Page 17 of Veiled Flames (Destiny of Dragons #1)

Twelve

Rosomon

M y heart is pounding out of my chest.

Holding my face in his palms, Saxon bends, moving his face closer and closer toward mine, until his lips are so near, I feel their heat and taste the faint scent of ale carried on his heavy exhales.

Hours seem to pass as his lips hover above mine, and anticipation builds like a wildfire inside me.

He hasn’t yet kissed me, but something has happened to my lips, to my entire body.

I have a thirst, a hunger, that can only be quenched by a kiss from this man.

Finally, the dragon master’s lips press against my mouth, and striking powder explodes everywhere inside me, igniting a jolt that lands low in my belly and sharply between my legs.

My insides tighten, and then the feeling quickly transforms into a pulsing heat.

I struggle to understand how my cleft and belly are connected to my lips.

But clearly, they are connected to those places and more. I sense the soft touch of Saxon’s lips everywhere in my body, tingling and heating every tiny place.

As I fight to understand everything that I’m feeling, his lips gently deliver kiss after kiss, moving from my top lip to the bottom, and then circling around until he’s back where he started.

Each one of his tender kisses ignites a new thrill, quenching thirsts I didn’t know I had, and yet waking a far deeper hunger inside me. A hunger I have no idea how to satisfy.

I’m lightheaded now, floating, even as he holds my face solidly in place.

As his lips kiss me even more firmly, my own unexpectedly respond, pressing back against his and moving as if they instinctively know what to do—a bit like the way I understood how to approach his dragon. Perhaps I am taming another beast.

Perhaps if I tame Saxon, I can avoid the dangers of men that Nurse warned me about.

Joy spreads inside me, and I vow to continue to trust my instincts. Instincts now urging me to devour his strong salty lips, to suck the scent of whiskey and ale from his breath, and to taste and test the texture of this man’s mouth from every angle.

His tongue flicks the seam of my lips, teasing and pressing.

I part mine to ask what he’s doing, but his tongue steals that opportunity to slide into my mouth, stroking between my parted lips even as he continues to kiss them.

My shock quickly passes. I like this manner of kissing, and I let my tongue play along, sliding against his as our lips and tongues join forces to perform a complicated dance. One that seems wild yet choreographed. One my mouth is quickly learning how to perform.

My body hums, it sings, it rejoices in every new delight.

On instinct, I tighten my lips around his tongue to suck gently as he pulls his back. Saxon groans from deep in his chest. His hands slide from my face to the back of my head, and our kiss deepens, stealing every last bit of my breath and making my whole body quiver.

I can’t breathe. I no longer need to breathe. All I need are Saxon’s ravenous lips, igniting and fueling the multiple fires inside me.

My cap falls off and his hands work to loosen my braid. A braid that’s been hidden for nearly four days now.

“I must free your beautiful hair,” he says against my lips, before capturing them again.

And then one of his hands sweeps down to cup my bottom, pulling my body more firmly against the hardness of his.

As our bodies collide, I gasp into our kiss, my body responding to his show of force.

This feels dangerous, but I have no desire to stop him.

I’m wild now, my tongue and lips and hands are all moving beyond my control.

My fingers explore his body, even slip under his opened leather jacket onto his linen chemise, desperate to explore the shape and textures of this older man’s powerful body.

His large hands cover and squeeze my bottom, and heat explodes inside me. From under his breeches, a ridge presses hard against my belly, and the sensation stokes my rising heat. Does he have a weapon stashed there?

My body tenses, thinking of Sky Stallion’s stiff rod before he mounted that mare. Could that be what I’m feeling against me?

Before I can consider this further, his hand slides from my bottom to tease the seam between my legs. Now I’m unable to think of anything beyond his touch, beyond his kiss, and my body’s reactions to his every endeavor.

How is it possible to feel so many things at once? I’m under his control yet feel powerful. At his mercy yet feel safe. I’m quenched, yet hungry for more.

And my body… my entire body is throbbing, acting on its own and writhing against his hardness, loving how he responds with deep moans and movements that stroke his hardness against me.

My hands continue to explore his shape—the hard disks of his chest, the ropey tendons of his neck—the hard mounds of his arms. Are all men such a wonder?

“Holy, thrix!” He pushes me back from him, and I wobble on my feet, panting, pulsing, feeling cold now we’re parted. My lips are damp, hot and bruised, and I raise my fingers to make sure my mouth is still intact.

“Did I do something wrong?” I step forward. “If I did, please tell me. I’m a quick learner.” Desperate for more, I lick my bruised lips.

Shaking his head, Saxon rests his hands on my shoulders.

But instead of using his strength to draw me against him, this time he uses it to hold me at bay.

Hot dampness has seeped between my legs, and I’m fearful that my courses have arrived early.

I shift. This dampness feels different than my monthly bloodletting.

It’s the same dampness I felt the day I met Saxon in the forest—but there is so, so much more.

“You did nothing wrong.” Saxon’s deep voice rumbles through me, acting like a bellows, stoking all the previously ignited fires. “It is I who did something wrong.”

“I don’t understand.” I want to learn everything, but mostly I want to know what I have to do or say to get him to kiss me again.

The backs of his fingers stroke my cheek, and my eyes flutter shut as I lean into his caress.

“Thrix, you are beautiful.” He leads me toward his cot, and fear starts to ice the fires inside me.

At this moment, I’ll let Saxon do anything he wants. But my desire, my trust in him, can’t erase all the warnings from Nurse about the unspoken things a man might do to me. And I can’t help but think about Sky Stallion and that poor mare.

Saxon guides me to sit and then turns me slightly away from him. Anticipation and fear rise inside me. Sky Stallion mounted the mare from behind.

But instead of preparing me for mounting, he releases my half-undone braid. His fingers thread through my hair, carefully separating the long strands, and my scalp tingles along with the rest of me. Once the braid is fully unwound, his fingers slide from my nape and up to stroke my entire head.

I moan at the luxurious sensations. My scalp has long been covered by that cap and strained by the tight braid. The feeling is akin to when Nurse washes my hair, but much better. So much better. His strong fingers instinctively know all the places where my scalp most needs attention.

As he returns to fondling my long tresses, I slowly turn to face him. His gaze, at first on my hair, rises to meet mine, and his expression, fierce and hungry, heightens all the sensations churning inside me.

His eyes seem darker in this low light, and his golden hair dances like the candle’s flame. He’s looking at me the way stable cats stare at a cornered mouse. Focused. Determined. Ravenous. Merciless. Saxon wants to devour me.

Excitement and pride churn along with the unfamiliar feelings inside me. I want to be devoured by this commander. I want to devour him too.

“Rosomon.” My name flows like honey through his lips. “I mean, Rosshall .” The edges of his mouth turn up in a slight smile. “Do you wish to travel with us all the way to camp?”

“Very much.” Did he plan to kick me out? “I…I don’t have anywhere else to go.” I hate being wholly at his mercy, but I’ve lived my entire life at the mercy of men.

“In that case,” he says, wistfully, “I think it’s best to cut your beautiful hair.”

Gratitude swirls inside me. I’ve been wanting to do that since I first left the castle. But haven’t had the time to risk using one of my daggers to do it myself.

“Can you help me?” My voice is scratchy, as if I haven’t had a sip of water in days. “I’ve been terrified my cap might fall off, or that someone might remove it.”

Two of the men in particular, Egon and Amis, relentlessly pick on the smaller men, including my friend Samyull, but I’ve stayed clear of them.

Prince Tynan is also cruel enough to remove my cap on purpose.

“I’ll cut your hair,” he says softly. “But only after I admire its beauty one last time.”

A smile rises from deep in my chest to meet the blush on my already warmed cheeks.

My hair has been praised in the past, noted as my single best feature, but I won’t feel any loss when it’s cut.

The only thing I’ll feel is relief that my hair won’t be the reason my identity is discovered.

Saxon’s hair brushes his shoulders, but I’ve never met a man who wears his hair longer than that, whereas mine extends past my waist.

Master Saxon gathers my hair and draws it to the front. Lifting it to his nose, he inhales.

I cringe. “My hair has not been washed in many days.” Days we’ve been traveling over dusty roads, and it’s been trapped tightly against my head.

“Your hair smells delicious. It smells of fields of flowers and grasses. It smells of the Great Beyond.” He bends to place a soft kiss on my lips. “It smells of you.”

I lean forward, eager for another kiss, but he shifts away.

“Roso—Ross,” he says. “When we are alone, I think I shall call you Ross. Is that acceptable?”

I nod. Saxon can call me anything he wants. Although I do fear him using my true name.

“Ross,” he says, “I’d very much like to continue on with what we started here tonight.”