Page 19 of Wings of Frost and Fury (Merciless Dragons #4)

Ashvelon comes out of the barn and stands beside me, watching his companion depart. The sun is setting in the west, behind us, as we face east toward the sea. The grasses atop the dunes are like gilded feathers, and the sky is a deep, dark blue where it meets the ocean.

“How long do you think it will take him to find a Vohrainian and deliver the message?” I ask.

“Perhaps an hour. Perhaps all night.” Ashvelon watches me with those ice-fire eyes. His wings are partly extended to catch the breeze, as if he has missed the feeling of it.

Katlee used to refer to a certain kind of look as “fuck-me eyes.” I’ve never thought that a dragon could have “fuck-me eyes,” but this one certainly does. His lashes, thick and dark, droop over the incandescent blue of his gaze. He’s licking his lips again, nostrils flaring as if to catch my scent.

“You look as if you want to eat me.” I chuckle faintly.

“It’s all I can do not to taste you,” he admits. “Though I’d prefer doing so without all that fabric in the way.” He jerks his muzzle toward the purple gown I’m wearing.

“I thought it appropriate to dress up for my first meeting with the dragon prince.”

“It covers more of you than the other purple thing.”

“Human clothes come in a variety of styles,” I explain. “Some are meant for lounging on the beach, and others are for more formal occasions, such as a meeting with royalty.”

“So clothing can show respect?”

“Yes.”

“It also comes in different colors, yes? Yet you only wear purple.”

“That’s not the only color of clothing I wear, but it is my favorite, so yes, I own a lot of purple clothes.”

“Purple.” His tone gives weight to the word, like it’s important. “I like your clothing, but your bare skin is better. Will you show it to me again, before Fortunix returns?”

“I…” Shit, why am I so tempted to strip for him? Is it odd that I find him undeniably alluring, even in this form? My hands ar e shaking—actually shaking at the mere prospect of being naked in front of this gigantic dragon who wants to taste my skin.

“Stop staring at me,” I order, and he immediately swivels his long neck and gazes in the opposite direction.

I pull a flask of rum from the pocket of my dress and take a swig.

I bought the flask—and a bottle to refill it with—from a pirate crew that anchored nearby a few months ago.

Devil’s Kiss is more hospitable to pirates than other towns farther up the coast, which suits me just fine.

Pirates tend to have unique wares and stories from wonderful places.

Last time they came here, I took two of the crew to bed after they’d had a proper wash, and it was very good fun.

What I’m considering now is more daring and taboo than a threesome with a pair of pirates.

The liquor scorches the back of my throat, stirring a faint burn in my belly.

I screw the cap back onto the flask and contemplate the dragon—the majestic shape of his wings, the strength of his body, the contour of his slender neck, the spikes at the corners of his jaw.

His scale-plated chest is heaving, and his enormous claws are dug into the turf.

Everything about his stance screams violent desire and restrained force, held back by sheer willpower—something he has in very limited supply.

I feel the same pull. I share the same impatience, the same affinity for personal pleasure. I tend to grow swiftly attached to habits that make me feel good, and his personality, blended with his penchant for naughty play, is uniquely enticing.

“Fuck it.” I walk past the pile of supplies, into the stables. “Come on.”

He whirls to follow me so fast that his tail slams against the building, making it shake so hard I’m afraid it might collapse. I stand frozen, watching until I’m convinced it’s still sturdy. “Careful, pet.”

Ashvelon ducks his head repentantly .

Now that the barrier down the middle is gone and Fortunix has left, the interior of the stable feels much larger.

I send out a quick pulse of energy to clear some of the dust and chase away anything crawly that might inhabit the space.

I’m not particularly squeamish, but bugs and dirt are not conducive to sexual activity.

The dragon enters, holding his head and wings low to avoid tearing apart the doorframe. I’m amazed at how well dragons can compress themselves, despite their size.

Ashvelon stands within the stable, his gray body and mighty wings outlined in the faint light from the upper window. Motes of dust float like stars through those distant, cloudy rays. He has never looked more mystical.

The gown slides off me, and I drop it in a clear space on the floor. I’m wearing nothing underneath.

We are both bare now, facing each other in the skins we were born with, creatures of different species and size, yet somehow not so different, after all.

There is a forbidden glory in what we’re doing, and perhaps that’s why it appeals so deeply to us both. We appreciate a secret indulgence, a delicious taboo, an outlawed delight.

Ashvelon noses toward me, his eyes gleaming. His muzzle bumps lightly against my breasts, and I gasp a little, because the hard smoothness of his scales feels unexpectedly titillating.

His tongue slips out and glides up the slope of my side, then circles my breast. The tip of his tongue is forked, and it fits around my nipple perfectly. The sensation is startling in the most exquisite way.

I don’t speak, but I present my other breast to him, and he graces it with the same attention before winding that long tongue all the way around my waist and pulling my body right up to his jaws, flush against the cold hardness of his teeth.

Each one is the length of my arm, slightly thinner, and terrifyingly sharp.

If I draped myself over those lower teeth, they would slide right through my flesh .

He could kill me with frost-fire, too. I would perish, burning and freezing at the same time. I feel intensely vulnerable, pinned against his jaws by that strong, sinuous tongue.

But he doesn’t open his mouth any wider. He holds me there for a moment, and then his tongue unwinds from my waist and retreats inside his jaws.

His huge forepaw lies next to me, ridged with scaly skin, smoother than the armored plating of his throat and belly. The knuckle of the first claw is rounded and shaped in a way that gives me the most debauched of ideas.

I swing astride that first knuckle and settle onto it, my feet touching the ground on either side. Ashvelon watches me keenly. Bracing myself with both hands against his forepaw, I begin to move against him.

My pussy is so slick that I drench his hide in my wetness immediately.

He brings his muzzle close to me, sniffing deeply of my scent, and a gratified growl rolls through his body.

He licks my breasts again, then snakes his neck around so he can see my ass.

His tongue dances over my bottom, caressing both cheeks.

A euphoric hum vibrates through his entire frame.

A gasping moan escapes me as I rock my hips and arch my spine, rubbing myself faster against him.

The shape of the hard bone beneath his hide and the texture of the scales in this spot are perfect.

There’s a tiny, smooth ridge that’s hitting me just right, and as he fondles my ass with his tongue, I hump more urgently against his scales.

Tiny sounds of pleasure leave my throat while Ashvelon groans and growls his encouragement.

He slithers his tongue along my waist, then dives beneath my lower belly, between my spread thighs, where they’re parted astride him.

I shift positions so the wriggling tip of his tongue can find my clit.

Fingers arched against his scales, I thrust my cunt against that undulating tongue, and I come violently, jerking and quivering all over .

A frantic euphoria buzzes through my system in the wake of the orgasm. My ass is wet and trembling, and my breasts are peaked into hard points. I’ve never felt more perversely debauched or more fiercely glad for yielding to an impulse.

Tipping forward, I lay my naked body fully against him, conscious of how small I am in comparison. His tongue moves across the back of my thigh, then nudges against my pussy, tasting the liquid there. He laps it up, then dives inside me for more.

I hitch a sharp breath as he enters me. The wiggle of his tongue deep inside my cunt is obscenely strange, and quite possibly the best thing I’ve ever felt. My clit, still pressed against him, throbs again. It’s not finished with the dragon.

Clinging to his forepaw, I let him fuck me with his tongue.

He sweeps it around inside me, like he’s intent on consuming every bit of arousal I give him.

And yet there’s always more, because that lascivious, questing tongue is making me whimper, it’s making my whole body tremble and flush, it’s driving my hips to roll forward again, spurring me to rub my mound against his hide.

His tongue withdraws, slithering almost all the way out and playing along my soaked lips.

Then it rushes in, undulating through my belly, and I grind my pussy into him while I come again.

Bliss stabs me right in the clit, pleasure radiating from that spot in dazzling veins so white-hot and blissful that for a few moments, I can’t breathe.

I physically can’t suck in air. I can only cling there, mouth open, throat silent, eyes rolled back, utterly banished from my own head by the sensations he’s giving me.

After the second orgasm I melt all over him, boneless and slick, covered in my own arousal and the wetness from his tongue.

As I slip off one forepaw he catches me carefully with the other, rolling his huge body to the side and draping me against the closely fitted scales of his belly, near a huge column of pearl-gray flesh that gives off a welcoming heat.

At first, I’m too dazed to realize what that column is. Then I see its root—a slit in his scaly armor, between his back legs.

The pearl-gray pillar is his cock. It has emerged from the genital slit where it usually hides, and it lies along his belly, dripping streams of clear liquid from the tip.

I run my hand over the huge head of the dragon’s cock, stunned at the sheer amount of precum he’s producing. My palm and wrist are thickly coated with it.

I place my fingers beneath the bulging head, right at the spot where it joins the rest of his shaft.

I’m not sure how his cock compares to others of his kind, but I like it.

It doesn’t smell detestable like some human cocks I’ve encountered.

There’s a frostiness to its aroma, almost like the hint of freshness in the air right before it snows.

I haven’t seen snow since I was quite small, but I remember that fragrance.

Magic flows through my palm—not lightning, but a buzz of my own energy, emerging from me and flowing against his enormous length.

Ashvelon emits a startled, throaty roar, and I pull back, afraid that I’ve hurt him.

A fervent groan surges through his body and he presses his cock against my small hand, as if he’s begging for me to do it again.

Delighted, I indulge him, stroking and stimulating the underside of his length with both hands.

Within moments, the giant cock pulses beneath my palms, then throbs rhythmically, spewing a copious fountain of cum. I move out of the way in time to avoid most of the deluge, but the creamy liquid surges over the floor of the stable, pooling close to my bare feet.

Ashvelon lets out a shuddering sigh, and glowing blue mist puffs from between his jaws. I keep stroking him with both hands, with no magic except my fingers, until his cock softens and grows smaller, retracting itself neatly into its pouch .

Staring at my dripping hands, I chuckle. “I need to wash up before Fortunix returns.”

“I have cleaning to do as well,” says Ashvelon. “He will smell my seed. I must burn it away.”

“Do what you need to do. But bring your stupid beautiful dragon face over here first.”

His great head approaches me, a blend of caution and devotion in his eyes. He doesn’t know what to expect from me.

“Well done, pet.” I pat his nose and plant a kiss between his nostrils.

“It was my fucking pleasure,” he responds.

I walk out of the barn and back to the cottage, the night air cool against my bare skin. The entire time I’m washing myself, I keep hearing his sonorous voice, like the richest and darkest velvet.

It was my fucking pleasure.