Kiss Of Fire (BBW Dragon Shifter Paranormal Romance): Dragon Shifter Romance

by Catherine Vale

  Ross stirred beneath her hand. He was warm, and young, and he loved her. And for now, for as long as that lasted.

  It would be enough.

  She curled against Ross, pulling the blankets around them, cocooned in the scent of sex and sweat, and the undercurrent of dragon. With one arm around his waist, she smiled. The scent was intoxicating.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Arianna.”

  She rolled over, reaching for Ross. Her fingers touched the sheet, the pillow...but not Ross. She opened her eyes.

  He was sitting on the edge of the bed. Sunlight filled the room and she closed her eyes, sighing.

  “It's late, isn't it? You've been at the forge for hours, and you think it's time I got up?”

  He brushed his fingers across her cheek and she smiled. “Well, sommat of that is right. It is late, but I've not been at the forge, or at least not for hours.” His fingers left her, and the bed moved.

  “You want me to get up then?”

  “I thought ye might be hungry.”

  The aroma of coffee caught her attention, and she opened one eye. A steaming cup of coffee sat on the bedside table. She opened the other eye.

  “You're luring me with coffee?” She sat up, pulling the sheet over her breasts.

  “I missed ye.” Ross reached out, pulling the sheet down. She grabbed a corner, tugging it back up. One eyebrow rose as he pulled the sheet back down.

  “I like looking at ye, Arianna. Ye know that.”

  “Fine...have it your way. If you're going to look, I want my coffee.”

  He handed her the cup and she took a swallow. “Oh, my, Ross. This could take paint off the walls.”

  “If ye're saying it's strong, well, it is. Only way to drink the stuff.”

  “So why did you miss me? You've only been gone, what? A few hours?”

  “Aye, but I can still miss ye, can't I?” He leaned forward, and she met his lips with hers. She closed her eyes again, the kiss slow, gentle...lingering. When he moved away, she leaned toward him.

  “I find I like having ye around.”

  She opened her eyes. “I like being here.”

  “There's breakfast, if ye're hungry.”

  “I'm fine with coffee for now. But I'll get dressed and come down. Did you eat?”

  “Aye. I did.” He stood, looking down at her for a moment. “I think I'd like to go for a walk. Will ye come with me?”

  “I will.” She set the coffee cup aside, and got out of bed. “I want a shower first...” The look in his eyes made her smile. “A quick shower. And then I'll be down.”

  She was showered and dressed within record time, even with the corset she'd found in a trunk. It had taken her a few tries to get it right, but once on, it's wasn't all that uncomfortable. It did push her breasts up and out in a way no bra ever had. But she had the feeling there was still something missing. The corset chafed a little, and there was still the issue of only the linen blouse covering her. With the chilly drafts in the castle, she was conscious of the effects on her...although Ross seemed more than pleased with the way her nipples pushed against the fabric. It had crossed her mind more than once that he was purposely leaving out information about some vital piece of clothing. Certainly Scottish girls didn't run around with their hard nipples visible.

  The skirt swirled around her ankles as she left Ross's room. Bridget's skirt, worn by the last woman Ross loved. There was a certain symmetry to this knowledge.

  Ross was in the kitchen, cleaning dishes at the sink. He turned around as she came into the room, hands full of bubbles.

  “I see ye found the corset.” He grabbed a linen towel and dried his hands. “It does sommat for ye...”

  He was across the room, pulling her into his arms. “Like I said, it puts everything into perspective.”

  She reached up, wrapping her arms around his neck. “And you like this new perspective?”

  “Aye, I do.” His hands moved up the corset, a strange muffled feeling. But as his fingers reached her breasts, she came alive. His thumbs slid across her breasts, the friction of the linen rubbing against her hard nipples sending shivers down her spine. Slowly he palmed her breasts, caressing her as she arched against him.

  “Ye purr like a cat, Arianna.”

  Her breath caught in her throat. “It's hard not to, when you do that to me.”

  “Aye. I'll keep that in mind.”

  He pushed her breasts closer together, then bent his head, rubbing his cheek against her. She knew what was coming, and she rose up on her toes, arching her back, giving him what he wanted...what she wanted.

  The first brush of his lips against her was soft, but the reaction in her body was anything but. She shuddered, drawing in a sharp breath.

  “You know, I think you're doing this on purpose.”

  “Aye, I am. Verra much on purpose.” His words were muffled against her chest. He'd lifted a hand, undoing the top button of the blouse, then lifted his eyes to hers. “Or did ye mean sommat different?”

  “I meant...I think you're not telling me everything about what the well-dressed Scottish lass wore in 1700-whatever.”

  He'd undone another button. “Might have missed a few details.” Another button. He bent his head, lips brushing over the tops of her breasts, then moved lower, tongue flicking dangerously close to her rigid nipples. Her breath had gone all fast and shallow, and she watched through lowered lids as he nuzzled against her. The stubble on his cheeks was rough, but she ran her fingers through his hair, pulling him closer.

  She wanted to tear her blouse off, let him do what he wanted to her. She waited anxiously for the next button to be undone, aching for him to pull back the last bit of linen between him and her pleasure.

  But he didn't undo the last button. Lifting his head he pulled the fabric taut, her nipple thrusting against the fabric. Slowly he flicked his tongue over the fabric, circling her nipple. Within moments the linen was soaked, the air—and Ross's tongue—making it pull up into a tight little bud.

  Cradling her breast with strong fingers, he slid his other hand down to her hip, fingers working at the buckles on her kilt. One came undone, then the other, and his hand touched bare skin. He moved his hand lower, fingers playing over her ass, holding her against his body. She felt weightless, back arched, his arm holding her. She closed her eyes, letting her head tip back.

  The first brush of his tongue over her nipple had her gasping. He flicked his tongue over her rapidly, fingers squeezing, releasing, squeezing again. The rhythmic pressure of his fingers was doing something amazing deep between her legs. Her thighs clenched, then relaxed, falling open against Ross's body.

  It was clear from his reaction this was having a similar effect. His hips flexed forward, his erection pressing against her stomach for a moment. Then he relaxed, pressed forward again, the movement of his hips matching the pressure of his hand on her breast.

  He shifted his body until his thigh was between her legs, his cock thrusting against her leg. He pulled her closer, his hand sliding along the back of her thigh.

  When he took her nipple into his mouth, she jerked in his arms, her hips thrusting forward. He sucked at her slowly, deeply, while he ran his hand beneath her thigh, lifting her foot from the floor. She melted into him, everything else fading away except the sensations he was creating in her body.

  His thrusts against her leg grew harder, faster, his fingers tightening against her thigh. When his teeth grazed her nipple, she screamed.

  The effect on Ross was immediate and intense. He tore his head away from her, eyes blazing as he forced her back against the table. Something fell to the floor, broke, as he lifted her, setting her ass on the table. Her skirt fell to the floor as she reached for Ross's kilt, pulling it up to his hips. Ross had her blouse in his hands, tearing it open. The last few buttons skittered across the stone floor. Pushed up and together by the corset, her breasts rose between them, full and round, the red imprint of his fingers visible on her pale skin.
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br />   She braced one hand behind her as he stepped between her spread legs, hands on her hips, almost pulling her off the edge of the table. Then he was sliding into her slick wetness, thrusting hard, his hips already moving in a way she knew.

  He held her gaze as he pushed her back until she was lying on the table. He reached down, grabbing her breast, squeezing hard, his other hand braced on the table. A dizzying wave of passion swept through her and she arched up, wrapping her legs around his waist.

  Her body took on a life of its own, her hips rolling up to meet his thrusts. The table shook beneath him, something else crashing to the floor.

  Then suddenly his body shuddered as he buried himself inside her, as he stayed buried, his mouth open in a silent scream. For a long moment he seemed to be poised, holding back, waiting, and she watched in amazement, anticipating the moment when he tipped over the edge. Then he pulled back abruptly, drove home hard, and she felt his warmth fill her as he came.

  She arched against him, her body responding to his, something deep inside her clenching tightly, throbbing, then relaxing in a wash of liquid. She tightened her legs around Ross's waist, pulling him closer, deeper. Ross dropped his head to her shoulder, teeth grazing her skin, mouth pressed against her neck.

  They untangled arms and legs slowly, gently. Ross raised his head, giving her a lopsided smile as he slipped out of her.

  “Ye said I was misleading ye. How so?”

  “Give me a minute. I'm not sure I can form complete sentences yet.”

  Ross stepped away, his smile widening. She caught a last glimpse of his slick, softening cock before his kilt fell into place. “Aye. I have that affect on women.”

  He extended a hand, pulling her upright. She looked down, pulling the edges of her blouse together.

  “You ruined the blouse...” She glanced up. “But I think that was your intent.”

  He shrugged. “There are more.”

  “Is there something that I'm supposed to be wearing besides just the corset and blouse?” The blouse was ruined and she shrugged out of it. If Ross wanted to see her, then she'd given him the opportunity.

  “See...this chafes.” She turned, tugging at the edge of the corset. “And as much fun as it is not to wear a bra, I'm pretty sure women wore something under the corset.”

  Ross's eyes had drifted down to her breasts, and his smile had gone crooked again. “Aye. There's a shift that goes on first. I'll find ye one.” He sighed. “Although I'd enjoy the prospect of tearing yer blouses off ye on a daily basis. Those breasts under that thin linen are a temptation that's hard to resist.”

  She shook her head, laughing. “You're incorrigible.”

  He ignored her, and picked up her ruined blouse, and she shrugged into it, pulling it closed as best as she could. Then he held out his hand. “Come. I'll find ye one.”

  They went down the hall into the room where Bridget's portrait hung. He opened a chest in the corner, riffling through the contents. When he turned, he held out a piece of cream-colored cloth. She reached for it, but he hesitated.

  “If you don't want me to wear it I understand. I can find a t-shirt...”

  He looked from the shift to her face. “It's not that. It was her favorite.” There were tiny flowers embroidered along the neck, a thin satin ribbon at the neck. It was clearly a well-loved garment, and a very intimate one.

  “Oh, Ross. I'm sorry. You must have...she would have worn it...” She looked up at him.

  “Aye.” He fingered the satin between his fingers. “I'd untied this ribbon more than once.”

  “Keep it, Ross. It means too much.”

  He looked up, tears gleaming in his eyes. “No. I want you to have it. Bridget...she's in the past. I have a new life, with you. I canna forget her, and I don't want to. I buried her here, for God's sake. But I want...”

  His voice broke, and he turned away. “I want both of you. It tears me apart that she's dead, that I had a hand in it. She was the love of my life. But to feel that, with you here.” He turned back, tears darkening his lashes, the shift still held in his hand, but forgotten. “It's wrong. It's not fair to ye. I love ye, Arianna. Yer're here, and I love ye. But I still love her.”

  “Ross...” She took a step toward him. “You can't change how you feel. I can't tell you there isn't some jealousy. You've loved Bridget for almost three hundred years.” She reached for him, fingers brushing his arm. He pulled away, but she reached for him again.

  “I love you because you've loved her for all these years. You love from some place deeper than any man I've ever met. I want to love a man—be loved by a man—who feels that deeply. It hurts you, and that makes my heart ache for you.”

  He let her touch him, let her pull him into her arms. She held him, stroking his hair, while he cried against her shoulder. After a long time he straightened.

  “Can ye love a man who cries like a baby at the sight of women's undergarments?” He turned away, brushing at his eyes.

  “I can, and I do. Now...” She tapped him on the shoulder. “May I have my shift, sir? I'd like to get dressed...again.”

  * * *

  Ross had gone for a walk, or so he'd said. She'd gone down to the river, walked along the bank as far as the clearing, but he wasn't there. Her skirt was getting wet in the long grass, and she turned back to the dark bulk of the castle.

  The forge door was closed, and inexplicably locked. She stood for a long time, hands on hips, making a slow circle. Then she saw it. The gate to the graveyard was open.

  Ross was crouched next to Bridget's stone, head bowed. She stood at the gate, watching as he picked a blue flower, reached out and laid it on the stone. Tears pricked her lids as he kissed the fingertips of one hand, then touched the stone. Then he stood and turned, and saw her. He drew a deep breath, and smiled.

  Something had changed, something about his posture. He looked, if possible, younger, straighter, as he walked toward her.

  “Are you okay?”

  He closed the gate on its silent hinges, careful to set the latch. “Aye. I'm fine. I was just telling Bridget about ye. How ye came to me, how I love ye. How she'd like ye, if the two of ye met.”

  She took his hand and they walked across the courtyard to the kitchen door. “And I told her I was sorry.”

  “I think she understands.”

  “Aye. She was a sensible girl. She fell in love with me, ye ken.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  “Again? Can we go again tonight?”

  Ross had made dinner, a rabbit pie that had been in the oven for an hour, filling the air with its wonderful scent. She'd finally come down from the library, drawn by the aroma and her grumbling stomach.

  He glanced up from the rabbit pie he was cutting. “Aye. If it's clear. The moon's full.”

  The pie filled the room with its rich scent and she realized it seemed like days since he'd cooked for them.

  “I really need to learn to cook, don't I? I can't keep expecting you to make all our meals.”

  Carefully he set a piece of the pie on a plate. “Aye. There's time for that. Ye need to learn to light the fires without burning down the castle first.” He set the plate in front of her. “There's a trick to making the crust so it's not got a soggy bottom.”

  “Whatever that is.”

  He sat down across from her and poured wine. Her fingers were twitching on the fork, ready to dive into the pie, but Ross seemed to taking his time, pouring wine, setting aside the bottle. Finally he picked up his fork.

  “What ye be waiting for? It'll have lost all it's steam if ye wait.” He raised an eyebrow, and took a bite of the pie.

  She was torn between a snappy retort, and digging in to the pie. Hunger won and she slid the fork into the rich filling, through the flaky crust. She lifted the bite to her mouth, and closed her eyes in bliss.

  “Oh, my God. I'll never be able to make this. Not in a million years.”

  “Aye, I said there's a trick to it. Ye'll learn though.”


  Her plate was clean long before Ross's and she resisted the urge to lick the plate clean, instead breaking off a hunk of bread, and sopping up the gravy.

  “This is amazing.” She sat back, casting a glance back at the pie on the counter.

  Ross nodded. “Ye can have more.”

  “None of my clothes will fit if I eat seconds of everything.” She took a drink of wine.

  “It needs to be eaten. I willna throw out good food.” He rose, took her plate, and brought it back with a second, albeit smaller, slice of pie.

  “Ye can work it off later.”

  She looked up in surprise. “Later? In bed?” But she was industriously working her way through the second piece.

  “Aye, there's that.” He grinned at her over the rim of his wine glass. “Ye seem to take to the task well.”

  They'd cleaned up the kitchen, and in the gathering dark, he'd taken her on a walk to the river.

  “Ye saw this from the sky last night. That's where we went, up and over that hill.” He pointed toward the mound of green that rose up against the indigo sky. “Beyond that there's only but a few cottages, a shepherd minding a flock. Then naught until the sea.”

  “Can we go that far? All the way to the water?” It seemed an impossible distance. But the idea of flying over the water was instantly mesmerizing.

  “Aye, we can. Last night I wanted to try my wings, see if I could still fly. If I was going to fail, I wanted to be within walking distance of home.”

  She stopped dead in her tracks, pulling her hand out of his. He stopped and turned back, and she read the bemused look on his face. “You're kidding right? You knew you could fly?”

  He reached out and took her hand again. “I thought I could. But...ye ken it had been a long time.”

  “I think I'm glad you didn't share that thought with me before we flew. I'm not sure I'd have agreed to go along.”

  They walked a little further, to the bank of the river. It gurgled over the rocks, and beneath the trees, she could barely see the water glinting over the stones.

  “I'd not have put ye in any danger. Ye ken that.”