at Claire, blindly reaching for the glass and guzzling the remainder of her whiskey, then grabbing her coat and throwing it on before she let her best friend lead her out of Ahab’s.

  Claire did a good job of weaving in and out of the crowd, keeping Freya close and taking the back door exit to the parking lot.

  Setting her against the wall of the back of the bar, Claire put her hands on her hips and stared down at her with a motherly glare. “Did you drive?”

  Freya dug around in her coat pocket, fishing for her keys with no luck. She felt more than buzzed now, but it wasn’t the usual buzz good whiskey gave her. It was different, but actually rather pleasant, almost like looking at everything through a Vaseline-covered lens.

  Finally, she gave up and struggled out of her jacket, handing it to Claire. “Yep. In there somewhere.”

  Claire stuck her hand in the jacket and pulled out the keys, throwing the coat back to Freya. “Put that back on before you freeze to death. Can I trust you to stay put for two seconds or do I have to piggyback your supermodel ass over this icy parking lot?”

  Freya giggled, trying with no success to get her coat back on. She lifted a hand and waved Claire off, a hand that didn’t look like hers at all, but that of someone who had incredible grace. She was fascinated by the way she was able to make it swish through the air like butterfly wings.

  Claire stooped to pick up her jacket, tucking it around Freya’s shoulders. “Freya?”

  She cocked her head and looked up at her friend, mesmerized by the soft aura of color haloed around Claire’s face. “What?”

  Claire gripped her shoulders. “Will you be okay alone while I go get the car? I have heels on and the parking lot is slippery, but I can carry you if you need me to.”

  “Oh, I’ll be fine. Go. Seize the chariot, milady!” she joked, distracted by the detail in the snowflakes that had begun to rain down from the sky. So pretty…

  “Do not move,” Claire ordered, before Freya heard the sound of her heels clicking against the ice.

  Claire had said not to move. And at all costs she wanted to obey Claire. Because Claire was her friend. Claire knew best. She’d kept her out of trouble on more than one occasion.

  Yet, the impulse to break into a good hard run was the devil on her shoulder, calling to her. The moon, high in the sky like a globe of frosty ice, pulled at her, as though sending her an invitation, making her forget Claire’s warning to stay put.

  Tonight she wanted to be free—because she wouldn’t be for long.

  Ignoring that utterly incomprehensible thought, Freya wrinkled her nose and began to peel her jacket back off, dropping it to the ground.

  “Freya? You okay?”

  Liam’s gravelly voice sent a thick wave of pleasure along her spine. The most pleasurable of pleasures ever.

  Logically, she knew the whiskey was responsible for this heightened awareness. Not that Liam didn’t heighten everything she owned, but tonight, she was so aware, she could see colors.

  Liam’s color was a deep blue lined with inky black fringes. He stared down at her, his eyes hard and dark. He stooped to pick up her jacket, wrapping it back around her shoulders. His nostrils flared and then his eyes changed again, growing darker still.

  He shook his snow-covered head as though he were shaking off something that had confused him. “It’s freezing out here, Freya, and you’ve had a lot to drink. Where’s Claire?”

  Yeah. Where was Claire, and why did Liam have the same dreamy glow to him Claire had? But she couldn’t remember where Claire was. She could only remember where Liam was. Right here, towering over her, his big body blocking out everything but his chest. “I dunno.”

  He leaned in toward her, his nostrils flaring again, then he instantly backed away and shook his head again. “You’re going to get sick, and you definitely can’t drive. C’mon, I’ll take you home. My bike’s right over there.” He hitched his sharp jaw toward the parking lot.

  What would it be like to fly on the back of Liam’s bike with his hard back pressed to her chest?

  A voice inside her head, one she’d never heard before, not even after an entire bottle of whiskey and an almost stomach pump, egged her on. Why not find out?

  Yeah. Why not?

  Chapter 3

  Freya huddled against Liam’s wide back, closing her eyes and reveling in the ripple of muscle beneath leather. Her nose inhaled his scent, clean and masculine, and she sighed, tightening her arms around his waist.

  When they pulled into her small driveway, she continued to cling to him, wanting to drive her hands inside his trench coat and roam over his equally hard chest, keep the vibration of the bike’s engine thrumming between her thighs.

  Liam slid forward on the bike, forcing her arms to loosen her death squeeze. “You’re home.”

  Her head popped up, taking in her small blue-and-white cottage with the square windows and the warm glow of the LED candles she had in each one.

  She’d actually begun to love her small two-bedroom house. It was nothing like her swanky apartment back in San Francisco, with its shiny appliances and black-and-white tiled floors and red silk curtains.

  “Freya?” Liam dismounted and held out his hand to her. His strong, wide hand with long fingers and neatly clipped nails.

  She sucked in a breath of freezing air, letting it sting her lungs, trying to orient herself. The entire ride over here, she’d had moments where she realized she was experiencing a rather glazed effect to her surroundings, but it was much easier to stay in this warm cocoon where everything was lovely and muted.

  Taking his hand, she lifted her thigh and swung it off the bike, dropping to the ground. “Thank you,” she managed while she fought an oddly deep remorse that Liam would get right back on that bike and go wherever it was he called home these days.

  But Liam didn’t let go of her hand. Instead, he said, “I want to be sure you get inside safely.”

  She looked up at him then, only to catch his nostrils flaring and his pupil’s tiny pinpoints. That voice in her head, likely the one where reason resided, reminded her this was odd. She didn’t need someone to hold her hand for the twenty-five feet it took to get to her front door.

  But she didn’t care. Liam was holding her hand. So she followed behind, letting him lead, hearing Clarence, her dog, stir from beyond the door.

  “Key?” Liam asked, his voice gruffer still.

  Key. Where was her key? “Under the mat,” she managed to say, but her words had become thick, her mouth dry.

  He sat on his haunches and dug under the mat until he found her key, inserting it into the door handle and pushing it open. Clarence bounded toward him almost instantly, his wet nose nuzzling against Liam’s knuckles. />
  Liam gave him a scratch between his chocolate-and-white ears before he dropped the key in the basket on the small buffet table she had by the door.

  Clarence sniffed her when she reached out to stroke his muzzle, but he only tolerated it for a moment before he backed away and retreated to his favorite spot by the fireplace.

  This, too, was also very odd. Clarence, though well trained to wait until he was called to her for a greeting, was also always so happy to see her you’d think she’d been gone for days. Under normal circumstances, at the very least, his butt wiggled uncontrollably in impatience.

  But not tonight. Huh.

  Still, she was too preoccupied with Liam filling her small entryway with his delicious body to question it further.

  Freya cleared her throat, still dry, her thoughts still encased in fuzzy cotton. “Um, thank you for bringing me home.”

  He took a step toward her, the muscles of his thighs pressing against his jeans, her eyes fixating on the flex and release of them. “You’re welcome.”

  Now her nostrils flared as she took in the unmistakable scent of arousal.

  Liam’s arousal.

  Thick and tangy, it wafted to her nose and settled there.

  Her heart began to throb, crashing inside her chest, only moments before every nerve in her body hummed its pleasure and her hands found a life of their own.

  She placed one on his chest, taking a shuddering breath inward, her eyes almost rolling to the back of her head.

  He was nirvana. Touching Liam was like touching the most forbidden fruit on earth and finding out exactly why it was forbidden.

  Because it surpassed all other textures, it brought life to her body, slipped beneath her skin and warmed her to her soul.

  Liam glared down at her, stock still and rigid. “I don’t think you should touch me, Freya.”

  From that place she knew wasn’t like her, but was successfully goading her, she asked, “But you want me to, don’t you?”

  His jaw tightened, accentuating the dimple in his chin. The dimple she wanted to run her tongue over. “It’s wrong.”

  Pressing her palm against his thin T-shirt, Freya felt his nipple go hard, fought the impulse to tweak it with her fingers. “That wasn’t the question, Liam.”

  He moved in closer, yet, by the way he gritted his teeth, clenched his fists, it was as though he was fighting something. “Move your hand,” he demanded, low and thick.

  Her breathing sped up, her nipples so tight, if he didn’t put his mouth on them she’d die standing right here in front of him. Pulling her hand from his chest was an almost painful act, but she let it drop to her side, fighting a whimper.

  Still, Liam didn’t move away. Whatever was happening, it was happening behind his eyes, where she watched him wage war with himself. “Fuck!” He spat the word.

  Now her heartbeat raged in her ears as he leaned in low; so low she saw the black stubble on his chin. “I’m going to tell you something, Freya. Something I’ve never told anyone else.”

  Her eyes darted over his face, confused by the obvious control he was trying to maintain. She licked her lips nervously and whispered, “Okay.”

  Bracing his hands on either side of the wall, capturing her head between them, he leaned in even closer. “From the first damn second I saw you, I wanted you. I wanted to rip off those clothes you hide under, drop to my knees and devour your sweet pussy. I can smell you right now, Freya. I can almost taste you on my tongue, and I want to lick every inch of you until you scream so loud, it’ll make my bones rattle. I want to fuck you deep, hard, long. But I can’t.”

  She was dizzy, intoxicated by his admission, so dizzy, she had to brace her hands against the wall behind her. Her thighs became soft butter; her body one desperate ache of need.

  Where are you in there, Freya? another voice called. The one belonging to her self-esteem. Her pride. By now, the not-so-drunk Freya would have told him to piss off.

  “I get it. You hate werewolves.”

  That statement should have been her cold bucket of water. She just didn’t understand his hatred of her kind. In fact, she shouldn’t want to understand it. Instead, it should disgust her.

  Twirling a thick strand of her hair, he yanked her head backward so her neck arched and she was forced to look into his eyes. “I don’t hate werewolves, Freya,” he growled under his breath. “I want a werewolf I can’t damn well have. That’s what I hate.”

  Her breasts jutted forward when he tightened his grip, forcing her chest to meet his. Her tight nipples scraped against his thin T-shirt, and even beneath her thick sweater, she felt him. Yet, she remained silent, staring up at him, daring him with her eyes to act.

  She had no words to fill this sexually charged void. All the things he said were all the things she’d thought about over and over.

  “Courtland,” he muttered, his hand moving to her hip, massaging the swell of it, mesmerizing her. “There’s Courtland.”

  She lifted her chin. Even in this bizarre fugue, she was still aware enough to recognize how much she despised Courtland Dodd. “Never,” she whispered up at him fiercely.

  Then everything changed with his next words. “Do you want what I want, too, Freya? Do you want my mouth on you, my tongue deep inside you?”

  She swallowed the lump in her throat, her breathing coming in short pants now. She wanted to clench her eyes shut to block out his luscious lips speaking decadent words that made her insane with a lust she’d never felt before. “Yes,” she managed to hiss, forcing the word from her mouth, fighting to keep her hands at her sides.

  His nostrils flared again when he wrapped his hand around her waist. It trembled ever so slightly, surprising her. Liam pulled her upward until she strained to even remain standing on her tiptoes. “Then say it, Freya. Tell me. Tell me you want me. Because I warn you, if you say the words, I’ll rip every stitch of your clothing off, spread you wide and fuck you until you won’t remember any other man but me.”

  There wasn’t a second’s hesitation on her part. She didn’t question why he’d changed his mind. She didn’t ask what had brought this on. She didn’t care. She wanted what he offered.

  She wanted Liam so much it physically hurt. “I want you, Liam.”

  There was no hesitation on his part either as, without another word, his lips found her neck, his hand tilting her head back farther, his teeth grazing along the sensitive flesh before he drove his other hand into the waistband of her sweats and yanked them down, leaving her exposed.

  The material tore on its way off, adding to her insane lust, and then his hands were on her bare flesh, slipping inside her folds, so wet, so swollen, she almost came from the moment his fingers made contact.

  And then he was pulling away, driving her sweater up over her head and unhooking her bra, freeing her breasts.

  Again, she watched him as he stood in front of her, every muscle available to her eyes flexing and tensing, rippling as though he fought some inward battle. But his eyes—his eyes gobbled her up, scanning her from head to toe.

  He reached out, his thumb and forefinger tweaking a nipple, making her core clench tight. “Beautiful…Like ripe cherries,” he murmured before he knelt in front of her, still fully clothed, and pulled her close.

  Her arms instantly wrapped around the top of his head, her toes curling when he took a nipple in his mouth and swiped it with his tongue, surprisingly warm and silky.

  Wave after wave of white-hot heat sliced through her when Liam ran his teeth over the rigid peak, making her head fall back on her shoulders and her groan echo in her tiny house. Her legs shook as he enveloped her nipples one at a time, sucking them deeply into his mouth and swirling his tongue over them.

  Freya dug her nails into his back, gritting her teeth to keep from screaming, the pleasure was so bone deep—so intense.

  And then he was rising to his feet, scooping her up, wrapping her thighs around his lean waist and carrying her to her small hallway. He didn’t ask which room
was hers. He simply managed to chose the right door and kicked it open, dropping her to the big bed.

  Liam stood over her, staring down as he kicked off his shoes and pulled hers off, too. His jeans swiftly followed, along with his trench coat and shirt—and then he was naked.

  Impossibly perfect, breathtakingly naked.

  Every chord of muscle in his stomach was shadowed by another, the line of sinew along his hip lickable. His dusky skin, oddly not as pale as one would expect of a vampire, gleaming and smooth.

  His chest was wide but his waist was lean, his thighs thick and sprinkled with dark hair. But it was Liam’s cock that took her breath away. Ramrod stiff, jutting forward, thick and as perfect as the rest of him.

  Her mouth watered, her hands ached to explore, to touch every inch of him.

  Yet he hesitated, his wide fists clenched at his side, his eyes searing her to the bed. “Jesus, you’re more amazing than I ever imagined.”

  Freya didn’t move—didn’t breathe—didn’t know what to do short of begging him to make love to her when he spoke the words, so husky and thick.

  Grabbing her ankles, he drew her knees up, placing his hands on her inner thighs. Her breathing became choppier by the second, but still he stared at her, his eyes narrowed and gleaming.

  It was all she could do not to grab the back of his head and drive his mouth against her flesh, force him to satisfy her. But she knew Liam well enough to know who was in charge, so she waited, swallowing a plea.

  Liam finally spread his hands open, pressing his palms into her upper thighs, trailing his fingers over her skin, setting a path of unmerciful fire. He moved in closer, standing so his sides just touched her knees, skirting a finger over her swollen, exposed flesh, slowly, whispering his knuckles across the smooth expanse.

  Freya bit the inside of her cheek, her chest heaving, so aroused, so intoxicated by his response to her, she was already fighting an orgasm. He let a finger dip inside her wet recesses, slipping out and grazing her throbbing clit before pulling away.

  She fought a scream of frustration when he retreated, but then Liam closed his eyes and moaned as he licked his finger, tasting her, making her chest so tight it hurt. He gripped her knees hard, gritting his teeth, his large body so rigid she thought he might break in half.