Page 45 of Drawn by Dragonblood (Blood Born #1)

Jonathan

D akota always quieted my inner demons, but I held tight to the wall I’d built, the imaginary line I couldn’t cross even though my body begged me to do so.

More coffee, breakfast, shower together, and cuddling—without sex—on Elijah’s bed, surrounded by his scent would have been fucking heaven if it weren’t for the damn ache in my chest that no amount of rubbing or scratching eased.

I wondered over my well-founded fear and the sexual high Elijah had taken me on the night before.

Considered the cum he’d filled me with and its ability to hit me like the sweetest drug and make me crave more as I’d done with Dakota from the first time we’d had sex.

And watching my wife surrender herself to him without me involved in their coupling turned me the fuck on rather than pissed me of.

I hadn’t slept worth a shit the night before, and I finally drifted off in peace, Dakota wrapped around my body. When I woke, Elijah sat on the couch in his suit and tie, Dakota still naked—and straddling his thighs.

I should have seen red, my stomach souring, but found my cock swelling and my hand sliding down my stomach to wrap around it, same as the night before when Elijah had made love to my wife.

He lifted his gaze from her face, the emotions in his eyes hitting me like a rush of wind and stealing my breath.

Goddamn him and whatever that energy was reaching out to me with desperation I couldn’t say no to.

His slow smile caused my dick to jerk in my hand. “Good morning.” The low rumble of his tone pebbled my skin. “Or should I say afternoon?”

I didn’t stand a fucking chance of preserving myself. Protecting myself from hurt.

Fuck if I was going to stop trying though.

At least he didn’t demand I crawl to him and sit at his feet like a trained dog while he fingered Dakota and enticed her body to climax all over his hand and slacks. I busted a nut at the same time as she did, my hand milking my shaft until my balls sagged in relief.

I swore to fucking God, Elijah’s good boy was whispered after in similar praise to my wife.

But I refused to acknowledge his words or how they swelled my chest with fulfillment and shit ton of pride over pleasing him.

An hour later, the chopper packed full with a bunch of our shit and a dozen or so bag of groceries including boxed mac and cheese at Elijah’s insistence, we headed back to the cavern for the rest of our four-week stay.

Elijah suggested we move into his room, and I carried our stuff there without bothering to double-check with Dakota. She wore her heart on her sleeve even if she glanced at me with a question in her eyes.

Settling into a routine came easily enough.

We cooked together, showered together, slept together, Dakota more often than not a writhing, panting mess between us.

Still, Elijah wouldn’t allow either of us another taste of his cum.

He also didn’t try to fuck me again, and I couldn’t decide if I was thankful or pissed off about that fact.

Any kisses shared between the two of us weren’t the gentle sort but pure fucking war—and I refused to back down and melt at his touch as my body seemed desperate for.

The sexual tension swarming like hornets in the tech room while working raised the hairs on my neck, heightened my pulse to the point of needing to talk myself out of hyperventilating and panting for my boss on a daily basis.

Elijah had said I would pay for coming without permission that night in New York, and every heated glance, every stare that singed my skin, promised he would hold true to his word.

So what the fuck was he waiting for?

Me to ask for his undivided attention?

Not happening.

I dreamed of the dungeon. The cross. The chains dangling from the ceiling and the cane that would probably hurt like a goddamn son of a bitch.

Desire to kneel at his feet and beg for him to hurt me—love me—had me hard as a rock more often than not.

I jerked off more than a horny teenager in the bathroom, and I swear to fucking God that Elijah could tell I didn’t gift him those orgasms. Like he could smell the cum on me even though I cleaned up thoroughly every time, his knowing stare promised I would pay.

Coming without his permission haunted my mind but fuck if I could stop.

No amount of burying myself in Dakota’s ass, pussy, or throat eased the ache inside me. Like a darkness leaching into my soul, a hazy sheen of something latched onto my innermost being, demanding I soothe its need with whispered pleadings in a voice I didn’t fully recognize as my own.

What was that all-important piece, what link that would set my world right again, the same as it was when I’d first met Dakota?

Had meeting Ashley caused the unrest? Did Elijah’s continued show of dominance in his steady stare?

The idea of leaving him and his lair fucked with my reality to the point I didn’t consider it any further.

What part of the puzzle that would make sense of everything in my head was I missing?

Two long-ass motherfucking weeks, and no amount of beer, good wine, fucking, or pouring myself into my job eased the unrest beneath my skin.

Elijah had disappeared an hour into the workday, the tension snapping between us probably finally catching up to him.

Dakota had gone off down the mountainside, camera in hand, to get some images for a newly contracted White Mountains travel brochure, and I slaved away, putting the latest robot model to the test in its seventh or eighth different suit of armor.

My eyes burned. Throat itched. Backside fucking ached from sitting on the goddamned chair for too long.

Tossing the controller onto the desk, I sat back and pinched the bridge of my nose.

Something had to give.

“Can’t fucking do this anymore,” I muttered to myself and shot up from the desk, stalking out the door. The hallway lay empty, and no sounds rose from the garage or stairs leading to the upper floors.

Like a string tied to my head and tugged, my gaze swiveled toward the door directly across from me. My hand lifted before I thought, punching in the key code same as I’d done supernaturally once before. The lock clicked, and I pushed inward.

Soft light rose, and I stepped over the threshold.

Silence reigned as I glanced around the room that had been tidied since my last visit.

Although coated in a bit of shadow, I noted the cleanliness of the floor, the various benches, and peg boards and tables with their precisely lined toys.

My feet moved me to the left, my fingers trailing over various instruments, some of which I had no clue about how one wielded them or the pain level they might inflict.

Floggers, crops, whips…a cane that made my backside clench and rushed the blood to my cock. My breath echoed in my ears as I lifted the wooden rod, its smoothness and unnatural warmth reminding me of the scale-like armor Elijah had created.

Holding the cane closer to my face revealed tiny scales.

It had definitely been designed by Elijah.

I slid my hand along its length, and like I’d stroked my stiff dick, pre-cum oozed from my slit, smearing in the jeans near-choking my balls.

The cane would hurt when wielded by Elijah—I had no doubt—but his touch would bring pleasure in its wake.

And fuck if that thought didn’t make my cock jerk and my heart rate accelerate.

A rush of that something swarmed over me, catching my breath a second before Elijah’s presence registered in my lust-filled brain. The darkness in me rose, tingling my hands, my feet, and my balls.

Yes .

Breath held, I turned.

Elijah hovered in the doorway, tensed like a dragon ready to leap at whoever had dared to touch his treasure. Pale eyes, dark pupils swirling—I didn’t fucking imagine the otherworldliness of his strange stare. The dude was not thoroughly human. No fucking way.

I swallowed but couldn’t tear my gaze from him. Couldn’t breathe as he stalked toward me, shoulders hunched, chin lowered, gaze piercing. “The beast inside you calls to me.”

I didn’t know what the fuck he meant, but it sounded like truth with how the words rumbled deeply from his chest and caused my arms to erupt in goose bumps.

That voice in my head? Yeah—it fucking agreed wholeheartedly, almost…cackling in glee.

“Let me show you.” Elijah stalked close with his suggestion, clasping his hand around mine, which still clutched the cane. Our chests bumped, and he tipped his head to the side, his gaze roaming down my neck and back to my lips. “Let me set you free.”

Please .

My balls seized, and I released my hold on the cane as Elijah stepped back, taking it with him.

“Strip.” His low command didn’t allow argument, not that I’d have attempted one.

Every inch of my tingling skin, every zapping atom inside my body, craved what I somehow knew what he and he alone could give me.

My hands shook while pushing off my jeans and kicking them free from my bare feet. I pulled my shirt off overhead and dropped it to the floor where it landed with a soft swish. Our heavy, panted breaths echoed in the cavernous room of melted rock and kinky toys meant to set a tortured soul free.

At least, I hoped that would be the truth.

Fists clenched at my sides, I stood before him, dripping pre-cum and shivering even though lava seemed to boil inside my soul.

Elijah took his time sizing me up, his gaze lingering here and there, and until he circled me, I wanted to beg him to just get on with it already, same as when I’d offered up my virgin ass to him.

Lifting his arm, he trailed the end of the cane up the inside of my thigh, over my cock, and up my abs, leaving a trail of fire in its wake.

I hissed between my teeth, my nerve endings alight and ready to fly.

“I know you want me to strap you to that cross,” he said, his voice as strained as I felt, “but you lost that privilege by disobeying me while in New York.”

A frown dented my brow as he set the cane aside and reached overhead to the dangling chains I hadn’t realized I stood beneath. “Give me your hands, beta.”

My fear squashed by need, I obeyed, and soft leather caressed my wrists, shackles attached to the chains.

Elijah moved away, and my gaze trailed over the ceiling, to the other end of the chains against the far wall. He pulled them upward until my arms stretched overhead. I was strung up, balancing on the balls of my feet and stretched taut, but not enough that my muscles screamed for relief.

“I’m going to do what I dreamed of doing,” he said, pressing his once more against me, his mouth on my ear, the heat of his skin like a brand on my chest. “You’re hung at my mercy,” he murmured with a deeper rumble, and I whimpered. “Mine to torment, mine to pleasure .”

He wrapped his hand around my cock and squeezed.

I swallowed hard. “Jesus—Elijah.”

“You’ve offered yourself, so now I’m going to break down every fucking wall you’ve built to keep me out.”

Yes .

I shook my head but couldn’t voice the argument in my head. I wanted to shout a resounding no, to tell him to stop, but found my lower lip between my teeth instead.

He left me chilled through, striding toward one of the tables. He returned with a blindfold, his black pupils still swirling in that ungodly… hotness that made my balls throb. “To help you see better,” he said, wrapping it around my head and shutting out the strange, gorgeous sight of him.

“D-don’t I get a safeword?” I managed to ask past the tightness in my throat I figured to be fear regardless of the lust swarming beneath my skin.

The tip of the cane moved down my spine, bringing a shiver along with it.

“Do you want one?” Elijah asked while sliding the cane down between my ass cheeks.

My hips pressed toward him, and a moan escaped my parted lips rather than the yes I’d intended on giving. But I ought to have one regardless of my desire to be wrecked by Elijah’s toys.

“Oatmeal.”

Elijah chuckled, trailing the cane back up my spine. “I promise once we begin, that word will never cross your lips. Your desire to submit is strong regardless of how much you fear doing so.”

He spoke the truth.

The warm tip of the toy he wielded disappeared, and a whoosh sounded.

Crack !

Pain fucking exploded across the top of my thighs, and I jerked forward, cursing and jerking the chains.

Crack !

Another landed above the first, and I bit my lip so goddamn hard the coppery tang of blood hit my tongue.

“Jesus fucking Christ.” I breathed through the searing pain, having something all-consuming to focus on that made my mind quiet exactly as I’d always hoped it would. Why the fuck had I thought starting off with a goddamned cane was a good introduction into this pain/pleasure shit though?

I didn’t even know if the agony would morph into something I might find pleasant. Fire raced through my blood, but rather than shrinking from it, I leaned into the pain, soaking the clarity and mind-blowing awareness it brought.

Like my eyes had been opened, my senses heightened—flooded with fucking life …

“Again,” I whispered.

A third whoosh, and pain lanced across my left ass cheek, another across my right before I could gasp.

“God—”

Elijah’s cane hit me like a million bees’ stings, right above the backs of my knees, and I stumbled, breathing heavy. It took me a few seconds to get my feet beneath me, my breath escaping in pants, my dick leaking so much it dripped off my balls to the floor.

“More,” I heard myself say through the buzz rising in decibel between my ears.

He landed hits up my thighs, over my ass, every crack lessening in agony until what I longed for snuck in quietly on its heels. Pain evolved into gloriousness, so goddamn heavenly, so fucking luscious , I found myself drifting toward the darkness in my soul.

I floated. Flew free, exactly as Elijah had promised.