Kidnapped by the Dragon

by Kayla Wolf

  Besides, she knew Owen better than Stephen did.

  ”It’s about blood magic,” she explained, moving over to sit on the bed beside him—she didn’t quite dare to sit right next to him, leaving a good space in between them, but even at that distance, she could feel her heart pounding. His eyes lingered on her face a little too long before he looked down at the book, and she kept explaining, trying to keep her voice steady. “I think it is, anyway. This bit’s weird… I think it’s about how powers can be shared, or transferred, or… strengthened, somehow? But I don’t know Draconic very well, so I can’t tell what it’s actually trying to say.”

  ”Do you mind if I take a look? Or will that break Stephen’s rules?”

  See? She wanted to yell at Stephen. He’s so respectful of your dumb rules he doesn’t even want to look at a page of this dumb book without your permission!

  ”I’m sure he’d be fine with you looking at just this paragraph,” she lied, putting the book closer to him. He looked down at it, frowning a little as he read, and she took the opportunity to gaze at his face, up close in the light of the little lamp on her bedside. Electricity was a welcome addition to the palace—but she had to admit, she wouldn’t have minded seeing that face by candlelight. She wasn’t sure how much time passed—him looking at the book, her looking at him—but finally he glanced up, catching her eyes in his.

  ”You’re right, it’s a difficult translation,” he said, and there was something different about his voice this close. She was suddenly glad that she’d closed the door behind him when he’d come in—she’d hate for someone to walk by and interrupt them… “Literally it means ‘share,’ that’s true. But that word in old Draconic has a strong sense of ‘strengthen.’ It’s subtle, but it’s part of the grammar of the word they’ve chosen. The same way the English word ‘childish’ means something very different to ‘childlike,’ even though grammatically speaking they should mean the same thing.”

  She nodded, feeling a little hypnotized. He looked up at her again, opened his mouth—then closed it again. “Angela—”

  ”Yes?”

  ”I’ve really enjoyed getting to know you these last few days,” he said softly, and she could feel her heart drumming loudly in her ears. Too loudly. Could he hear it too? “And I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable. But I think—I think that I like you. A lot.”

  ”You do?” She could hardly believe any of this was real. Her heart was pounding, and he was so close—she felt so dizzy she could hardly think, as though her mind was trying to swim through molasses. It was too hard to think. Much easier to just lean in, to close the gap between them—and then he was there, his lips against hers, and all she could think about was him.

  His lips were softer than she’d expected and gentle—he kissed her like she was made of glass, so careful. When they broke apart, a minute later, her eyes fluttered open, and he was staring at her as though she was made of some luminous substance. Like she was magical. And those dark eyes were always so hard to read, but she tried, anyway, tried to search his face for what he was feeling. To her surprise, he looked… frightened. That was real fear, deep in his eyes, hiding underneath whatever front he was trying to put on. Even when he smiled, and raised one gentle hand to the side of her face, gently caressing her cheek, she could see it.

  ”You’re frightened,” she murmured because it was so clear—and then there was a burst of shock in his eyes, and he almost recoiled from her, as though she’d shocked him. “What?”

  ”You—“ He hesitated. They were still so close… she desperately wanted to kiss him again, but she could tell this was important. “How did you see that?”

  ”I just—looked,” she said, nonplussed.

  ”You’re pretty sharp,” he said, smiling a little, and though she could see that the compliment was a front, too, she didn’t want him to recoil from her again. So she kissed him, and this time they didn’t break apart. She could feel her heart pounding, feel his powerful hand caressing her cheek, moving down to stroke her shoulder, to curl around her back and draw her closer to him… and she caught her breath a little at the feeling of her body gently pressing against his chest. The book was still between them, and she broke away for a second to grab it and put it safely on the bedside table—he rumbled laughter, waiting for her to return to him, and in that moment, by the soft light of the lamp, in his too-tight T-shirt, he was the most unbelievably beautiful thing she’d ever seen.

  When she returned to kissing him, it was with more purpose, more intensity than before. She may have been young, and she may not have dated anyone before, but she had a good idea of the general goings-on, and when her breath started coming faster in her throat, she leaned into the feeling, pulled him down to the bed with her. They lay on their sides, arms wrapped around each other, and the feeling of his body against hers was unbelievably good. She pressed herself against him, felt his breath catch, and deepened their kiss. His right hand was resting in the curve of her waist, as though he was keeping it there under strict instruction, and she smirked a little, reaching down to grab it and move it further down.

  He broke the kiss, breathing hard. “I don’t want to pressure you—”

  ”I think I’m pressuring you,” she pointed out, grinning. She felt giddy—this entire situation was unbelievable. This guy—this unbelievable, hot guy who’d literally dropped out of the sky one day—liked her. Wanted her. Was here, in her bedroom, kissing her and touching her and wanting her. She’d never been surer of anything in her life.

  “We’ll go as fast as you want,” he told her.

  ”Oh, so you think you can keep up with me?” she challenged him, and he laughed, a pure laugh, surprising and exultant.

  ”God, I love your real laugh,” she murmured, pressing a kiss to his throat—but he went still again, looking at her with a frown.

  ”What do you mean, real laugh?”

  ”Sometimes you fake laugh.” She shrugged. “It’s okay. We all do it. I don’t mind.”

  He was looking at her with surprise, with admiration … and with just a touch of the fear she’d noticed before. Well, she wasn’t going to say anything about it. Not if it threatened to make him stop touching her like this. If he left right now, she honestly thought she might die. “You’re—perceptive, Angela.”

  ”Mm,” she agreed, not especially interested in his observations. Not when he had such a delectable throat she could be kissing—the slightest graze of stubble, the feeling of his pulse under his skin, and the gentle catching of his breathing when she found a sensitive spot. Before long, she’d successfully distracted him. He was kissing her again, his hands roaming much more freely now that she’d given him the go-ahead. But still—she wanted more. She pulled at the hem of his too-tight T-shirt, peeling it up and over his body, trying not to seem too impatient… but she couldn’t help but gasp at the sight of his body. He was ripped. No wonder he’d been able to pull her back from the edge of the river so effortlessly… from the look of him, he’d have been able to pick even her wolf form up at the same time. He looked strangely self-conscious once he’d pulled the shirt off, and she realized with a start that she was still fully clothed. She giggled.

  ”Sorry. Rude of me.” And with that, she yanked the pajama top she was wearing off over her head. At some point, while they’d been making out, her hair had come loose, and the T-shirt pulled it forward over her shoulders, where it fell almost to her waist. She never wore a bra to bed, but the hair covered her breasts, more or less. “What?”

  Owen was staring at her again, and he looked like he’d been punched in the face. She actually felt a little bit worried that something was wrong, he was silent for so long—then he spoke, with some difficulty, his voice hoarse. “You’re beautiful.”

  She ducked her head, feeling herself blush. “I was going to say the same to you.” With one hand, she caressed his broad shoulders, his powerful chest, then—feeling more daring than she’d ever felt in her life—she moved her hand d
own across his abs. “Holy shit,” she breathed, giggling a little. “Look at you.” And then… as if it was an accident… she moved her hand just a little lower. The pants he was wearing were very tight-fitting, and left very little to the imagination… and he groaned, his eyes flickering shut as she brushed her fingertips against the bulge in his pants.

  ”Do you—have you ever—”

  ”Nope,” she said, feeling mad and honest and very, very turned on. “Never had the chance. Extremely fast learner, though.”

  ”Oh?” He chuckled, weakly, but she could tell most of his attention was still fixed on her hand. “Well. Alright. Um.”

  ”C’mon then. Teach me.” She moved forward, feeling bolder than she’d ever felt. “I assume you’re… experienced.”

  ”Some.” His eyes were very dark and very far away. “Enough.” She got the strongest sense that he didn’t want to talk about that—maybe it belonged to a past he didn’t want to think about. That was fine. She could do distraction. She kissed him again, as hard as she could, the touch of his lips and their tongues sliding against each other so strange and yet so perfect—and before too long, before she’d even realized it was happening, they were both naked, both lying in her bed, the blanket chasing away the chill of the evening. The feeling of his body against hers was electric, the gentle scrape of his stubble, the careful caress of his hands on her waist, on her hips, on her legs …

  ”I’ll stop any time you want,” he whispered, his hands stealing closer to her vulva, and she groaned, wanting to grab his hands, move them for him if she had to.

  ”Never. I want you to stop never.”

  His hands felt incredible when they finally brushed across her most intimate place—she could feel his fingertip ever so carefully parting her folds, caressing the sensitive skin there, lighting fires up and down her entire body as she pressed her head back against the pillow and groaned. His other hand moved across the rest of her body, seeking out sensitive places there—he caressed her breasts, and pleasure split through her body like lightning at the way his hands worked in tandem, coaxing high-pitched sounds out of her that she was hardly aware of making. And all the while, she could feel the length of him pressed against her leg, the flesh hard and hot—occasionally she’d shift her hips to give him better access to a part of her and hear him groan at the friction against his member. But he didn’t rush to take her, didn’t rush to push himself inside of her, and for that she was grateful. For all her pretending at boldness—and for all her desire and passion for him—this was something she didn’t want to rush.

  She could feel herself building to some great peak, but the way he kept touching her, on and off, his hands moving around her body, kept her from ever quite getting there. It was impressive, and she would have complimented his skill if she hadn’t been so desperately impatient for him to just finish her, already. Before long she was gasping for breath, her heart pounding as hard as it had in the seconds before he’d kissed her for the first time, and when she drummed her fists against his shoulders in frustration he laughed, an unbelievably sexy sound, deep in his throat.

  ”Come on,” she whispered, and he knew what she meant—she could tell by the desire in his black eyes, the lust that mirrored her own. He’d been holding back, but he wanted her desperately. That was as clear as anything.

  ”You’re sure.” It wasn’t a question. He was learning, she thought with amusement. But still, he waited for her to nod. Then he curled his arms around her body and moved her back on the bed, effortlessly powerful, holding his body above hers for a moment as he lined their bodies up. For a moment, he held her gaze—and then something in him seemed to shrink away from her, as though he was afraid to keep eye contact. What was that? She almost opened her mouth to question him, concerned by the look she’d seen in his eyes—but then he was inside her, and instead of questioning him, all she could do was gasp. He felt—unbelievable. The feeling of his body inside hers—it was as though they’d been made for each other. She shut her eyes against that thought, not wanting to think about it. Not wanting to think about anything—just the feeling of his body against hers, his arms around her, both of them moving together towards a climax that was as inevitable as it was earth-shaking.

  “You okay?” he breathed into her ear, his voice hoarse.

  ”Yeah,” she replied, feeling a strange urge to whisper. It wasn’t like these stone walls weren’t soundproof—but something about the intimacy of the situation demanded a whisper. “I thought—I don’t know, people always say the first time’s meant to hurt—”

  ”Not if you do it right,” Owen murmured, kissing her throat—and she grinned, emboldened by how good his body felt against hers, his cock filling her, the slow but powerful rhythm of his hips stoking a strange fire, low in her belly. Experimentally, she rocked her hips up to meet his next thrust—and they both gasped at the shock of sensation that caused.

  ”Yeah?”

  ”Yeah,” he ground out, burying his face into her throat. She rocked her hips again, harder this time, using all the strength in her body to rise up to meet him, almost immediately rewarded by a choked groan from him—and his pace started to speed up. So the cool, calm, and collected dragon had a few weak points after all. And she was determined to find every single one of them. On a whim, she lifted her legs, drawing them up and wrapping them around his hips—and to her delight, that gave her a whole new angle to work with. She rocked her hips up against him, and he groaned, his cock pushing deeper than ever inside her, and Angela gasped as another electric shock of pleasure fired through her body, seeming to spark from her core right through to the tips of her fingers and toes.

  ”Faster,” she whispered into his ear—and saw his powerful hands clench in the sheets beside them as if he was trying to hold on to his self-control. “Owen—”

  He laughed into her ear, a breathy sound that set her giggling as well. “You’re good at this.”

  ”Like I said,” she whispered. “Fast learner. You don’t…” She kissed him, then pulled back a little, finding his dark eyes. “You don’t have to be so careful with me. You’re not going to hurt me—”

  There was that look again, that look she’d caught a few times. Something like fear—or guilt, or shame—but so guarded, so carefully controlled that she couldn’t figure out what it meant. She looked deep into his eyes, trying to figure it out—but he seemed to realize she was trying to read him, and shut his eyes, buried his face into her throat, kissing a line up the side of her neck until he took her earlobe into his mouth, nibbling at it in a way that made her whole body shiver. Before long he was moving again, pushing himself deep inside her, and she moaned, reaching up with her arms to brace her body against the top of the bed. He was incredible—so powerful, the strength in each careful stroke of his hips. They seemed to fit together perfectly. Like they were made for each other, she thought. It was a strange thought… but somehow, as the speed of his strokes increased, she couldn’t shake the idea that it was true.

  There was something building in her body, some kind of electric tension that seemed to be building every time she rocked her hips up to meet Owen’s. It felt like a building charge that was spreading through her whole body, making her fingertips tingle where she was holding onto Owen’s broad shoulders for dear life, making her breath catch and gasp in her throat, making her heart pound and the blood sing in every vein and artery in her body. It felt like running—it felt, she realized with a shock, like flying.

  And more to the point, it felt like she couldn’t get enough of Owen. The faster he moved, the harder he pushed against her, the more she wanted of him—she dug her nails into his back, squeezed his body hard with her legs, doing everything in her power to get more of him, to intensify the feeling that was building in her body. And something told her that the same thing was happening to him—the gasping of his breath, the way his hands kept clenching in the bedsheets, as though he was trying to hold himself back… and soon enough, she could feel the ball of
white-hot energy in her body was about to explode. When it hit her, it was as though the whole world turned white—her whole body shook, and she pressed her eyes shut, fighting hard to stop herself from screaming. He was with her, their timing almost perfect, and she could hear him groaning against her shoulder as he climaxed.

  Drenched in the afterglow, she drifted for a while through a twilight sleep. When she came to, she was lying in his arms, her head on his huge chest, the blanket spread across them both. Should get up, she thought drowsily. Should tidy the room up a bit. But she couldn’t move—couldn’t even think about moving. Not here, with her whole body aglow and the most gorgeous man on the planet cradling her in his arms.

  She fell asleep a few minutes later, heaving a deep and contented sigh as she did. She didn’t even notice that Owen was still awake… or that he stayed awake long into the night, his dark eyes fixed on the ceiling, full of the trouble that she’d glimpsed but not understood.

  Chapter 7

  He didn’t sleep all night. How could he sleep? With Angela curled against his side, nestled against him like he was the safest, most trustworthy thing in her life. And why should she doubt that about him? For all she knew, it was true. For all she knew, he was just some sweet, kind dragon from the west coast who had been the victim of a tragic attack on his family. Left alone, until he found her and her family. A real fairytale.

  God, he’d been stupid. This had been stupid. The minute he’d chosen to walk down her hallway after his run with Jessica and Samuel… the minute he’d paused in her doorway to say hi, seen her sitting there in her pajamas with her long blonde hair framing her silver-eyed face like that… he should have known something was wrong. Should have felt the seismic shift inside his own mind, felt the flare of emotions he thought he’d buried years ago. Decades. God, was it centuries? Because the minute he’d felt that, he’d been lost. The minute he felt drawn to her, attracted to her, like he wanted to impress her, please her, make her laugh that silvery little laugh of hers, draw that sharp, laser-focused attention onto his face… well, that had been the minute he’d lost control of himself.