CHAPTER 18

CHAPTER 18
She stilled, careful not to press against the metal, or irritate whomever held it. She should have known that entrance was too easy.
The apartment was dim; the remains of a fire glowed within the hearth, but the orange coals did little to light the room, they only highlighted the edge of a lonely stool. She could make out the rest of the furniture if she squinted: a table tossed upon its side and the untouched bed against the far wall.
It was the first time she had seen any of the other apartments and she noticed quickly how much less inviting this room was than her own.
Her attacker shifted; despite her position, her body refused to build the fear it should. There was something familiar, comforting near her. A hint of rain in the air. Dynarys.
“Dynarys, please, it's me,” she whispered.
He did not react, or at least he did not drop the blade. Behind her, he stiffened.
“And who do we have? A slave...or a traitor?” he growled bitterly.
“I am neither.”
Dynarys snorted.
“I swear on my freedom, Dynarys‒” she began.
The blade stopped her from saying more. It moved from her throat downward, to her chest, and pressed there. Not so hard it would hurt.
She should have been scared. She was nervous, most reasonably, but not scared. Everything she was told her that Dynarys would not hurt her.
“Mother thinks I should kill you,” he continued. The end of his words slurred a little, as if...
“Have you been drinking, Dynarys?” He didn't smell like drink, but he certainly wasn't himself.
Dynarys ignored her, trailing the dagger—for she decided that's what it was, even though she could not see it—toward her chest.
“My dragon does not wish to kill you,” Dynarys admitted. “He wants to fuck you.”
Definitely been drinking. Would it do any good to give him the message now?
“He has always wanted to fuck you. Since the moment you met my eyes defiantly at the choosing house,” the blade trailed its way along her cleavage, and beneath the bodice of the brown dress.
The feel of the cool metal, coupled with his harsh, but passionate words picked up her desire and spun it into a frenzy. It was stupid to enjoy such an interaction, one laced with danger, but try as she might to convince herself that she desired it not, her body would have none of it. Her center burned with his admission, and not even a touch of fear would enter into her emotions. She knew he would never hurt her.
His head tilted against hers and he inhaled deeply, groaning and pressing himself against her back.
“What is it you consider in him, Gay? Whatever it is, I promise I will give you more. What do you long for in a mate?” His words came out jumbled and quickly, laced with a desperation she had yet to sense in him.
She had hurt him. He would never show such a thing, and had he kept his senses about him and the drink from him, she might never know. But she did now, and it touched her. Somehow, he believed the accusations, believed that she would actively choose another. And despite his obvious appeal, he feared she did not desire him.
She turned, careful not to rub against the blade, until they were face to face, her chest against his own.
“I do not consider him at all, Dynarys. Remember I am supposed to be earning my freedom? Grim caught me off guard and I could only think to pretend that his offer interested me to distract him from Scet.”
Dynarys's head whipped upward and he stared at her, hard. “Scet?”
She could see the glowing of his eyes, alert now. Perhaps he had been less inebriated than she first believed.
No, not drunk at all.
Had grief over her actions truly caused such a difference?
“Yes,” she answered. “He gave me a message for you, but it left me standing alone and unguarded in the tower. I had to explain myself when Grim found me.”
“What message?” Dynarys demanded.
Without hesitation, she reiterated what Scet had told her.
The blade dropped away from her back, skittering across the stone floor. Dynarys left her standing there to pace the room. He stopped a moment before the stool and considered a bottle of dark liquid sitting there.
“Why did you not say so sooner?”
“Scet told me not to. He believes one of the delegation is a traitor,” she moved closer. The space against her skin that he had occupied felt empty and the longing to replace his presence was overwhelming.
“Did he say who?” Amber eyes pierced her.
“No,” thank the Six he believed her, “but I have my suspicions.” Should she tell them to him? So far, her feeling about who betrayed them was just that, a feeling.
Dynarys wasn't listening. He was busy staring at the bottle, deep in thought. At last, he kicked the vessel into the hearth. It crashed, shattering into the ashes and flaring the fire briefly.
“He was like a brother,” Dynarys muttered. “And it is my fault he is dead. This whole delegation was a trap that I walked into blindly.”
Gayriel frowned. “You are hardly responsible for the actions of a crazy Archon and a traitor.”
Dynarys glanced at her, he had been talking to himself, but her answer didn't sooth him.
“I lead them. I set Cillumn to watch you and he obeyed. They are all my responsibility. You are my responsibility.”
He was hurting. She remembered being told that the dragons were primal, they lived with passion. And, unsurprisingly, it bled into their grief, as well. She raised her hand and laid it on his arm, comforting, but a little more than that, too.
Like lightning, his hand grasped her and he was in her space once more, inches from her face.
“Do not tempt the beast, Gayriel. I can hold it back until you choose, but do not toy with me.”
She didn't know if it was his grief over Cillumn, or his words from earlier…how he had always longed for her. Or, perhaps, it was a culmination of all of his actions. Honorable and true, but slightly vulnerable, how easily he believed she'd choose another over him. But all thoughts of freedom, all her singular goals faded. They were still important, but somehow less so in the face of this man.
So, instead of heeding his warning, instead of backing away, she leaned in.
Instantly, his lips crushed against hers, a low rumble rising in his throat. The pressure against her lips sent little shudders down her spine; his kiss was firm, almost desperate. She found herself cradled by his large arms, pressed closer and closer. Her heart leapt against her ribs, the touch of him so intense she allowed her eyelids to close. He devoured her, tasting and rubbing his lips against hers like a man starved and allowed his first taste of nectar in weeks. He was scorching her, and they hadn't done more than join lips. Without warning, he nipped her bottom lip.
She whimpered at the combined pleasure and pain of the action. Taking advantage, his tongue dove past her lips, rough, claiming and then darted out again, only to repeat the action once more. The rhythm mimicking the kneading of his fingers against her back and then lower, to her ass. His scent surrounded her, a low groan of pleasure filled the air and she recognized it as her own.
Firm fingers gripped the hair at the base of her neck and pulled her away. His chest heaved against hers, his breathing ragged. She pouted at the loss and leaned forward trying to reclaim him. She wished for his tongue to do that thing again, the thing that spun tension through her entire body and lit fire along the folds beneath her skirts.
“Look at me, Gayriel,” Dynarys commanded.
She cracked her eyes open and looked at him. Then they flew open of their own accord. Amber eyes glowed with an intensity she had yet to witness. Not only that, but the fabric of his shirt pressed tight against his chest, pulled by the emerging wings upon his back. His face remained his own, but black scales flickered into existence along his neck.
She reached up to touch them.
“It does not frighten you? The beast?”
Even now, his concern was for her, despite the strain she could see it took to hold himself in check. She shook her head. No, it did not frighten her.
“You cannot change your mind. He won't understand, and the more his passion is ignited, the less control I will have over him. I will be gentle with you, but if I try to stop, he will wrest control from me. You must choose now.”
Yes, she remembered Tharissa's warning, how the beast could be wild with passion, uncontrollable. But the idea did not scare her...it excited her. She was not just some slave, some random tool for pleasure, but someone so desirable that this man/beast might lose control. She had never felt more sexually powerful.
“I want you, Dynarys.”
And that was it. The sound of tearing fabric filled her ears, his shirt crumpled to the floor, tattered shreds hanging where his wings had burst through. She had time to study his solid chest and the trail of muscles leading into his black pants before she was flung the three steps to the bed.
To her relief, he did not transform completely. It was still Dynarys that crawled above her when she rolled over. Still his face, his body, and his passion filled eyes watching her. There was just something more...primal about him.
She squirmed as he approached, his eyes filled with pleasure at the sight.
He kissed her again, hard, demanding. A hand trailed along her jaw, then down her neck, and then lower, to the beginning of her cleavage.
She gasped when he tore the fabric, both the dress and the breast band split beneath his fingers, as if it were no more than parchment. Cool air met with her naked breasts and her already perked nipples hardened farther.
“I dream about these,” Dynarys admitted. He caressed a nipple, pinching it slightly before releasing it to work on the other. “Ever since the first time you ran from me and they were exposed.”
He leaned over and took one of the buds into his mouth.
Until then, she had been content just watching him, enjoying the desire he had for her. The moment his mouth hit her skin that changed. She groaned, pressing back against the bed and raising herself toward him and the delicious heated moisture of his lips. Of their own accord, her fingers rose to his head and gripped his hair.
“Such a reaction,” he teased. “Could it be that you have dreamed of me, too, sweet slave of mine?”
As he spoke the words, he pressed against her skin, lavishing attention on the other nipple.
Yes, she had dreamed of him, too. Every night, and sometimes in her waking hours. He had such an effect on her.
He raised his head and looked at her once more. “Do you dream of me, Gayriel?”
She swallowed, nodding. Satisfaction gleamed in his eyes and he lowered his head, nibbling along her jaw. His hands still worked her breasts, but she was getting impatient for more. Her arms crept up, circling his neck and then wandering downward. Heat burned against her skin; she trailed her fingers along his collar bone and around the swells of his muscled chest.
“Lower,” he whispered.
She obeyed instantly, eagerly touching his stomach and hips, leaving muscles trembling in her wake. The proof of his desire bulged against his waistband, the tip of his cock nearly escaping its containment.
That worried her a little, she was not a big woman, and she had been warned, in the choosing house, of the pain the first time would cause. And how she must not show it, no matter the severity.
But she was eager for it. She trailed a finger lower and brushed it beneath the cloth, lightly touching the tip of his member. It twitched, and her finger came away damp.
There was just enough light in the room for her to catch the glimmer on her fingertip. Curious, she slipped it in her mouth.
“Great Six, Gay, you are going to kill me,” Dynarys growled and crashed his mouth against hers again. His whole body crashed against her, his hips grinding against hers.
Then his hand was down her skirt, cupping her curls and rubbing with delicious friction. She bucked upward. Gods that felt good. Not as good as what happened next.
Pulling his upper body away, and moving with deliberate slowness, Dynarys slipped a finger inward, testing, teasing.
An electric shock shot up her spine. His heat, combined with the tentative movements, pushed her toward an edge higher than she thought possible. A second finger joined the first and, together, they moved toward some common goal her body begged for.
Then they stopped. A pressure built around them, aching and growing worse each moment, until she nearly whimpered with it. Her hymen.
It did not happen as she expected from there. She was told the tissue would tear, hurt and bleed. But Dynarys did not force anything farther, just massaged her inside until the ache was replaced with excitement. Until she pressed harder against him, than he pressed against her. When he pushed deeper, at last, she hardly noticed. The whip of pain quickly replaced by a wave of pleasure threatening to take her over the edge.
“Oh, not yet,” Dynarys growled, slipping his fingers away.
She had been tossing against the bed, nearly delirious. Never had she pictured sex might be so intense, and she cried out at the loss of his fingers. The wave that had been building faded.
She opened her eyes to demand he return them, but could not even work her mouth.
Pure beauty knelt before her; smooth muscles beaded with sweat, perfection in form. Dynarys had removed his pants, exposing his long smooth member with the ridges along the top. Moisture glistened against the tip once more.
He stared at her for a long moment, his eyes glowing fiercely, possessively.
“So beautiful,” he murmured, trailing a finger along her breasts. “You are mine now. There will be no more doubt.”
He leaned over and she thought he would kiss her, she arched her back, eager to meet his lips...and found herself flipped over.
Her stomach and breasts crushed against the blankets, and she felt his firm hands lifting her hips, shoving a pillow beneath her. And there she lay, exposed, vulnerable, and more ready than she had ever remembered being. Her thighs were damp with her own fluids, and being exposed to the open air that way, knowing he was looking at her, open for him, did not reduce them.
A low guttural sound was all she heard, and the roaring hearth.
No, she realized, the hearth had nearly burned out. This was his dragon, declaring his claim.
Then he was against her, pressing into her opening. The heat of his member scorching, encouraging her body to yield.
The first ridge nearly sent her over the edge, so fast the pleasure returned. He moved slowly, but the stretching of her body was slower. She whimpered, out loud this time, the pleasure of him inside her mingled with the discomfort of the new experience. He slowed, but did not stop, however, he had warned her that he couldn't.
She cried out with the second ridge, a dull soreness preceded a spike of growing electricity. If he just...
Waves of intense pleasure washed over her. She cried into the bed. Great Six her body was going to come apart with it.
He stilled while she pushed herself back against him, taking more of him, groaning and mewling helplessly.
Only when the waves finally subsided did he move again. She held him all now, so deep she could feel his stomach against her ass, as he ground himself into her. His testicles slapped against her sensitive front, recalling the intensity of her orgasm with every move, and building the pleasure once more.
She was mindless. She wanted nothing more than him, his body, his pleasure within her.
He said nothing, just thrust. And thrust. The sounds of pleasure he made did more for her than all the words of the world. He wanted her. Just as she was, not to own her, or use her, but her, flaws and all.
He ground against her now, she turned her head to the side and peered back at him. It was a magnificent sight, Dynarys, his muscles taught, his head thrown back. He clutched her hips as he worked his way in and out, his grasp firm, almost bruising.
Then he roared, and his wings lashed outward, his own hips pumping faster, harder, and she knew he was finding his pleasure. He turned his head to watch her as he came, fierce passion in every line on his face. And that sight, a picture that would fuel her passion for eternity, coupled with his obvious release and the new feeling of his seed filling her, sent her over the edge once more.