Spell Of Love: Dragon's Desire

by Alyssa Brooks

  Without visions.

  Her fingers pressed his neck, finding a strong, steady beat. Relief flooded her.

  What now? What the hell should she do?

  She studied his chest, searching for a steady rise and fall. She couldn’t tell. Was he breathing? He’d been under so long. He should be dead.

  Maybe she needed to give CPR. Oh, hell. She could slap herself. Why hadn’t she taken those classes?

  Was he even breathing? Laying her hand directly over his mouth, she tried to feel for some sort of breath. After several seconds, still nothing. Damn. She leaned forward, placing an ear to his chest. The slow, steady beat of his heart spoke to her. His heart was working, but his lungs? Damn! She placed a hand to his chest and waited. No rise and fall. Oh, God. She had to do something.

  Okay. Okay. She could do this. She’d seen it on Baywatch, hadn’t she? Anyone who’d ever watched an episode had.

  Lowering her head, she grazed her lips across his. Quickly she yanked back. Okay. No. She was resuscitating him. Not kissing. Again she leaned in, pressing her mouth over his. With her forefinger and thumb, she squeezed his nose. Gently, she blew in his mouth. And again. And again.

  No response. Maybe it wasn’t enough.

  She lifted her head, then went back to work. This time, she blew a sharper breath into him.

  Suddenly his tongue invaded her mouth, stroking hers.

  His mouth devoured her, the kiss so brutal her lips bled. But she welcomed the pain. Sometimes pain could be delicious. So long as you craved it. Suddenly he released her, and clapping filled the air ...

  A hot rush raced through her body as she yanked back. “What the ...”

  “Sorry, luv,” he sputtered, his voice weak as he tried to sit up. His eyes remained half open, his lashes glistening with water. He sounded and looked nearly dead. “Natural reaction.”

  Right then and there, she knew he’d be fine.

  But then, didn’t she know that already?

  The clapping ... guests were celebrating. Them. It couldn’t mean ... could it? Surely they weren’t going to be married. Not him. Not now.

  She didn’t want that. Right?

  Okay. She wanted a husband. Of course she did. But not him. He stank.

  He plopped back down and shut his eyes. She watched him, waiting. Surely he would wake back up. Get up.

  With every second that passed, she became aware of the danger the croc posed. The beast could strike again. He was awfully fast. They needed to move.

  Placing her hands under his arms, she attempted to lift him. He didn’t budge. Hell, he was heavy. She was no weak woman. Years of mining and life on the farm had toned her muscles. But she could never get him up without help. No way.

  She drew a deep breath, trying to hold back the panic. She had to do something.

  Going behind him, she picked up his arms. They alone weighed a ton. Grasping his wrists, she began to drag him. Slowly. Very slowly.

  She moved him. Barely. The house wasn’t that far. She’d either get him up there, or he’d wake up and walk. But she wasn’t leaving him here.

  She managed to get him into the house and left him lying on the kitchen floor. He was still out cold. Maybe if she warmed him up ... She didn’t imagine staying in the soaked clothes was helping him.

  She didn’t know what else to do, so she began to peel away the soaked layers of clothing. Everything he wore was slim-fitting, and she had to fight it off of him. She kept hoping and praying he’d wake up. Then she could be embarrassed, and he could be okay.

  Instead, his lithe, bulging muscles remained as limp as putty in her hands.

  She unsnapped his jeans. As she pulled down the zipper, her hands grazed over his bulky sex. She yanked back as if bitten, licking her lips. To her shock, his cock began to harden, jutting up to form a tent in his boxers. From what she could tell, he was a man well endowed. Thick. Long.

  Damn.

  Despite the fact that he was an injured man, lust curled in her nether regions. Passed out or not, he had a way of making her want like no other man ever had. His hard cock didn’t help, either.

  She kept thinking she could climb right on him and give him a good reason to wake up.

  Hell. What was wrong with her?

  Okay. She had to get this over with. Like, two minutes ago already.

  Tugging at his jeans, she drew them down. Once over his hips, they came free, and she yanked them off quickly. It wasn’t hard to decide. His boxers would stay on. Wet or not.

  Just then, a knock sounded at the door. Thank God. Someone to help her. She raced from the room, pausing briefly at the door to make sure his cock was softening. It wasn’t. Whoever this was, she’d have a mess to explain. She had an almost naked man who stank like the creek, passed out on her kitchen floor with a hard cock.

  Chapter Four

  Bryhan lifted one eye open, studying her as she fluttered about the room. Damn, everything about her was bloody sexy. The way she swung her frizzy red hair over her shoulders. The way she bent, leaning only on one leg, while lifting the other. The way she went barefoot, her sexy, tiny feet sinking into the plush carpet.

  She kept humming a sweet little melody, and the song’s beat made his cock jerk. Would she hum on his cock as she gave him head?

  He was beginning to think the croc attack had been a blessing. After all, it had him in her bed. A huge step closer to her on top of him, and all over him.

  She started to turn, and he quickly shut his eyes and fell limp. He’d pretended to be out for hours now, remaining limp as she’d dragged him up here, as the tow guy had put him in the bed. He was past the point of making his escape from the attack believable. Now he was just being ornery.

  He wanted her to fuck him.

  And he knew she wanted the same. So why should he pretend otherwise? Chances like her were few and far between. A woman strong enough to take what she wanted. To take him.

  And not be stung when he had to leave.

  He cleared his throat. With a crash, she dropped the pot of water she carried and swung around.

  “You’re awake!” Relief flooded her voice as she sighed and raced to his side. “Finally!”

  Immediately her hands went to fix his pillows, ignoring the water pooling all over her top-notch carpet. She fluffed the pillows, stroking his hair as she sat on the edge of the bed. “I called for the doctor.”

  He let that sink in. No good.

  The doctor would find nothing wrong with him, and ask far too many questions.

  He gritted his teeth. “Cancel him.”

  “But ...”

  He looked away. This was the one thing he hated about the curse. The lying. If only he could tell the truth. Stop pretending. But it was impossible. Always so damned bloody impossible. “I’m fine, luv. At least, I will be. All I need is you to take care of me.”

  “But ...” Her voice trailed off again in obvious confusion.

  Annoyance crept through him, becoming stronger and harder as he realized the mess he could not explain to her.

  “No doctor!” His voice came out louder and meaner than he’d intended.

  She looked taken aback, her emerald eyes flashing with surprise. “Fine.”

  Silence hung in the air like storm clouds hanging over their heads. The attraction between them grew more intense with every moment. The possibility of such pleasure and ecstasy was cut by the reality of his lies. This, he hated.

  She stood, brushing her hands down her thighs. “It’s obvious you’re feeling better. But you were under an amazing amount of time. You should probably rest.”

  Damn. Utter suspicion and confusion filled her voice. He had to give her some sort of explanation. Something to go on.

  “I’ve trained myself to hold my breath a very long time and not suck in water. I have strong lungs. Sometimes, in my profession, it’s necessary.” His eyes locked hers. “I’ll be fine, luv. I don’t need to rest.”

  “Oh. Okay.” She nodded. “Well, shower, get
dressed, and come on out. I’ll feed you. Then you can be on your way.”

  With that, she strode from the room. Completely forgetting her water mess.

  Bryhan followed her swaying body with his gaze until she left his sight. He wouldn’t bother to argue with her. She was a fighter. She’d win. But he wouldn’t lose.

  Not this chance.

  His eyes fell to the clothes hung over a wooden chair. They were still soaked. The boxers he wore stank and clung to his skin. To wear them wouldn’t do. No.

  He would shower. Clean up her mess. But get dressed? Leave? Not a chance.

  Jay started to pile up a sandwich. Thank God he was okay. She didn’t know what the hell she was supposed to do.

  The doctor hadn’t been happy about her canceling. He’d already started on his way, and the trip wasn’t a short one. For emergencies, he flew in on a rented helicopter. So, yes, she had put him out.

  But at least Mr. Wulfhere was going to be fine. And out of her house very soon. Hell, his presence was driving her nuts. Awake, passed out -- it made very little difference. His aura drew her like a magnet to steel. Compelled her. She wanted to throw him down and use his huge cock like a tool.

  Every damn time she looked at him, she imagined the things she could do. Mind you, not the things he could do -- the things she could do.

  Another vision had yet to steal her away. But she was going to be smart. She wasn’t going to touch him again.

  She shifted, all too aware of the way her panties were getting ruined. She’d already changed them once today. Maybe she should put on a pad until he left. He really just drove her that crazy.

  She topped some cheese with roast beef, squirting mustard all over it. Throwing on some hot banana peppers from a jar, she topped the stack with lettuce and a tomato.

  She didn’t know what she’d do about the croc. She wanted the beast gone, even more now than ever. But she didn’t care for the idea of him going after it. She just wanted him to go.

  Unfortunately, it had taken the wildlife service forever to come up with him. She had the barbie coming up and couldn’t afford not to get rid of the croc.

  Damn.

  Okay. She was going to have to let him do it. But this time, she was helping. Watching, at least.

  Footsteps in the hall alerted her to his approach. She slapped the sandwich on a plate with crisps and whirled around.

  The plate dropped to the floor and shattered. She screamed with every bit of air in her lungs.

  He was naked. His cock jutted forth, boldly hard and ready for her.

  She stepped back, piercing pain stabbing her toe as she did. “Owww!”

  Damn. Now she had a piece of glass her toe. And he was still naked.

  “Shit.” He came closer, stepping right on the glass without a care. “Let me see, luv.”

  “You’re naked!” she gasped. She wanted to move back farther, but the damn counter was in her way. She had nowhere to run.

  “And you’re hurt.”

  “Get away from me.”

  “Quit being a baby. Let me help.”

  “Get away from me,” she warned again. “You’re naked and ...”

  “And you’ve never seen a man naked before. Find that hard to believe.” He chuckled. “My clothes are soaked and filthy. You’ll have to wash them.”

  “Oh.” She was trying so hard not to look at him. So hard. “Well, you ...”

  She wanted to spit at him that he’d stunk when he came here anyway. But she was too shocked by the sight of him kneeling onto the glass, as if nothing could hurt him. The pieces had to be piercing his skin, but he acted as if he didn’t even notice. Taking her foot in hand, he lifted it. He turned it, his mouth finding the spot where the glass had entered. His lips formed over it, sucking hard. Prickles of pain, mixed with sensual delight, rippled through her. She could feel the shard working its way out, slowly but surely. His teeth caught it, yanking it free.

  He spat the glass splinter aside, but didn’t stop there.

  As he knelt, he brought her foot back to his mouth. Slowly he began to lick and kiss her toes. His thick, callused fingers massaged the soft skin on the underside of her toes. He took each toe, sucking it. Working it. His teeth grazed her sensitive skin.

  Her feet had always been thin-skinned. Ticklish. She went barefoot on the rugs just to feel the soft threads caressing her arch. She never let anyone touch let them. No one until him.

  She couldn’t help but fall back against the counter. He trailed his tongue upward, licking the arch of her foot, flicking and teasing. Then he ran his mouth over the arch in big strokes.

  She looked down at him, relishing the sight of him bent at her feet. In her wildest fantasies, she imagined a man bent at her feet. Worshiping her. Honoring her. As if she were a queen. Her words were to be obeyed. Or else.

  With Wulfhere at her feet, nibbling her toes as he was, it wasn’t hard to slip away into the fantasy. Just the thought of it lit her body like a match to a candlewick. Her breasts tingled with desire, her nipples hardening into two pert daggers. If they were to be touched, she’d explode. Go crazy. The feeling coursed through her body, right done to her feet, streaks of hot lust making her hold her muscles tight.

  Her slave was at her feet. Her long-awaited slave.

  She knew it to be so. The visions allowed no room for doubt.

  His mouth began to inch upward, slowly going to her ankles. The words slipped out before she could stop them. “Who told you to leave my foot, slave?”

  Reaching behind her, she grabbed a wooden spoon from the counter and swatted his hard rear. “Do as you’re told. Not as you please.”

  He arched at her smack, but did not anger. He liked it. She knew he did. This was what he wanted, a strong woman to push him around in bed -- and she had just the gumption to do so.

  At that moment, she realized very clearly how lost she was. To her fantasy. To their fate. She could not stop their mating. She had to make him hers.

  There could be no stopping it.

  He looked up at her with those dreamy eyes, so blue, so ready to please. “Yes, ma’am.”

  That nearly killed her. She squeezed her pussy tight as he went back to licking at her toes and torturing her with his attention to her foot. Now that he was back there, she wanted him elsewhere. All over her. Every inch of her skin ached to be touched. Loved.

  Fantasies tend to snowball. She’d always imagined hers were impossible. What man would kiss her feet? But here she was, a hot guy under her command and at her feet.

  Snowball, things did. The more she realized she was getting away with it, the more she fell into the role.

  Lifting the spoon, she smacked his rear again. And again. “Now, slave, you will come up slowly. Very slowly. Don’t go too fast, or I will punish you.”

  He supplied no response. She slapped his rear with a brutal snap of the wooden spoon. “It’s ‘yes, ma’am’ when I speak to you.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he panted. Slowly he worked his way up her ankle, encircling it in kisses. Only when he had covered every inch of the skin over her ankle bones did he dare to make a move upward. His mouth trailed along her shin, each kiss tantalizingly slow. He suckled and licked, letting the front of his teeth graze her skin just enough to send shocks to her pussy.

  She could take no more.

  “Get up here and take down my shorts.” She lightly flicked the spoon over his ass. “With your teeth. Now. Put your hands to my shorts, and I will beat you.”

  For a moment, his gaze raised to hers. She could see the fight in them, itching to break free. He was a man who loved this, wanted it terribly. Yet he wasn’t used to loss of control. He was his own boss. His own man. He wanted to break free and take her as he pleased.

  She would have to tame him.

  And he would love every minute of it.

  His mouth went to the button of her denim jean shorts, fighting to pull it through the loop. Finally it popped free. Then he took the metal zipper between his
teeth, tugging it down. Inch by slow inch it released, until finally he had it lowered.

  The fastenings freed, he grabbed the thick fabric between his teeth and yanked. The shorts caught over her full ass, not willing to let go. He had to work hard to get them down.

  When the shorts were around her ankles, he lifted each of her feet from the legs and cast the garment aside. Then, like the good boy he was, he looked to her for instructions.

  She smiled. She liked that. A lot. She was in charge. “Now my panties. Then you’ll get a treat.”

  The red lace thong she wore was easy for him to pull down. No sooner was it around her ankles than she snapped the spoon at him in threat. “Now sniff me. Tell me how I smell. Tell me you love it. Want it.”

  He brought his nose to her pussy, inhaling with a long, deep breath. “Queen, you smell of the sweetest nectars. If you deny me a taste, I shall die. Please.”

  He begged so sweetly that she could not deny him. Spreading her legs, she leaned back on the counter. His fingers spread apart the lips of her cunnie until they could open no farther. His tongue dove in, taking one long, delicious lick. He flicked over her nub, teasing it. Then he circled it. Swept over it. Denied it too much attention.

  Ah.

  So now he thought he had power. She lifted the spoon, but before she could swat, he quickly gave her throbbing clit the attention it wanted. He suckled intensely, holding it tight between his teeth. She moaned, arching, hardly able to take it. Slowly she began to slide toward his mouth, wanting and needing more. His hands stopped her.

  She was too wrapped up in his licking to think of anything else. His tongue was electric, leaving her delirious. The sensations he imparted with his presses, strokes, and laps drove her to an impatient brink. Her cunt yawned and begged to be filled.

  “Fuck me with your tongue.”

  He drove his long tongue into her sex. Reaching down, she fingered her clit as he fucked her with his tongue. Together they moved in rhythm.

  But it was not enough. She needed him to fill her to the brink. “Fuck me, slave. Lift me up and please me.”

  A sly smile curved his lips, his hands gripping her ass. With a yank, he heaved her onto the counter. Her legs wrapped around him as he thrust inside her. His cock filled her to the max, its entry shocking. She screamed out, overfilled with intense pleasures. In and out he stroked, pleasing her. She did not move. She did not have to. It was his job. His work. After all, he was her slave.