by Starla Night
There was nothing for Amy to like but what was on the outside.
He alighted in his lair with the questions remaining unresolved.
She clung onto his lapels. Her eyes sparkled with excitement and nervousness again.
Her excitement and nervousness infected him, raising those same emotions in his chest.
“What now?” she asked, almost a whisper.
“Are you hungry? Thirsty? Tired?”
She shook her head.
“Dirty?”
She frowned. “That’s not a nice thing to ask.”
“I’m not a nice human.”
Now, she did react. He was teasing her, and she recognized it. “You’re a nice dragon.”
“I’m not that nice.” He tugged her with him, backward through the rooms, to his bathroom door. “It’s time for that shower.”
She shivered even though the room was within an optimal temperature range. “I might be a little dirty.”
“I’m counting on it.”
She yanked at her camisole, jerky movements as she fought losing her nerve.
He closed his big hands over hers. “I’ll do it.”
“Oh? Are you sure?” Then, jolting with new realization, she pulled free and reached for his buttons. “I’ll undress you.”
Part of him wanted to stop her. She didn’t need to be so fearful around him. He’d handle everything.
The other part of him was curious, and curiosity won. He spread his legs and stood proudly while her trembling fingers unmasked his nude body. Even though she had seen his torso so many times this weekend, when the last button revealed his broad chest and narrow waist, she sucked in a quick breath.
He flexed.
She slid reverent fingers across his tight muscles. A soft smile lit her face.
He kept calling this “her innocence” but maybe the truth was more her reverence. She didn’t take the smallest thing for granted but honored and savored each step. It made him want to honor and savor her.
Now, they were married.
One.
He lifted her camisole over her slender shoulders and splayed his fingers over her exposed belly and back.
She covered her bra as though trying to hide her chest from his gaze, but she snuck peeks at him in the wall mirror.
“Like the view?” he teased.
“I have to keep telling myself it’s real. It’s either snoop in the mirror or pinch myself.”
He turned her so she could see herself fully. His hands looped around hers.
She swallowed and looked away.
He nuzzled her sensitive ear. “I thought you wanted proof.”
“It’s too full-on. I have to face uncomfortable facts.” She shivered and adorable bumps rose on her skin. “I’m not at my ideal body weight and you’re all my ideals.”
It took him a moment to process her meaning.
American women feared curves. Amy had especially lush ones that enticed his hands to squeeze and his cock to bury itself in. But now she thought that they mismatched because she was so squeezably soft and he was hard as the center column of a spaceship.
“We look good together,” he assured her.
She looked up at him. Her green eyes gleamed clear and worried. “Do you think so?”
Something ached in his chest. Her trust was so meaningful. “Yes.”
Her brows cleared. She believed in him.
He was done with thinking.
Pyro dropped his mouth to hers, claiming her with his lips. She opened to him, yielding to his hot, wet possession. Amy. His tongue thrust into her recesses, driving worries from her mouth until the only sounds that emerged were hungry moans and needy whimpers.
That was how he needed her.
He tightened his arms, pressing her derriere against his hard cock.
She melted into him.
Suddenly it was more important than ever he make her glad she married him. She would then want to stay married. Not toss him over once she’d gotten her fill. She must not get sick of him. He must please her thoroughly.
So she’d never let him go.
Pyro broke the kiss to nip up her jaw to her small ear. He tugged the lobe.
She gasped. Her knees folded, resting her weight on his immovable forearm around her waist. His other hand transformed into claws and severed her bra.
The fabric sprung apart, unveiling her swelling, creamy globes topped with tender, pink nipples.
He worshiped her, exploring the first sweet breast and then the other. Feeling their weight in his cupped palms, he brushed, squeezed, twirled the pert nipples. She gasped, moaned, and finally ground against his ready cock.
He pulsed against the fabric. Beads of precum dampened his trousers.
Still stroking one nipple, he unzipped her jeans, thrust his human fingers beneath her panties, and cupped her damp mons.
“Yes,” she whispered. Eyes squeezed closed, she rolled her head back to rest against his shoulder.
Her movement exposed the long expanse of her slender neck.
He tongued her hot skin.
She whimpered with need. “Pyro.”
Working his fingers between her folds, he coated himself in the silken cream of her feminine arousal. And his other hand, the arm that was still holding her upright, stroked her nipples.
Her breath came in short gasps. She shuddered.
He pressed a finger into her slick channel.
Clamping down on him, she thrust against his hand, working him deeper. “Oh, please. Oh, god. Pyro!”
Her arousal flooded him. He lost control and sucked on her neck hard enough to mark her.
She made a pure sound of exquisite pleasure and then shuddered. Her channel clenched around his fingers.
In the mirror, her release was magnificent.
She sagged against him, trusting him once more keep her safe. “Oh. Wow. What was that?”
He removed his hand from her sensitive areas and finished unpeeling their clothes. “That, Amy, was foreplay.”
Chapter Fourteen
Foreplay?
Amy’s logical brain struggled to reassert control over the mental barrage of after-sex tenderness flooding her body.
Vulnerability, deep love, and a sense of well-being she’d never felt before welled in her like a deep sea of contentment. Like, everything would turn out okay in the world, no matter what.
Then Pyro rested her in the center of his bed, and she realized that she was naked and he’d just flown her across his home without her even noticing.
She eased up on her elbows. “Wait.”
He hovered over her, patient, but the fiery crackle and red threads in his intense irises suggested he would not wait long.
Her pussy throbbed from her recent orgasm. That’s what the amazing sensation was, wasn’t it? She’d never had one that wasn’t self-induced. From another person — from Pyro — the orgasm was intense, uncontrollable, explosive passion.
Could she handle it again?
Because she’d taken too long to spill out the words tumbling around her mind, he surged forward and captured her mouth in his kiss.
At once familiar and yet achingly sensual, he pushed her boundaries. She wanted to go all the way. Become a woman — a wife — in a consummated marriage.
Nerves fluttered in her stomach.
She pushed him back, untangling her tongue. His delicious taste and fiery heat still imprinted itself on her. “I’m afraid it will hurt.”
“It won’t. I won’t let it.”
He surged forward with another all-consuming kiss, and she slowly relaxed onto her back. I won’t let it. She believed him.
He tongued her skin, and the sizzle heated her blood again. Fire pounded between her legs. She wanted his cock there, filling her.
No, she needed to calm and pay attention. Catalog the sensations. Memorize lovemaking with Pyro so she could relive it, re-enjoy it, even when he was long gone.
She licked her lips, struggling to hold on.
The last orgasm had shocked her with sudden pleasure. Pyro had done everything right. He’d touched her, and she’d exploded. He was a maestro playing her as his finest instrument and instead of an ordinary old piano, the orgasmic songs bursting inside her were exquisite symphonies.
His hot breath sensitized her still throbbing nipples, streaking new desire into her core.
“Um.” She gasped and rose up on her elbows again. “Is this how dragons make love?”
He laid kisses around her taut nipples. “No.”
“How … how do they?”
“In dragon form. More efficient.”
She trapped her scattering thoughts. “Are you going to do that?”
He finally rose. “Transform? No.”
“But.” Gasp. “It’s what you are.”
He transformed his hand. Ridged scales shot from his skin and sharp claws slid out like knives. “I will never hurt you.”
Nerves fluttered again.
He was a playboy, a bad boy, a reckless charmer with no interest in or awareness of consequences. And she was handing over not only her virginity, her first adult relationship, and her marriage vows. But, piece by piece, her very soul.
He transformed back to human and plumped her needy breasts. Her fears dissipated into pleasure. Capturing one nipple, the hot stroke of his tongue drove her into the bed, arching as a near-orgasmic shock pleasured her.
“Trust me,” he murmured, sucking her between gentle teeth.
She arched again, gasping.
He already owned her. Body, heart. Her soul was all she had left.
Pyro switched to her other nipple, forcing her focus on him, and then he kissed her trembling belly to her thighs. Flexing her feet in seductive circles, he took away her fears and centered her in this moment. Now.
She could fear sex. Fear pain.
Fear life.
But fear of living held her back. It drove her to eat pans of brownies, zone out on trash TV, and run from anyone who might confront her inner self.
Living would involve pain. She would have regrets. Wasn’t it time to go after her true desires?
Pyro’s seductive kisses approached her throbbing, hot feminine center. “Open for me.”
Her thighs trembled.
Comply or run away?
He stroked her gently with his hands, his gaze roving over her with possession and satisfaction. Not judgment, not fear. He was at home with himself. With her. She was the one who needed to let go and live.
Live.
She spread her legs.
A hot wave of hunger crossed his face. He flicked his gaze to her eyes. Fierce gratitude shone in the red threads of his irises as if he knew what it cost her to bare herself to him. He dropped his mouth to her hot feminine bud and latched on.
Pleasure burst across her body, shuddering with the first warning waves of a second orgasm.
She arched. “Pyro!”
He worked her with his tongue and his fingers, every weapon in his arsenal, stroking her to the peak of pleasure. All she could do was clench the soft bedsheets that smelled like him and hold on. Her orgasm shattered into crystal confetti, colorful and heart-racingly delicious.
He rose and eased between her thighs. His hard, sweet cock brushed her legs as he positioned himself.
Resting over her while she caught her breath, he nuzzled her with his nose. “Want to try?”
In this soft, vulnerable moment, she wrapped her arms around his buttocks. Yes, she did.
He smiled as though she had answered a test question correctly. Between her legs, the soft-hard heat of his masculine length rubbed her well pleased pussy lips. It coated his thick, hot cock in their slick sex juices. The head pressed against her tingling entrance.
His eyes sought hers. In this moment of connection, he wanted to see her? She held his gaze with certainty.
He eased in.
The first inches filled her fuller than she had ever been filled before.
He moved slowly, straining from the effort. Sweat broke out on his forehead and upper lip. It sheened his body in a reddish glow.
The full, hard length of him worked deeper and deeper until he came to a full stop. The base of his cock rested against her stretched pussy. In to the hilt.
Wasn’t there supposed to be resistance? There was no resistance. Her body recognized him and accepted him. He was her male. They connected as one.
He seemed to feel their unity even more deeply than she did.
His arms trembled, and he dropped to his elbows, resting his forehead against hers. A masculine moan tore from his lips. He buried his mouth in hers, silencing his vulnerability, tangling their tongues with reckless passion.
She ignited.
Palming her breasts, he squeezed her nipples. Pleasure flooded her. He curved his abdomen to swipe his tongue.
Her channel shuddered. She gasped. “Pyro. What are you—”
“Trying not to move.”
“You can.”
He lifted his head. The red threads gleamed brilliantly.
Without asking a second time, he eased away, out of her.
No.
She grasped his buttocks, trying to stop him from going.
He surged in, filling her to the hilt.
A deeper throb of pleasure ripped through her body.
Was it possible? Again?
He eased out of her and thrust in again, deep and filling, hitting the same throbbing pleasure spot.
She gasped. Again. Yes, it was possible. Deeper, more incredible, like nothing she’d ever felt before.
Oh. This was sex.
This was good.
Amy clenched his buttocks. “More.”
A groan of pleasure emerged from his lips.
He surged into her, thrusting directly into her pleasure spot. She gave in to her body’s demands and held onto him as her anchor in an intense pleasure storm.
He reared back, pushing his weight into his thrusts. Owning her, possessing her, releasing her. His gaze held hers. Uncontrolled passion merged with his masculine pleasure moans.
She exploded.
Pleasure flooded Amy’s body, tingling her lips and toes. She arched as her third release whipped through her, changing her whole identity from a woman who had experienced a few orgasms to one who had experienced the ultimate pleasure.
Pyro grasped her hips and growled. Fresh heat seeped into her, pushing her pleasure into the heavens. Her mind blanked white. A holy experience wrapped her in soft feathers.
She collapsed onto the bed.
He collapsed onto his palms, gasping for breath and shaking his head like he was stunned.
Still buried to the hilt, they rested, connected. Husband and wife.
Hopefully, he thought that was as great as she did.
“Mm.” He asked, muffled. “Are you going to tell your family about us now?”
Of all the things to ask right after sex! She snorted. “No.”
He lifted up on one elbow, surprised for some reason. “So when are you going to introduce me?”
“Later.”
“When?”
She stroked his gorgeous bicep, enjoying the feeling of his skin under her — even though it was starting to feel stretched too far in awkward places. “Maybe after the birth of their first grandkid?”
He actually looked hurt. “Seriously?”
“No. I’m just kidding. I’ll do it when I get home.”
But the instant her parents found out, this beautiful new start would turn ugly.
Chapter Fifteen
I’ll introduce you later.
Hearing those callous, dismissive words from Amy was an unwelcome echo from the past. It killed the buzz he’d been feeling just moments before.
She couldn’t know that those were the exact words his first wife had pushed on him to wreck their marriage.
Anyway, this time, maybe it would be true. Amy was human. Humans didn’t care about dragon hierarchy. Aristocrats or low caste. She
’d said so.
He chose to believe her.
Amy stroked his stubbled cheek.
Pyro caught her hand and pressed a kiss to the palm.
The soft brush of his teeth made her startle. His incisors had started to change to partial fangs as he’d lost control.
But instead of fearing or rejecting him, she snuggled him nearer.
He wrapped her in his warm, safe arms. With an absentminded blanket pulled over them, she dropped off to sleep.
Pyro expected to sleep, too. He was exhausted enough.
But he didn’t.
A deep unsettling feeling lay on his chest.
Amy had given him a great treasure. Her trust. He needed to be the kind of honorable male who deserved it.
That meant no more dicking around.
You always said the rules of Draconis were the ones holding you back.
When he was absolutely certain she was out, he eased from her embrace and showered. His brain raced a hundred miles a minute. Normally sex was a pleasant exercise, but this time, it felt like he’d broken loose a whole new outlook.
All thanks to Amy.
Thanks to her, he was free of the rules of Draconis. He was married; the Empress would have to move on. Hopefully to torture another family. One who would welcome the blessing of elevation to aristocratic status.
His hatred — and Mal’s — of the entire aristocracy was unusual, honestly. Most dragons would claw their dearest ones’ eyes out for the chance to serve the Empress, much less marry her. So, let the “honor” go to one of the dragons who coveted it.
Which left saving his company.
He dried and dressed. Not in his usual jeans and tee. He put on a business suit and opened the files of Carnelian Clothier reports. Sales intel from Alex. Financial profiles from Amber. Spy notes from Kyan.
Sure, he’d glanced at them before. Long enough to confirm that his biases were correct. They worked twice as hard as the aristocrats for half the advantages. But this time, Pyro read the reports for a different reason.
Ammunition.
Whatever Sard was planning, Pyro would go into their meeting the way he had gone into engagements — skirmishes — in the Colony Wars. With the clear-sighted awareness that the enemy hated him, wanted to destroy him, and was prepared to use any method to do so. Recklessness had gotten him out of situations where caution and fear would have gotten him killed. But it had been a certain kind of recklessness. He hadn’t thrown himself into the line of fire just to brave a barrage of bullets. He’d done it to take out a tactical target, escape a death-spreading laser, or thwart an ambush.
