Love and Whiskers

by Olivia Myers

  “Yes,” he said through a throat gone rough with his beast. “I am. If you’ll excuse me, ladies and gentlemen? I bid you goodnight.”

  It was all he could do to observe the formalities as the refrain pounded in his blood in time with the accelerating beat of his heart.

  Keep HER, keep HER, keep HER, keep HER. KEEP HER.

  He followed her scent to the sunroom off the side of the kitchen. The moon had risen above the mountains, full and silver, painting the landscape of his yard in eerily bright shadows.

  She stood staring out at them, still wearing the light, floaty blue dress she’d been wearing earlier in the day. Her arms were wrapped around herself, her elbows in the opposite palms, light gooseflesh pebbling her bare skin.

  He wanted to move up behind her and scoop her up without a word, carry her to his bedroom and not let her leave for a month.

  But…

  “Everything went perfectly tonight,” he said instead. Despite the fact that he’d kept his still rough voice soft, Cassandra jumped and spun around.

  When she saw him, she smiled, though. “I’m glad. Has everyone gone?”

  He shrugged, not really caring if his guests had managed to find their way out yet or not.

  “Everything was perfect,” he repeated. “Except for one thing.”

  Her brow furrowed, as he’d known it would, the little line appearing just above the smooth slope of her nose. It was her “thinking” expression, and he loved it. Rhys felt the corner of his mouth curl.

  “They didn’t forget to serve Assam tea for after the meal, did they?” She caught her pink lower lip between her white teeth. “I told Mrs. Norris at least three hundred forty seven times that he doesn’t drink alcohol.”

  Rhys chuckled. “She didn’t forget. Assam got his tea and was appreciative.” He took another step onto the sun porch, closing the distance between them. Cassandra’s shoulders relaxed a bit and her brow smoothed.

  “Oh. Good. What was it then? Whatever it was, I swear I’ll have it fixed for next time. It’s just, this is the first time I’ve had to deal with something like this all by myself and I thought for sure —”

  He pressed a finger against her lips, swallowing the automatic groan that sprang to his own at the feel of the warm silk of them against his skin once again.

  “Promise?”

  She blinked up at him but didn’t attempt to step away from the point of contact.

  “Promise what?” Her breath tickled his hand as she spoke.

  “You promise you will fix it for next time.” He could feel the grin stretching his mouth, the deep dimples in either cheek showing. Cassandra’s brow crinkled again.

  “Of course. What was it?”

  Rhys slid his fingertip down, outlining her lips quickly before sliding down to stroke along her throat. He felt her swallow, felt her pulse kick up, her warmth flooding the air with more of her scent.

  And it was there again, that faint tinge of electric fear.

  He thought he understood now. She wasn’t afraid of him anymore than he feared her. She did, however, fear the intensity of what he made her feel every bit as much as he did. The thought was comforting. He wasn’t alone in his feelings.

  Well, maybe one.

  Because her tense, wide-eyed, quivering stillness still spoke to his beast in a very singular way. It no longer said prey, not exactly.

  It said MINE.

  Under his skin, his dragon stretched.

  “The only thing missing that would have made this entire evening perfect, my little rabbit, was you by my side.”

  Cassandra’s mouth fell open. A pink flush crept up her neck.

  “W-what?”

  It was almost a squeak of surprise. Rhys slid his hand under the silken fall of her hair to caress her vulnerable nape.

  “Next time,” he clarified, “I want you by my side.”

  He brushed his lips gently across her parted ones, waiting to see if she offered resistance. She didn’t, so he did it again.

  “And the time after that too.” Another butterfly quick, teasing press of his mouth. “And the next. Are you sensing a pattern yet, Ms. O’Hare?”

  She laughed a little breathlessly, and nodded. “Y-yes. But…” She trailed off, moaning and sliding her lips over his.

  “But what?”

  They both got lost for a moment in the play of tongues and lips and teeth. When he pulled away, his brain spun more than the glass and a half of wine and sip of port could account for. He was almost a little miffed when she answered him, though her voice was gratifyingly shaky.

  “It’s not exactly customary for assistants to attend stuff like that.”

  Rhys could hear the edge of teasing in her words and gave her neck a light squeeze in reprimand.

  “You don’t have to be my assistant, then.”

  He’d meant that when she attended functions with him, she’d be there as his date, not his employee. But she misunderstood. She jerked back a little, eyes narrowing.

  “Hey! I happen to like being your assistant! You can’t just fire me so we can date! That’s ridiculous.”

  He raised both brows at her vehemence and enjoyed watching the flush grow even pinker on her pretty, round cheeks. His own cheeks ached from smiling. He slid his arms around the deep curve of her waist.

  “I like that you like being my assistant. I like it too. But perhaps we could work out the particulars some other time…like, tomorrow morning?”

  Cassandra trembled in his arms, her tongue darting out to wet already damp lips.

  “What will we discuss tonight then?” Her eyes glittered with desire.

  In answer, he gave her a wide, toothy grin and swept her up into his arms.

  ***

  Cassandra’s heart threatened to beat out of her chest as Rhys strode through rooms, up the wide staircase, and down a long hall. Her arms shook where they wrapped around his neck.

  The last few minutes had been so sudden, turning everything she’d thought topsy-turvy. Rhys wanted her. Not just once. Not even just twice.

  Are you sensing a pattern here, Ms. O’Hare? he’d said, his obsidian eyes flickering with inner fire.

  Rhys Maddox, The Dragon, wanted to date her. He’d wanted her by his side tonight as he wined and dined his colleagues and cronies. She’d been there, behind the scenes, making sure Andy Rosenberg’s pork medallion was kosher and that the soft music playing in the background throughout dinner wasn’t Bach (because that reminded Chelsea Thomas of her father, a concert pianist, who’d passed away only six months earlier from cancer), or making sure his tablet was beside his favorite chair in the parlor so he could refer to it when they discussed charities.

  But he’d wanted her there with him.

  She couldn’t quite believe it, despite the fact that the words still rang in her ears and his arms were solid and warm under her.

  He had no trouble pushing open the door to his bedroom. She’d been there before, collecting fresh clothes for him or dropping off dry cleaning, but it looked different from the vantage point of his arms.

  The rich, jewel tones of the fabrics glowed against all the pale wood. And the bed was enormous.

  “I like your room,” she said, yipping in surprise as he tossed her onto the center of the vast bed as if she weighed no more than a down pillow. “Though, the bed is awfully high.”

  She peered over the edge, wondering if she’d ever be able to climb in and out on her own.

  “Redo it.” Rhys tugged off his tie and tossed it aside. “Redo the whole damn room if you’d like.”

  Her giggle faded away as he finished with his cuffs and pulled his shirt free of his slacks.

  “I told you I like it.” She swallowed in an attempt to wet her dry throat. “Maybe I’d get a step stool, though.”

  And then his shirt was off and she forgot about stools, and jobs, and anything except for the burnished expanse of his skin.

  Rhys made short work of the rest of his clothes before crawling ont
o the bed, his body gorgeous and gleaming and naked and ready. Watching his sculpted muscles flex and stretch as he moved over her was enough to make her nipples throb and her pussy clench.

  “Rhys!”

  She couldn’t take her eyes off him, but she would have heard the pleased grin in his voice even if she had.

  “Oh, little rabbit. I do love it when you look at me like that.”

  Cassandra didn’t need to ask him how she was looking at him. She could feel awe and lust and admiration and affection and love all well up in her when she watched him. She knew it was painted on her face and shining from her eyes and she didn’t care. She wanted him to see it.

  He hadn’t said he loved her back, but that was okay. She didn’t need him to just yet. Him saying he wanted her by his side was enough for now.

  Rhys took his time. He laid her back on the bed and kissed her until she was limp and shaking beneath him, clawing at his shoulders and rocking up against him in a desperate search for friction.

  But he moved away, stripping her slowly of her dress and her bra. He rained kisses down on places Cassandra didn’t think anyone had ever kissed before. The inside of her elbows, the hollow of her throat, the underside of her chin.

  Not that he neglected any of her other parts.

  He once again feasted on her breasts, cupping them in his big hands, kneading them, and lifting them to his eager, sucking mouth. His tongue stroked and curled around the rigid crests. His teeth bit and nipped, making her whimper and cry out.

  Those big hands shaped her ribs and caressed the slight swell of her belly and the roundness of her hips, lifting her so he could mouth the delicate skin of her navel.

  This time, he drew her panties off gently instead of tearing them. Cassandra would have ripped them herself, she was so aching and needy, but his dark eyes kept her pinned in place.

  She could only watch as he pressed his lips to her instep and ankles, nipped her calves, and swiped his tongue through the sensitive hollow at the backs of her knees. By the time he reached her trembling thighs, Cassandra was begging.

  “Please, Rhys, please. You’ve got to…I can’t…I need!”

  But his big, strong hands held her hips still as he blew warm breath against the damp curls above her pussy. His eyes burned into hers.

  “Let me look at you, rabbit. Let me just look.”

  Cassandra felt the blood burning in her cheeks and throat, but she spread her legs wider for him and watched as his gaze slid from hers down to the wet, open slit between her thighs.

  “Just like that,” he crooned in a lust rough voice.

  She shivered. “Rhys…”

  “Fuck, little rabbit. You’re so gorgeous. And so open. Not just here…” He slid a finger down her sensitive sex, making her gasp. His other hand stroked upward to press between her breasts. He met her eyes. “Here.”

  Her breath caught as his dark eyes blazed at her.

  “I’ve been wanting to do this since you set foot on the hundredth floor.”

  He lowered his mouth to her pussy, his tongue lapping at her drenched folds. Cassandra fell backwards, eyes squeezing shut, unable to keep watching as pleasure consumed her like the flames Rhys breathed in his other form.

  Two thick, twisting fingers drove into her tight, slick tunnel even as his lips and tongue worked her clit. Sharp, hot, pulsing lust poured through her veins, lighting up her entire nervous system. Her body shook with it.

  Other men had gone down on her, but none of them had done it the way Rhys now did. His hungry mouth defined “eating out.” And then she remembered what he’d said to her that first day, and a thick chuckle poured from her throat.

  Rhys paused in his attentions, lifting his head. His lips glistened with her juices. He licked them.

  “Something funny, little rabbit?”

  Her breathing was beyond ragged, and she could barely pull a breath she was so turned on, but she nodded. “Always…worried I’d get…eaten by a dragon,” she finally managed with a wide grin.

  Rhys smiled back. “Oh?” He dipped his head to lap at her clit with a wide, flat tongue. “And is it as frightening as you imagined?”

  She arched against his hold, shuddering as he curled his fingers within her and rubbed.

  “Terrify — oh!”

  He wrapped his lips around the nub of her clit and sucked, pumping his fingers, and pushed her over the edge. She squeezed her eyes shut so tightly she saw swirling colors behind her lids as pleasure sparkled through her.

  She called his name and his mouth was on hers, tasting of her but also of him. His own unique, smoky flavor. He stroked his hand down her side, shifting her legs and then returning to cup one heavy, soft breast.

  Then he was gliding into her, her flesh still swollen, wet, and twitching with pleasure. He moved torturously slowly, working himself into the tight clutch of her body inch by incremental inch, until he was seated completely inside her.

  All the while his burning dark gaze remained on her face.

  He kissed her, then kissed her again, but he didn’t move.

  “Rhys,” she begged.

  He brushed her hair back from her face, and she saw the edge of reddish-gold in his eyes, the first hint of his change. An instinctual quiver of fear moved through her, though she knew he’d never hurt her, and his nostrils flared, the black of his eyes narrowing further.

  Strange eyes stared down at her, but it was still Rhys. When he spoke, his voice was smoke and fire, but it was still him. Just, more.

  “I’m keeping you,” he said. And then he began to move.

  Last time, at work, they’d been a storm, crashing against each other. It had been hot and quick and tempestuous and amazing.

  This time, they were like the tide. Slow and long and inevitable. Their bodies slid against each other, slick with sweat. Instead of grabbing, hands stroked and caressed and explored.

  Their mouths only parted to breathe, and then only briefly. Each time he withdrew from her, she chased him, lifting her hips. He followed her back down, pressing her into the soft mattress.

  Cassandra didn’t know if it was because that first thrust of his cock had come in the midst of her orgasm, or just that it was Rhys, but the pleasure never seemed to stop. It built and built, every twist of his hips and flicker of his tongue feeding the flame. Every word he whispered in her ear — sweet, filthy, tender, and dirty — added fuel to the fire.

  She wrapped herself around him, twining her legs tight around his waist, pulling him into her again and again. She reveled in how he stretched her and filled her, the perfect hot slide of his flesh against hers.

  “Rhys.”

  She chanted his name, telling him all the things she’d been holding back since that day in her office. Earlier, really. Since they’d met.

  He responded to each whispered revelation with deeper, harder thrusts and more passionate kisses. His hands stroked every inch of her, learning her by touch.

  She was burning, her skin like ash, ready to crumble with pleasure.

  Cassandra met Rhys’s dragon eyes and let that winding, tightening, building pleasure spiral out and higher. Her body clenched, squeezing him with rhythmic, fluttering pulses.

  She cried out, the words garbled between their lips.

  His thrusts grew harder, more rapid, that familiar rumbling swelling in his throat. He rode her through the long waves of pleasure as she fell apart, and then he followed her. Cassandra felt the throb of his thick shaft, the flood of heat.

  Just as he’d done when he’d come inside her at the office, Rhys roared his satisfaction.

  She held him as he shook and poured himself into her, stroking shaking fingers down tense, sweat-slick flesh.

  They collapsed, quiet and breathless, into a soft, warm, boneless heap.

  Rhys rubbed a kiss along her jaw, his voice a bass rasp in her ear. “Don’t think I didn’t hear what you said, little rabbit.”

  Cassandra smiled against his damp shoulder. She’d wondered if h
e would understand her whimpered confession, if he’d acknowledge it. She licked the salt from his skin, tasting smoke and sweetness and Rhys.

  “Good. And do you know what else, my dragon?”

  He sifted fingers through her hair, his obsidian irises sparkling. “What’s that, rabbit?”

  She kissed him, hard and sharp, her answering grin just as toothy and feral as his ever was.

  “I’m keeping you, too.”

  THE END

  Ravished by the Dragon

  Shadows streamed from behind the thatched homes, the open-air market and the barracks with its imposing, dark-walled façade, and threw wild shapes on the dirt road. A vague figure with loose hair and flying skirts tore down the street.

  It would be curfew soon, and Gwythn knew that she must hurry.

  She lifted her skirts and dashed through a puddle, giving a sportive toss of her head when the water splashed her knees. Fafiny trailed behind, tail wagging, mouth panting and tongue out hanging. He got caught in some bramble and hurt his leg two days ago when Gwythn went out to hunt rabbits, but no one who saw the stupefied pleasure on the dog’s face would ever guess that the creature was in pain.

  “Here boy! Here boy!” Gwythn patted her knee for the dog to catch up. Fafiny took a few limping bounds and came to her side, where he was rewarded by a generous pat on the scruff.

  “Gooood dog!”

  The road dipped and curved to the right. Rounding the turn and splashing through another puddle, Gwythn and Fafiny fell under the enormous shadow of Dom Araf, the king’s castle. The castle was as huge as a mountain and resembled a forest of turrets stacked on top of each other. It was miles away—a day’s travel through all the traffic of the city—but despite the distance Gwythn could plainly see the decorations adorning the castle’s façade.

  Hundreds of dragons, or perhaps thousands, occupied every inch of stone. The depictions of dragons were as varied as they were expertly carved. There were dragons in combat, dragons spraying fire and terrifying villages; dragons hunted and dragons slain; and even a few depictions of dragons paying homage to their human masters from the old times when dragons were noble creatures.

  When the first king had commissioned the castle, artists from every corner of Gythry had answered his call. Through the years, their work continued to shine: a testament to the magnificence of human ability.