Hollywood Dragon: BBW Dragon Shifter Paranormal Romance

by Chant, Zoe

  It was intriguing, but there were more urgent matters. Like getting that shirt off him. She sat up, and her dress promptly fell to her elbows, her bra hanging askew. With a quick shrug she slipped free of both sleeves and bra, then pushed him flat onto the mossy bank. He lay obediently, playing with her breasts as she finished undoing his buttons, and then yanked his shirt free. “Mmmm,” she hummed.

  He breathed in slowly as her fingers traced the treasure trail leading down from his navel. She bent to nuzzle the soft hairs with her lips, and uttered a throaty laugh into his taut stomach. She tongued his navel, causing his breath to hitch, then kissed her way up, her hands stroking his smooth, muscular contours: abs, ribs, and over his chest, and then it was her turn to tease his nipples with her teeth, delighting in her power to jolt gasps from him.

  With a lift and a snap she pulled his belt free, and when he reached for her, she pushed him back. “Zaide may be a slave girl, but she gets what she wants,” Jan cooed as she unzipped his trousers.

  Of course he wore silk boxers. Delighted, she slipped her hand inside the silk, caressing the far more compelling silk of his skin. He was already hard. She stroked appreciatively down the length of his cock to the soft curls at the base before freeing him to the air.

  She had to taste him. She had to feel his hard warmth against her lips, let him fill her hot, ready mouth—she wanted to unstring him with the power she felt rising in her. Her fingers curled down to cup his balls, and his breath shuddered. Teasingly, lingeringly, she traced one throbbing vein with a fingertip.

  She licked the tip, relishing his shuddering breath.

  “Jan . . .”

  “It’s my turn.”

  She tongued the ridge of hard flesh, taking her time, her breathing as fast as his. The taste of him fired her far more wildly than any man she had ever dated in her entire life, and her power surged, and she wanted him to burn as she burned. She licked and sucked with torturous concentration as he lengthened and thickened into a rod of iron.

  His hands gripped her shoulders. “I want . . .”

  “Now,” she breathed, feeling herself on the brink. “Inside me.”

  She saw the effort he made to control himself—to prolong the moment for them both. “First,” he said, on a low, smoldering note, “it’s my turn, my wanton slave girl.”

  “Oooh, wanton, is it?” she retorted, laughing with anticipation. Deep, hot throbs built slowly in her, already sweeter than anything she had ever felt in her life. But she wanted more—and saw that he wanted to give it to her. “How is this?”

  Reckless, daring for the first time in her life, she sat up, her curls spilling around her shoulders. She never had felt this free—always, until now, she had hidden her body under the sheets.

  But that strange ruddy flash in his eyes, the curl of his mouth as he gazed hotly at her, made her feel like the sexiest creature on earth, her power deep. Half-naked, she watched him watch as she slowly parted her legs and hooked the heels of her sandals on either side of the low, flat stone that edged the moss. Then she lounged back, her arms crossed behind her head.

  “Oh, God.” His voice was raw, and there again—much brighter—was that fiery flicker in his eyes as he leaned in, slid his hands around her hips, and pulled her forward to the very edge of the slate.

  Her knees parted wider. He paused to drink in every inch of her, his hungry, awed expression a wild turn-on. “So beautiful . . .” he whispered. He ran his fingers over her legs, caressing, drawing ever inward, until he gently cupped his hand over her warm, wet mound covered briefly by the lacy panties.

  “You,” he growled low, “are perfect.”

  His long finger pulled aside the lace.

  Air ruffled over her exposed skin and her toes curled in her sandals. Still stroking the insides of her thighs, he leaned in to press a kiss at the very top of her cleft, scorching her as he caressed her folds with a flicker of his tongue. She opened wider, and once more he ran worshipful fingers from her heel up inside her legs to the satin skin of her inner thighs, then bent to press a soft kiss in the hollow there. And another on the other side.

  She moaned, wet and aching. And here came the slowest kiss of all, soft lips and insistent, exploratory tongue, teasing her clit before his lips closed around it. And sucked.

  White heat shot through her, obliterating the sun. He sucked until she exploded in a shower of stars that fell around her in rings of sparkling gold. As the sweet pulses began to diminish she was aware of a tiny note of sorrow that it was over. She had never come more than once, and never, ever like this.

  She leaned up on her elbows, ready to offer her lips to bring him off but he was not done. He moved in again, his shoulders widening her thighs as he bent to kiss her clit again, once, twice, and the pulses strengthened, and to her amazement the heat began to build anew.

  His hands, so strong and sensitive, made music with her body, caressing and stroking, delighting even in the feel of her soft belly, which she had always hidden before. He plunged his tongue into her navel, then kissed his way up to her breasts again, as below, he slid two fingers inside her, finding her slick and ready. And at last his cock pressed against her opening.

  She ached for him to fill her.

  “Now,” she said, her voice husky and raw with need.

  She opened her eyes, and flash! There was that glow again, then she forgot that, forgot everything in the world as the head of his cock began to inch its way inside her. It had been so long since her last lover that she was tight, but oh, it was sweet anguish: she was wet and slick and so very ready.

  The heat began to build inside her, urgent, demanding, and she kicked off her shoes and wrapped her legs around him. He uttered a laugh low in his chest, and thrust all the way home.

  He filled her wholly, completely.

  Perfectly.

  Her head dropped back as he began to thrust, slow at first, building speed with deliberate, exquisite torture. “More,” she breathed, and reached down to grip his tight buns in her fingers and dug them in as her need twined tightly to his. Faster, deeper, harder, spiraling them upward into the sun, so attuned to one another that when she felt her crescendo swelling impossibly high, he came in a long shudder, bringing her crashing in waves and waves of ecstasy that obliterated her and then restored her new-made, tender, and helpless against the tide of pleasure.

  They stayed together like that, with him still buried deep inside her, until the last sweet pulses died away, then with a sigh he pulled himself out and laid back beside her on the moss.

  Awareness slowly returned: sweat cooling on her skin. The waterfall. The hum of bees somewhere farther up the rocky cliff that fed the rilling pool, the whir of dove wings somewhere out of sight.

  As if they shared a telepathic bond, she and JP moved at the same time, shedding the remainder of their clothes and slipping into the water.

  The cold was a shock. She gasped.

  “There’s a warmer spot over here,” he said, holding out his hand.

  She slid her fingers into his, shivering at his touch. She couldn’t possibly want more—this head-floating sensation was merely aftermath, plus the shock of the cold water.

  He guided her over the uneven rocks below the surface, to a place where the water swirled around them, warm currents, mixing hot and cold into a delicious warmth. A jut of stone halfway down formed a natural sort of bench. “There’s room for two,” he said.

  She laughed. “Bring your ladies here often?”

  “Never.” His voice was breathy with seriousness. “Never. You are the first.”

  There were the layers again. Her nerves rang like a glissando of harp strings, and she shivered. She ducked her head under the water to douse the sting of sweat in her eyes, and when she came up she saw him smiling at her. She peered up at him. No odd glow in those wide black pupils, just the reflection of the twinkling lights overhead. She wasn’t certain whether to be reassured or . . . disappointed. He was hiding again—was it unconscious
? Or?

  His voice was light, slow. “I come here often. It’s an old family retreat. I . . . sorry, Jan, I’m usually not so . . . at a loss. For the right words. And it matters to me to express myself right.”

  Here they were at the trapdoor to those layers. She knew it with every instinct in her. She would not force that door—I can be gallant, too. “How much sleep did you get last night?”

  He didn’t laugh, but his eyes crinkled as if he were about to. “None. Do I look dissipated?”

  “You look wonderful,” she said. “But tired. And maybe a little tense, though a lot less now.” She grinned, loving the answering spark in his eyes. There it was again!

  “The tiredness will go away when things slow down again. But being with you is the best cure for stress,” he said, and she shivered at honest note in his voice.

  Everything was so new, so sudden, the glitter still shimmering through her nerves felt so very right, even if she sensed he was waiting for something, or needed something. Just go with it, she thought. Keep it easy. “I’m surprised your family didn’t build a house here. A town, even, it’s so pretty.”

  “The shallow gold mine up here soon played out, and people needed the farmland below,” he said. “Getting wagons up these rocks was difficult and dangerous. People had to travel by donkey or burro, and my family only came as a . . . place of retreat. The private road wasn’t built until fifty years ago.”

  “Well, it’s pretty amazing,” she said.

  He stretched his arm out to her. “You don’t have to sit on the edge there. Come lean against me.”

  “Then I can’t see you.” But her protest was said with a smile as she curled into him. His arm closed around her ribs under her breasts.

  She loved the sensations of their naked bodies together under the water, hips touching, her shoulders cradled against his chest. The surface of the water bubbled gently around them and swirled away, an ever-flowing natural filter as they cuddled together.

  With his free hand he tenderly wiped a wet strand of her hair off her forehead where it had stuck. “Thank you,” he said, and she felt the words reverberate through his chest. “Thank you for being a miracle.”

  “I was just thinking the same about you,” she murmured, reveling in the note of True in both their voices. Whatever this means, go with it as far as you can go.

  Below the surface of the water, her fingers began to drift up his chest, and then down and down.

  Chapter Ten

  JP was afraid he was asleep and dreaming. If so, he never wanted to wake.

  A week ago Jan was just a name. Now—at the worst possible time—the best thing ever to happen to him was here in his dragon sanctuary, sheltered within the circle of his arms.

  And she didn’t know what he was.

  He’d always assumed he would never have to tell any woman. He’d grown up expecting to make the same sort of treaty marriage his parents had, and while he’d had occasional lovers, he never got close enough to any of them for his nature to be an issue.

  He should have told Jan first—but then she kissed him.

  And he went nova.

  Now, coming down from that impossible high, he could think again . . . sort of. Though he had been trained to plan ahead, to make decisions with duty in mind first of all, could not think past the next hour—the next minute—as her fingers played arpeggios down his ribs, then an improvisational riff with his cock.

  Sparks seared through him at her touch. How amazing she was! Did she truly have the fire to mate with a dragon? He had no idea if the fire dragon even recognized such a thing as mates. The fire dragon was all about attack and defense, far too dangerous to let rise. He had learned that the hard way.

  The solution, he decided, was to compromise. Her sweetness and generosity and all the things they shared would suffice for a lifetime if he was careful. His phoenix had recognized his mate. The dragon must be suppressed. He would do that willingly if it meant having Jan in his life.

  The sparks flared in to urgency, shattering his attempt to order his mind. She was ready to go again. In spite of everything ugly that had happened earlier, she was the shining light of rightness, a beacon to steady and balance him.

  And tired as he was, damn if he wasn’t up for more.

  He knew he should be responsible, dutiful, and admit the truth about his shifter nature first. Every touch, every kiss, made the idea of losing her that much more painful, but he could not stop himself. You don’t deny miracles when they happen: you surrender to the tide of magnificence, and hope when it sweeps away you are not left broken on the rocks.

  And so he shuttered his mind once again let his hands worship her luscious body. She leaned back, offering herself with such breathtaking freedom. Reckless heat mounted in him, and with a surge and a splash he flipped her over onto a shallower rock bench and knelt over her so that he could lick, kiss, and suck every inch of skin above the line of the water.

  The hollow of her throat, where her pulse ticked warmly, the sensuous line of her collarbones, her soft shoulders, her wonderful breasts. He delighted in those dusky-rose nipples, already blushing from his earlier attentions, and laughed deep in his throat at her panting as he nipped and sucked.

  The way the rock was constructed made it difficult to get horizontal, so he slid his arms around her torso in mute question—and she obligingly turned hands, so he could flip her once more, to her hands and knees.

  “Oh, I like this!” She cast a laughing glance over her shoulder back at him as he knelt behind her.

  His hands explored her delightful bottom, kneading and stroking, moving ever inward. She widened her knees and arched her back, and he slipped off the rock so he could stand in the water, his rod hard as if the earlier delights had never happened. With a surge of searing heat, he felt the dragon’s interest stirring.

  No.

  His hands shook as he fought to keep inward control, only letting the benign phoenix’s awareness waken as he slid his hands through the swirling water along her sides, her ribs, and to her breasts floating under the surface, then rubbed his rigid cock against her folds. His fingers slid over her sweet flesh, down over her hip, cupping her bottom, then moving under to guide the tip of his cock over her clit.

  “Oh, yes,” she moaned. “Now.”

  He rammed all the way home—and she locked onto him. Heat roared up inside him and he jackhammered into her. She angled her hips to take him deeper, filling every part of her as she moaned on that low, singing note or rising passion.

  The heat blazed inside him—the dragon opened its inner eye—he rose higher and higher and when she let out a long cry he exploded, white fire searing him from cock to brain as he came in a long shuddering release. They spiraled down through slow pulses of ecstasy.

  “Oh-h-h-h,” she sang out on a lower, breathy note. “That was . . .” A shaky breath. “Wow,” came out on a sigh.

  He stroked her with shaking hands as they finished coming down, then he fell back into the water, utterly spent. She splashed onto the rock next to him, her eyes closed, her lips parted in a blissful smile as the warm water rippled over them both.

  Reality broke on him: how fast his dragon had displaced his phoenix deep inside him for those few white-hot moments. That had never happened during sex.

  Jan was amazing. Magical. So very right. And yet she was also dangerous. No, she was in danger because she had no idea what he was. His carefully considered plan to broach the wall of secrets a step at a time, thought out during those long hours at the hospital as he sat beside Alma—had gone up in smoke.

  He was used to thinking of himself as always in tight control, being the most powerful of the shifters in the community, but the truth? The truth was that Jan’s power overwhelmed and yet sustained him, the way the benevolent sun overruled the most thunderous of storms.

  He had even spaced out on the basics! “Jan, I’m sorry, I forgot about condoms. That happened so fast . . .”

  “Not too fast for me.�
�� Her beautiful voice deepened with sated desire, then she chuckled. “I’m on the pill. And I figured Mick wouldn’t be pals with the sort of guy who doesn’t get checked.”

  “There’s been nothing to check, for longer than I like to remember.”

  “Then all I gotta say is, you’ve had one hell of a fantastic rehearsal,” she retorted, laughing again. “Though I admit, all you would have had to do is say ‘Hubba hubba, how about it?’ and you would have had me. Um. That is, you’re the first I’ve felt like that about in . . . well, ever.” She stopped, tipped her head, and as a damp curl flopped into her eyes, she asked plaintively, “Does anyone actually ever really say 'Hubba hubba'?”

  He splashed back onto the rock, giving himself up to laughter.

  She said with mock affront, “You’re laughing at me,” he laughed harder, and she splashed him.

  He splashed her back, and they kissed as the warm water swirled around them.

  Wonderful as that was, the slow awareness of physical reality widened in spite of him, making him aware of the heaviness in his limbs, and the burn in his eyelids. He had to drive back, and tomorrow would arrive with all its problems as soon as the sun rose.

  And she still did not know the truth.

  He made a vow: no more closeness until she knew, so she could make an informed decision. If she ran screaming at the idea of shifters it was no more than he deserved. “It’s getting late. Shall we return?”

  “I guess we should.” Her smile lit her face. “Though I want you to know it was the best date ever.”

  He wanted to give her the world. But he could not say that until he admitted the truth, and so he wordlessly held out his hand.

  She took it with that sweet, ready trust, and together they surged out of the water onto the mossy bank.

  And looked around.

  He pinched his fingers to the bridge of his nose. “Towels. Must remember towels.”

  She laughed. Then said, “You mean you don’t use that lovely pool when you are here?”