Page 18 of Dragon Lord

Her second cry was a cry of surprise at the pain, her tight channel struggling to take him. She clung to him, his large shaft only half inside her.

She squirmed. And Draknart swore when he realized that she was squirming not to get away but to take him deeper.

“Please,” she begged. “More.”

Sweat beaded on Draknart’s brows. “Einin. Sweeting.” She’d reduced his voice to a broken whisper. “Stop. It’s not too late.”

His arms shook. He’d never done a more difficult thing in all his dragon life than holding still as she rubbed against him. She was so incredibly tight around his shaft, her face so intent, her gaze burning into his. Her body moving, moving, moving.

“Einin!”

The power of the gods’ lust outside crested then ebbed. Draknart shifted his body to move away.

Einin gripped his shoulders, her eyes clear. “Don’t go. Stay.”

“You don’t want this,” he warned her.

Choice was important to her. She wanted to decide her own fate. Not only did Draknart know that by now, but he fully understood it at last. As a dragon, nearly all the choices in his life had been his—except for the goddess’s curse. Einin’s life had been the opposite.

He was never going to take a choice away from her.

“If you wish…” He held himself in rigid control. “If you still wish, at another time, we could—”

“I wish now.”

His body trembled with need. “You choose this?”

“Yes,” she said without hesitation.

“You would choose it even if the gods hadn’t—”

“Even if.”

A fierce, fiery pleasure spread through him. He sank into her inch by slow inch. And he died and was reborn at least twice before he was fully sheathed inside her incredible heat.

He needed all his strength to hold still so she could adjust to his size.

His lungs bellowed. He wanted to talk to her, but he lost the ability to speak.

He held back, and held, and held, and held, until tremors shook his entire body, until steam replaced his brain in his head, until all coherent thought evaporated.

After endless, impossible, torturous moments, he eased back, then forged forward, into her, all the way, again.

They were both gasping for air, her tight sheath strangling him.

The dragon inside him craved an urgent, violent coupling.

Draknart reached for strength he could only hope he had, and he began to move inside her gently.

He glanced between them as he worked himself in and out of her, her juices glistening on his shaft, along with the smears of her virgin blood.

A single, savage, primal thought drummed in his brain—she was his.

She would hate that thought. He knew it, but he couldn’t stop it. He was too much of a beast.

He dipped his head and kissed her deeply and thoroughly, then moved his lips down her throat and drew her tight nipple into his mouth. He didn’t have enough restraint left to be gentle there, so he sucked hard.

She squirmed against him again, her hands on his shoulder pulling him closer once more instead of pushing him away. When he looked up at her face, her eyes were rolled back in her head from pleasure.

Another wave of the gods’ lust rose outside.

Draknart lost the last of his control and plunged into Einin as he craved. He took her roughly, madly, deeply. He ground himself into her, one hand holding her by the back of her neck, the other sliding between them to caress her swollen nub.

She spent with a cry that echoed through the cave, her muscles gripping him so tightly, he felt light-headed from the pleasure. As he spilled his seed deep inside her, out of his mouth erupted the roar of a dragon.

He waited to pull out until he softened a little, to make it easier on her. Not that he softened much. He dropped to the ground next to her, then rolled onto his back as they panted side by side in the semidarkness of the cave.

“Have I hurt you badly?” he asked when he could speak.

Long moments passed before she answered, courage glinting in her eyes. “I’ve been hurt worse.”

He remembered the scars on her back. He flinched. “I am sorry, sweeting.”

“My body feels…” She trailed off, then she tried again, “My body feels…” But she couldn’t finish on the second try either.

“I swear, if I could have stopped it, I would have. I would have if it killed me.” He gathered her against him with all the tenderness he possessed. “Is it terribly bad?”

“It’s an ache, but it’s more than an ache. I need… I still need…” Once again, she didn’t know how to finish, but she rubbed the juncture of her thighs against his thigh in a tentative gesture of seeking.

He was hard as an anvil already. The gods were still swirling the storms of passion outside.

Einin explored his chest with her slim fingers.

He flattened her hand against his hot skin under his palm. “I don’t want to hurt you even more.”

She stilled. But a moment later, her lips brushed against his shoulder, as if she couldn’t stop.

He knew how she felt. The air was thick with lust. And now the cave held the scent of their lovemaking and mutual arousal. His sensitive dragon nose could not avoid it. His body pulsed with need so sharp as to be on the edge of pain.

“When will it stop?” Even as Einin asked, she bit him.

As her small teeth sank into his skin, hot pleasure shot through Draknart. “When the gods finish.”

She moved over him, sprawling over his body, burying her face into his neck as if trying to hide. “I can’t. I can’t,” she begged, but then she kissed his collarbone, just before she licked his chest.

He wrapped his arms around her, the thought that he couldn’t keep her safe killing him. “I know.”

She shifted on top of him, on his hardness. “But I need…” She nearly cried with the words.

He soothed the delicate curve of her back with his large hands. “I know, sweeting.”

A sob escaped her.

“Straddle me,” he said.

She sat at once, one knee on either side of him, her pale breasts glowing in the darkness of the cave.

Draknart folded his hands under his head so he couldn’t grab her. “Do what you want, sweeting. Take what you need.”

She squirmed in distress, not fully understanding. “I need…” She gasped in distress. “Inside me.”

“Take it, then. As slow as you need. As much as helps.”

Understanding at last, she rose to her knees, then reached for his full hardness. When her fingers closed around him, he couldn’t help the groan that tore from his throat. He thrust into her hands. It wasn’t enough for either of them.

She brought him to her opening.

He didn’t want to hurt her again, so he held himself completely still as she slowly, experimentally lowered herself onto him.

She took in only the swollen head at first, then sank a bit lower, then another bit. She winced and gasped all the way down, but she took him in to the root. Then she squirmed to adjust to his size, and the next gasp that left her lips was a sound of pleasure.

Her gaze begged him. She was clearly at a loss as to what to do next.

“Ride me as you would a horse.”

The image that immediately invaded his head was nearly enough to make him spend inside her all over again. He gritted his teeth to hold still instead of grabbing her hips and pumping into her with wild abandon.

She began to move, up and down, riding, grinding. She let her head fall back, her silken hair cascading down her sweet body. Her puckered nipples thrust forward with every move she made.

He wanted to touch them but didn’t dare remove his hands from under his head. He would not take over. He had to stop himself.

Yet he couldn’t stop himself completely.

“Take your nipples between your fingers for me, sweeting,” he told her, “and roll them.”

Shock widened her eyes, but she was desperate for release, and she trusted that what he advised would help. She cupped her firm breasts in her small hands, covered them with her palms, ran her tentative fingers over her nipples, and moaned, her eyes glazing over.

“Now pinch them,” Draknart ordered.

She did and cried out in shocked delight.

His hips began to move. He couldn’t help it. “Pinch them tighter.”

Her breathing grew hard and uneven.

“Now roll them.”

She obeyed, and rode him faster, rougher.

When she spent her pleasure, squeezing him, milking him, Draknart lost control. He grabbed her, rolled her onto her stomach, and lifted her hips. He made sure that her face rested on her folded arms on the cave floor, the he plunged into her tight opening from behind.

She cried out—a sound of desire. As he pounded his need into her, she pushed back, meeting him thrust for thrust, arching her back, her soft moans begging him to bring her to completion once again.

He reached around her with one hand and found her throbbing nub, pinched it and rolled it, the same as she’d done with her nipples. The gods be damned, he couldn’t stop, he didn’t want to stop, he wanted everything she had.

When she flew apart in his arms, he shot his seed inside her pulsing, tight channel.

Later, as they lay next to each other, Draknart cursed the gods again. He’d wanted Einin, but not like this, not without control. Not when neither of them could make the choice for themselves.

A bitter realization hit him.

The goddess had not forgiven him. The years Belisama had given to Einin were no years at all. The goddess expected Einin to run from the dragon in the morning.

Einin would never want to see him again.

Not after Draknart had spent the night ravaging her body.