Page 26 of Veiled Flames (Destiny of Dragons #1)

Eighteen

Rosomon

S axon’s rod eases in gently. As gently as is possible for such a thick invasion.

Perhaps it’s not his actions that are so different this second time, but that my body is better prepared. It’s beyond prepared and eager to welcome the deep penetration.

Supporting his upper body on his arms, Saxon bends them to rest on his forearms, moving his body and face even closer to mine. Our noses are nearly touching, and I let myself fall into his eyes, as his rod probes deeper and deeper inside the depths of my body.

His gliding motions are strong and fluid—almost languid, and this time, the act is less shocking, and not at all painful.

In fact, when I move my hips in response, I discover even more pleasures.

It feels natural to have him thrusting inside me, like this is what my body was born to do, like I was created to perform this act, and with Saxon as my partner.

His thick rod belongs inside me and knows how to deliver maximum pleasure.

We’ve become one single being, our bodies conjoined, fully understanding what the other’s needs. Or at least his body seems to know what mine needs—far better than I understand it myself.

“Are you quite well, ma chérie?” He kisses me before I can answer, and so I respond with my tongue, with my lips, with my teeth—tasting and probing and scraping, as he does the same. And our kissing heightens the pleasure of his sliding rod.

His lips pull away, and the look in his eyes sends a jolt to my heart. It’s as if I can see his entire soul in his eyes. Understand everything he’s thinking. Understand who he is, even though I know so few details about my mysterious Saxon.

I know nothing beyond his title as dragon master, nothing beyond his ability to hold command over others, nothing beyond the kindness he’s shown toward me. I don’t even know which kingdom he comes from, or what he hopes for his future.

I want to know everything about this man, his favorite food, his secret desires, his mother’s name. I want to fully understand him, to learn Saxon in the same way my channel is learning the shape and ridges of his thick rod, and how it stimulates my body.

“Would you like to try something different?” he asks.

“There’s more?”

Grinning, he slips out of me, and before I can object to the emptiness, he changes our positions.

Lifting me up with him, he sits on the bed, guiding my legs to straddle around him.

He lifts my bottom, suspending me above his lap, and I lean onto his shoulders as one of his hands supports me, and the other positions his rod at my cleft’s entrance.

The light from the oil lamp kisses his skin and highlights his hair, and I thread my fingers into the luxurious waves as he holds me poised above his rod.

Without warning, his hands slide off my back side.

My weight drops, and he impales me. My thighs land atop his and his rod strikes a place far deeper than I’ve felt him before. Fully seated, I stare deeply into his eyes, and I pant, while absorbing the shock.

The physical impact of his dropping me onto him was intense, but the emotional one perhaps even more so. Looking into each other’s eyes from this new position, with fewer shadows, it feels as if he’s inside me in more ways than one, and perhaps I’m inside him too.

My legs instinctively lock around his hard body, and I pulse against him, loving how I can detect the movement of him inside me, even as he remains still.

“Do you like it like this, ma chérie?” He cups my head in his huge hand. “Do you like to be on top, the one in control?”

I nod, even though I’m not sure what he thinks I could possibly control. And then my legs start to work, as if they already know the answer. I hold onto his shoulders, while my legs, while my entire body works to pump me over his rod—moving him inside me at the pace of my choosing.

Except I have no idea what pace to choose. Wanting to try it all, I keep adjusting, changing the speed and the angle. And all the while I grip his shoulders and look deeply into his eyes.

Eyes that become darker and darker as his pupils widen.

I’m both shocked and proud that I can recognize his pleasure as we perform this act.

I can see his reactions in his facial expressions, ones I first interpreted as pain; I can hear them in his ragged breaths and moans, see them in the raised veins over his muscles and forehead.

One of his hands cups my breast, and it’s engulfed by his palm.

Then he spreads his fingers so he’s holding my exposed pap in the intersection of his thumb and finger.

As he supports my small orb, another finger plays with my nipple until it hardens to a tight painful point.

His touch on my bosom lifts my pleasure even higher and reveals a direct line between that tightened peak and the magical spot between my legs. The place he called my button.

I’m wild now, bucking and galloping over him like a riderless, untamed horse. His hands slide to grip my ribs, spanning my circumference completely. His hold is firm, but he’s not trying to control my movements. Instead, he’s preventing me from flying straight off the cot.

I pump myself over him, hard and fast, and then more slowly, loving how I can see his reactions in his eyes, just as I can feel mine inside me.

I lower myself all the way down, pressing firmly against him, and I circle my hips, marveling at how I can sense the pressure of him moving around the sides of my channel; loving how I can see how good this feels for him too.

I bear witness to the evidence reflected in his eyes, in the pulsing of the veins over his temples, in the quickening of his breaths.

Over and over, I vary my actions, discovering new territory and returning to favorites. But choosing a favorite is like picking a single treat from the sweets table. All are so good, I can’t possibly select just one at the exclusion of the others.

“My turn,” he says with a growl.

In an instant, he lifts me and drops me onto my back. So much for control.

I gasp as the cot’s thin mattress absorbs the impact. He lifts one of my legs, splitting them apart. Resting my extended limb tightly against his shoulder, he cleaves my entire being in half as he drives back inside me.

Over and over, he pushes forward, pressing his hips hard against me each time he lands deep. With my legs split this way, the angle feels even deeper and rubs different places, and I love how it lets me experience his rod in a wholly new way.

“Oh. Ah! I—” At the end of each drive, he discovers a new sensitive place deep inside me.

He tips me even further, adjusting his angle too, until the upper side of his cock slides against my sensitive button, fully reigniting the fires housed there.

A knowing, dark grin paints his face as he continues to vary his speed and depth. And each time he presses hard against the top of my cleft, he makes sure I feel his impact on that magical spot.

“Relax, ma chérie,” he says softly. “Relax. Just let your climax happen.”

I’m not certain what he means, but then realize I’m climbing back to the top of that mountain—even more exciting now I know what lies at the top. A massive wave of pleasure strikes me. My body explodes, convulsing around his power.

I tighten around him in hard pulses, my body generating strong uncontrollable contractions. And he continues to drive firmly inside me, as if fighting against my unbridled squeezing. I’m not sure if my eyes are opened or closed; I can no longer see.

The dim light in his tent has been replaced by a glaring pink light, like I’m looking straight into the midday sun. My hips are pulsing, as if they’re trying to draw more and more pleasure from him, as if they want to capture Saxon’s power and make it my own.

“The things you do to me,” he says as he drives. “Spectacular!”

As my vision returns, his expression distorts. He shouts. His thrusts become erratic, his mouth opens, and his eyes nearly turn back in his head as he pounds.

He shudders, thrusting a few final times, and then he lets my leg drop as he flops onto his back and pulls me atop him. His rod is now limp and damp, lying against the curly hair at the base of his belly.

One of his hands strokes my body, sliding gently between my legs as we both fight to regain our ability to breathe.

I don’t understand why I’m so out of breath, but I am, and I rest my hand over his heart, loving how I can feel it pound, loving how the dusting of hair on his hard chest is slick with sweat, as if he’s a stallion who’s just had a hard ride. We are both wild horses.

I can’t remember how I ever lived before having his rod inside me.

“You are amazing,” he says as his heart starts to slow. “I’ve never felt anything like it.”

“Really?” Astonished, I look into his eyes. “Was tonight your first time, too?” He seemed so skilled.

“No, ma chérie.” Grinning, he strokes my bottom, squeezing it gently.

“How many times have you done this before?” I ask. It’s not the first thing I want to know about him, but it’s something.

His fingers slip through my damp and sensitive folds. “Too many times to count.”

I nod, unsurprised. Now that I’ve done this once, I want to do it many, many more times. “And… And with how many women?”

He looks directly into my eyes. “Also, too many to count.”

I blink.

“Does that bother you, ma chérie?”

“I…I don’t know.” And I’m confused by what he said earlier. “With all those women… You said you’ve never felt anything like me before? Is there something wrong with me?”

“Quite the opposite, ma chérie.” He brushes a finger down my nose, and a soft smile brushes his lips. “For me, you are utter perfection.”