by G. A. Aiken
Dagmar narrowed her gaze then snapped her fingers. “Queen Rhiannon.”
“Chains.”
“No! Really?”
“Really. See? I’m the nice one. I’m trying to do it the polite way. Announcing it before tying you down.” When she only stared at him, he snapped, “And why wouldn’t you want to be my mate? We’re perfect together.”
“And we just found some naked woman on your bed, waiting for you.”
“That was not my fault. Probably a gift from Fal.”
“Why didn’t I think of that?” She got off the bed, her hand scratching at her chest.
“That rash is getting worse.”
“I know it’s getting worse. I don’t need you to tell me it’s getting worse.”
“Why are you snapping at me? I didn’t give you a rash.”
Still scratching, she began to pace. “I know you don’t understand, but there are several reasons we should end this now.”
He didn’t like the sound of that. Why was she fighting this? Fighting what was so obvious to anyone with eyes? Did he need to get the woman new spectacles?
“Which are?” he tried not to snarl.
“One”—she held up her forefinger—“my father is expecting me home.”
“You’re right. And you were having such a good time there, too.”
“It had its moments. Two,” she didn’t bother to raise another finger. “I have a good sixty or seventy years left, barring disease or an unpleasant fall down a flight of stairs. And I’d prefer my husband age with me.”
“I’ll talk to my mother about it.”
“Your mother? What can she do?”
“Do we really need to argue about this now?”
“Fine. Three”—and still only that one finger—“I don’t share.”
“I never asked you to.”
“You don’t have to.” She motioned to the bed with a wave of her hand. “They’re laid out for you. Like treats.”
“And that’s my fault?”
“Yes. It is. Two hundred years of being a whore does not go away magically. And my life is simply too short to sit around being depressed over you. Or any man.”
“Dragon.”
“What?”
“I’m a dragon. I’m not a man.”
“It doesn’t matter. Once that cock grows between your legs, it doesn’t matter what you are; it’s all over. And if you think I’ll be like my pathetic sisters-in-law, living and dying by a man’s cock, you’re sadly mistaken!”
She had no idea when she’d gotten so angry, but she was now. Livid, in fact. She hadn’t been livid when she’d found that pathetic woman sitting on Gwenvael’s bed, waiting for a male to show up and use her as a receptacle for his seed. Yet now Dagmar was blindingly livid and had no idea why.
But if she was going to be livid, she was going to enjoy it.
“So forgive me, Lord Gwenvael, if my idea of a happy life doesn’t involve sitting around waiting for you. Hoping and praying that you’re not off doing what seems to come so naturally to you.” She walked up to him, pointed her finger in his face. “I have things to do, I’ll have you know. I won’t be waiting around for you or anyone. And what I sure as hell won’t accept is someone else waiting for you in my stead!”
He wrapped his hand around her fist and yanked up, forcing her onto her toes. Her forefinger was still extended and he slid his tongue around the tip. The way he did that, the rough with the gentle, drove her mad some days…and most nights.
“Is that what you think I really want? You spread out and waiting for me? No other thought in your head other than how you can please me?”
“That’s what every man wants.”
“Then every man can find that. I want more.” He took her entire finger into his mouth and sucked it, his tongue still playing with the tip, his eyes studying her closely.
She watched him, her stomach twisting into knots, her knees weakening. “You always want more,” she told him, panting a little.
He nodded while leisurely drawing her finger from his mouth. “You’re right. And so do you. Do you really think you’ll be satisfied going back to the life you had? After all this? Pretending to be the good daughter while performing the role of a battle lord in secret?” His voice dropped lower, the huskiness making her nipples ache for his mouth. “Finding a husband and pretending to be a good wife, while at night you dream of me. Cream for me. Long for me. Your hands not nearly able to do what my mouth can.”
“Is that all you’re offering me, Defiler? Your skills in bed?”
“No.” He turned her hand over and stroked his fingers across her palm and up her forearm. Even with her gown covering her skin, she still felt him as if she were completely naked. “I’m offering a partnership.”
“A partnership?” she asked, making sure to sound bored. “You mean as in business?”
He sniffed in disdain, his hand still stroking her forearm but now moving up to her shoulder, her neck. “Don’t insult me. Business bores me and as dragon I simply take what I want. There are caravans of gold, supplies, and jewels just waiting for me. They’re no better than the blond who just ran out of here and equally as satisfying. I have my sights on much bigger prizes than that.”
“And you need me for that, do you?”
“For a good game, the right partner is paramount. I can only imagine what we can do together, Beast, both our families underestimating our skills. The world our playpen.”
“And if I get bored with the game?” Since after two hundred years she felt confident he wouldn’t.
“That won’t happen. You’re addicted to it as I am. You love the challenge. Your brain turns with the possibilities the idiots of the world offer us. As I’ve been waiting for you, you’ve been waiting for me. And we both know it.”
“You’re awfully confident.”
“So are you. And there’s no shame with confidence. It’s conceit and stupidity that get you killed.”
“But if I don’t love you—”
“Don’t lie to me, Dagmar.” Now both his hands were stroking her shoulders, her neck. She frowned as the rash she still had on her neck began to itch a little worse and wondered if it was rude to ask him to scratch it for her.
“Lie to anyone else if you wish. Lie to them, play with them, tell them what they want to hear. But not with me. Never with me. Never again.”
She pushed his hands off. “Why?” She stepped away from him. “Because you’re so bloody special?”
He followed her, kept pace with her as he always did. “See? You understand completely. Now, don’t fight me. Be a good Beast and come here.”
She lifted her skirt and crawled up onto the bed, moving away from him as he placed his hands on the bedding. “Oh, no. Northland women lie down for no one.”
“Then you best get into practice.”
Gwenvael stepped back off the bed and Dagmar frowned. “Now what are you doing?
“Just thinking…”
“Are you in great physical pain, or is that your thinking expression?”
Gods, she was so mean—he adored that.
“I’ll need to improvise a bit,” he went on.
“Improvise? For what? And why are you locking the door?”
“Privacy. My kin don’t understand those simple boundaries.” He walked toward one side of the room, keeping his eye on her as he did. She moved back on the bed, watching his every move. He found linen bedsheets in the closet and quickly tore them into strips.
“What are you doing?”
“You should take your spectacles off.”
“Why?”
“A simple suggestion.” He dumped the strips on the bed, quickly counting them. Stepping back, he examined the bed. “How are we going to do this without bedposts?”
Dagmar stared at him. “What are you talking about?”
He snapped his fingers. “I know.” Gwenvael quickly tied the strips end to end. As he did, he explained, “I realize I should prove my love
to you. For humans, that usually means killing someone or something, but dragons do that all the time, so it’s simply not that special to us.”
“Which means?”
“Which means giving you a proper Claiming.”
“Proper?”
He finished tying off the strips and went flat on the floor. He laid one end on the bed and tossed the other end across the floor until it came out the other side. Standing, he moved around the bed and pulled the end out, placing it on top of the bedding. “Now this bit is your choice….”
“My choice?”
He loved the sound of confusion and frustration in her voice. It wasn’t an easy thing to catch The Beast unawares.
“Now your choices are: you can take your clothes off and submit—I think that’s what my grandmother did—or we can go toe-to-toe.” He held up his fists in a standard boxing pose, enjoying how she began to laugh, then stopped herself, going back to a haughty frown. “That’s what Annwyl did. Or you can make a run for it.”
Dagmar’s frown grew worse as did her confusion. She looked at the torn sheets on the bed and back at Gwenvael. He raised a brow, and her expression cleared.
And that’s when she tried to make a run for it.
How did she get herself into these situations? And why did she insist on enjoying them? But what else could she do when she got to the door, her hands reaching for the lock, only to have Gwenvael grab her around the waist. She slammed her foot against his instep and pushed him back.
“Ow! You viper!”
“I believe that’s your mother.”
She went for the lock again, but he was right behind her. She dodged under his arms and ran across the room. The dragon was only seconds behind her, so she charged toward the bed, leaping on it and running over it to the other side.
Dagmar ran right into his arms. Physically, she was slow on her best day, but she’d still never met anyone who moved as fast as the dragons. Especially when they were human.
Gwenvael forced Dagmar into the wall, his impatient hands tearing off her dress, his mouth ravaging hers. She struck at his shoulders with her fists and his shins and knees with her feet. She knew she’d hit something with meaning when he grunted and pulled back. But it only allowed him to turn her around and force her back against the wall.
He pressed his body into hers, holding her in place while he finished ripping the dress and shift from her body. She groaned when he licked the back of her neck and yelped when he nipped her shoulder blade.
His hand slipped between her thighs, two of his fingers sliding inside her. Dagmar’s body trembled and she took hold of the other hand pressed to her shoulder. She brought it to her mouth, kissing it, licking his fingers until his hand relaxed. That’s when she bit down on the flesh between his thumb and forefinger.
Gwenvael cried out and scrambled away, releasing her. He tried to pull his hand away, but she wouldn’t let go, smiling around the flesh she’d dug her teeth into.
“Unleash me, woman!”
Her smile grew, much to his annoyance.
Gwenvael reached for her with his free hand, but she kept stepping back or moving to the side. Anything to keep out of his reach.
He scowled, staring at his hand. “Is that blood?”
She nodded happily.
“Crazy female,” he muttered. “Beast, you are!”
Dagmar shrugged, enjoying herself entirely too much. Who had time for this sort of violent silliness? There were plans to make, supplies to arrange for, messages to be sent. There were always important things to do, and this was not one of them. And yet, she was having so much fun. Did it really matter if every once in a while she had a little fun that didn’t involve the manipulation of others and the eventual peace or war of her people? Was it wrong to take a little time for herself and the dragon she adored? That she loved?
She did love him. She knew that now, with her teeth dug into his flesh and the taste of his blood filling her mouth. She loved Gwenvael the Defiler with all her hard, unsympathetic, uncaring heart. And the fact that she was causing him great discomfort but he had yet to punch her in the face, told her he loved her, too.
It would never be a normal union, not with them. He’d never think to bring her flowers or arrange a romantic dinner in their room. And he’d always flirt with others if it got them to smile or got him what he wanted.
Yet what Dagmar knew she could count on was that Gwenvael would always be loyal to her, would always protect her, would always make her laugh, would always treat her as if she mattered, and would never play the games on her that they would always play on others. And she felt confident about all this because she knew that mixed in with his love for her was a little bit of fear.
In the end, their loyalty and allegiance would be to their families and their people. But their devotion would be to each other.
Well…and, of course, her dogs. But he could find that out later.
A drop of blood splashed on the floor and Gwenvael cried out, “I bleed! Death comes for me!”
Dagmar didn’t release her grip on his hand, but she rolled her eyes in disgust. It was all the distraction he needed, his free hand reaching out and taking firm hold of her breast. His thumb and forefinger gripped the nipple, applying pressure and twisting lightly.
Gwenvael licked his lips, his teasing fingers making Dagmar groan and her body writhe.
“Bring those pretty tits over here, Lady Dagmar.”
She did, moving closer without him exerting any force at all.
“Good lass.” He slid his arm under her rear, lifting her up so he could wrap his mouth around her breast. He sucked hard while his tongue teased the tip, making it painfully hard.
She wrapped her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist, her body quaking as he continued to suck on her breast. The wonderful feel of his mouth against her had Dagmar nearing climax. Her body shook until she finally released her grip on his hand so her head could fall back against her shoulders and she could groan in desperate need.
“Ha, ha!” he cheered, her breast falling from his mouth and his wounded hand raised in the air. “So easy, Lady Dagmar.”
He carried her to the end of the bed. She put up a fight, but he kept his valuable bits away from her mouth this time. He spun her toward the bed and pushed her down on it.
“Now I can’t promise you this won’t hurt, but I will promise to make it worth it.”
Before she could even get back to her feet, he had the torn sheets tied to her wrists. If she pulled with one arm, she nearly tore the other from its socket.
“Ingenious,” she sneered.
“Isn’t it?” He rested back on his heels for a moment. “I won’t say that I don’t trust you, but I don’t trust these legs of yours. They’re sly.”
“What does that mean?”
He answered by tying the rest of the torn sheets around her ankles and then to the legs of the bed.
“Now that’s simply perfect.”
“Do you ever get tired of patting yourself on the back?”
“No!” He pushed her flat against the bed. “Don’t move. I need a few minutes to examine my canvas.”
The sound of that worried her. “Your what?”
“You’re moving.”
“With good reason.”
He leaned in and asked, “Do you want me inside you or not?”
“No,” she told him flatly.
“Forgot who I’m dealing with,” he muttered.
“Clearly.”
“Never ask the hard questions first,” he said, sliding two of his fingers inside her. She was already wet and ready, his fingers moving in and out of her only made her needy and a bit desperate.
He stroked her for what felt like ages, his other hand occasionally brushing against her clitoris as a reminder of what she really needed.
When her hips pushed back against each thrust and she moaned into the bedding, he stopped.
“Now, my Lady Dagmar…Do you want me inside you or no
t?”
“Yes,” she hissed between clenched teeth.
“Good. Then don’t move. This is very precise work.”
She rolled her eyes yet again and wondered what the hell he was doing back there.
She felt heat first and thought it was quite rude of him to burn her without permission. Were there not rules for this sort of thing among their kind?
Then the pain became worse and she couldn’t explain where it came from. She felt it all over, from the heels of her feet to the top of her head. Unsure of what the hell he was doing but trusting him as always, she gritted her teeth, trying to hold in her cries.
His fingers brushed against her sex and a cry slipped past her lips as she climaxed, her hands gripping the bedding and her body shuddering from the intensity of it.
Gwenvael entered her with one strong push, burying himself to the hilt until she felt his hips and pelvis slam into her rear. The pain of his skin against hers startled another cry out of her, but as he ruthlessly took her, her cries became louder, more intense. At first it was the pain alone, but then the pleasure returned, combining into some wonderfully messy burst of passion that had her tearing at the bedcovers and sobbing into them. Nothing had ever felt like this. So indescribably intense and overwhelming.
If he knew he caused her pain as well as pleasure, he never showed it, taking her harder and harder as they went. She felt his big hands dig into her hair and pull her head back, turning her just enough so he could kiss her.
Her tongue stroked his, bold and demanding. She hid nothing from him when they were like this. Both of them stripped down to their most elemental.
It was right that it should be like this. Raw and brutal and intense. Because he’d just marked her as his own. She was his now, as he was hers. And nothing would ever change that.
Gwenvael had meant everything he’d said to her. They were partners now. Mates. They would stand together against whatever life had to throw at them, doing what they could to protect those they cared about.
She came again, her cries pouring into his mouth. He felt her clench around him and he couldn’t hold back. He came inside her, the hand gripping her hair tightening, his hips pushing against her so he knew she could feel what he’d done to her.