The Dragon Prince's Promise (Dragongrove Book 5)

by Imogen Sera

  She expected him to return to her chest, or perhaps to focus right away between her legs, so she was surprised when he leaned forward to kiss just above her navel. He shut his eyes and pressed his face there for just a moment, and sliding his arms under her back.

  It was achingly sweet, and she found herself gently brushing his hair back from his eyes. He looked up at her, then, and grinned, and a second later he was covering her again. Her bare flesh pressed against his thin clothing, and his mouth covered hers—hotly, insistently. He trailed his lips down quickly until he found her nipple, and then he was right there, teasing and tasting her until she wriggled underneath him.

  She tugged at his shirt until he finally sat up to pull it off. He kissed her again then, hard and tender, and his hand drifted from her breast to her side to her hip, and finally settled between her thighs.

  She was moving against his fingers before she even fully realized they were there. His mouth was hot and insistent on hers as his hand stroked through her folds, as his thumb circled her clit. Her hands locked in his hair when one finger moved around her entrance and then slipped inside her, and her breath caught in her throat when it moved against her.

  Her hips moved in kind, and she was powerless against it. She needed this, needed him; needed reassurance that she was something to him, that she was everything to him. There was no one else there, no one that he was acting for, and that thought was the sweetest for her. He fucked her with his finger and he sucked at her neck and he rubbed against her clit, and when she clenched around him and her hips moved and her legs quivered, he looked very pleased.

  He was already kissing down her stomach when she recovered, and he hooked her legs over his shoulders and swept his tongue through her folds. She bucked her hips against his mouth, sensitive and not wholly in control, and the dark chuckle against her hot flesh reverberated through her.

  He teased her slowly, his tongue not quite where she needed him, always just nearly there. Once, he swept it over her clit and she sighed in relief, only to groan in frustration when he moved it away again.

  She begged him wordlessly, moving her hips and holding his hair; and then not so wordlessly, although she wasn’t sure what she was saying. Just that she needed him, that she wanted him, that he was hers and wouldn’t he please make her his—oh please oh please.

  All at once he had two fingers inside her, moving against her, as his tongue finally found her clit. It took very little—just a few leisurely flicks of his tongue—before she was completely undone and he had to use his free arm to brace her abdomen and keep her from coming completely off the bed. She knew nothing and saw nothing, but felt everything.

  “I love you,” he murmured against her neck, as she trembled under him. He kissed her sweetly there, and on her jaw and cheeks and mouth.

  “Fuck me?” she asked, pressing her hips against his. She could feel the length of him through his pants; hard and ready for her. “Please fuck me?”

  He shook his head as a strained look crossed his face.

  She furrowed her brows. “Why not?”

  “My love,” he murmured, and kissed under her ear. “Right now I just want to be soft with you—I just want to be gentle with you, and I can’t when I’m inside you.”

  She shook her head, then. “That’s not what I want,” she said. “I want you, Tate. I want all of you. I need to know you’re mine.”

  She reached up to kiss him hard, to taste herself on his lips, to run her hands down his back and his front and everywhere she could reach. He kissed her back with ferocity, and his control snapped and his pants were gone and he was poised at her entrance, massive and hard and ready.

  “You’re sure, love?” he asked against her throat.

  “Yes,” she breathed. It was almost a whine, but she didn’t care.

  And then he pushed inside. She was deliciously full, completely surrounded by him, utterly his.

  His face was strained above her. “Fuck me,” she said, for her sake as much as his.

  He slammed into her so hard that she was breathless, and then again and again. All she could do was cling to his shoulders, cling to his neck; all she could do was wrap her legs around his waist and clutch his shoulders as he filled her. It was rough and wild and perfect, and everything that she wanted from him.

  She began to quiver around him, to lose control of her limbs and her mind and her mouth, and she found that she was whispering filthy things into his ear as she held on, as she let him take what he needed from her and give her exactly what she needed.

  She came hard, her nails digging into the back of his neck, her heels digging into the back of his thighs. He came right after, shutting his eyes and groaning her name and shuddering into her.

  They lay still for long moments afterward, breathing heavily and hearts pounding. She wanted to ask him everything—to talk to him about everything—but she had forever to do that and she was so tired and he was so comfortable.

  When he turned and tucked her against his side and nuzzled her neck, she pressed a kiss under his jaw.

  “I love you, El,” he murmured, moving only to cover her with the heavy blanket and then arranging himself just as he had been. He traced light circles on her back as her eyes grew heavy.

  She was asleep before the sun had fully set.

  •••••

  When Elsie first woke in the night, her head was propped on Tate’s arm and her nose was pressed against his chest. She pressed a kiss there, and she put her arm around his back, and she shut her eyes.

  The second time she awoke, she faced the wall. Tate was stretched out long behind her, tucked around her, and she could tell from the even way his chest pressed into her back that he slept. She didn’t want to wake him, so she shut her eyes for a long time until she slept again.

  The third time she awoke, she lay on her back with her arms stretched over her head. Soft lips were pressed against her stomach, and big arms held tight around her ribs.

  She moved her hand to thread her fingers through his hair, and the way that he grinned up at her warmed her all over.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, moving upwards over her and coming to rest next to her. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

  “I don’t think it’s you,” she murmured, her hand still in his hair. “I’m tired, but...it’s hard to sleep. I’m afraid that I’ll wake and none of this will be real again.”

  He was silent for a moment, shut his eyes for a moment, and pressed his mouth against her forehead firmly. “Sweetheart,” he murmured, “I’m so sorry—but did you really think that I could possibly love anyone except you?”

  Her chin trembled miserably. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

  “I didn’t know what he knew, El, I didn’t know what he could see,” Tate said. “I didn’t know how he knew what he did. I was afraid to risk it, my love.”

  She nodded reluctantly. “It was only a few days, I suppose,” she said. “They were the worst days, though.”

  “The very worst,” he agreed.

  “Why didn’t you just tell me quickly?” she asked. “Why didn’t you whisper it to me or something?”

  He smiled faintly, but he looked sad. “I adore you, sweetheart—but you’re a very bad actress and a very, very bad liar.”

  A laugh combined with a sob escaped her. She wrapped her arms around him; she pressed her cheek to his chest. “I am not,” she said, without any real conviction.

  “You threatened me left and right to go home, El, and I didn’t believe a word of it.”

  She smiled then, and looked up at him. “You’re a bad audience,” she said. “Besides, I was right. Mira said the queen is angry.”

  “You didn’t believe that, though,” he said, shaking his head. “Not at the time. You didn’t think that anyone would care that you were gone.”

  “I wasn’t sure,” she said carefully. She still wasn’t sure. Mira had expressed how angry the queen was, but...she didn’t know where that anger might be directed.
Elsie thought that she deserved at least some of the blame. She’d done little to save Juliette, and even less to save herself.

  Twenty-eight

  Elsie’s heart pounded wildly as they approached the palace in the darkness. She had no idea what would be waiting for them there, no idea how they would be received, and...she hoped that they would have news of Demetri.

  She glanced at Tate, whose jaw was clenched and shoulders were tense. She knew he was worried about his brother, but she also knew that the last time he’d been there, he’d left on bad terms. She didn’t like to think of it, but perhaps it was something they would need to confront.

  She squeezed his hand and smiled in what she hoped was a reassuring way. She’d been dying to get home, had been dreaming about it since she’d been taken, but now that the moment was here, she wished she could somehow pause things right there—before things might change.

  When they finally entered, she was immediately struck by the lack of...anyone. It was after dinner time, and the ladies would likely be in the queen’s parlor, but the front hall was constantly populated by guards, at the very least. No one at all was there.

  She pulled Tate behind her across the hall, and up and up the stairs to where the queen’s rooms were. She supposed that he very much knew where the rooms were, but he seemed grateful for her guidance, and for her hand in his.

  It was silent when she opened the door, and then she was overcome by Olive launching herself at her. She hugged her back, grinning widely, wondering how she could have expected anything else from Olive. Vivian was there too, then, hugging both of them and crying. Elsie had to look again—Vivian was crying. It wasn’t something she’d ever thought she’d see, but she was oddly pleased by it all the same.

  She looked past her fellow ladies into the room, and the queen sat there, alone. She faced the queen with wide eyes, even as her friends clung to her sides, even as Tate had fallen behind her, looking decidedly uncomfortable.

  The queen spoke first. “I’m glad you’re home,” she said. “We heard about the eruption, and we didn’t know if you were alright. There are many, many people out looking for you.”

  Elsie smiled a watery smile. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I wish we could have sent word.”

  The queen shook her head, and then thoroughly surprised Elsie by approaching her and wrapping her arms around her. “Don’t be sorry,” she said. “We were worried for you. I’m so pleased that you’re home.”

  Elsie was truly in danger of crying, then, so she bit her lip and smiled and didn’t trust herself to talk.

  “Is Demetri here?” asked Tate from behind her. She turned to face him at the sound of his voice.

  The queen nodded.

  “Is he...well?”

  The queen frowned. “He’s alive.”

  “May I see him?” Tate asked.

  The queen paused for a moment. “You can try,” she said oddly. “I’ll take you to him.”

  Tate turned to Elsie, and held her face and brushed his lips over her forehead. “I’ll be back in a moment, love,” he murmured in a low voice.

  She nodded and smiled, and grabbed his hand and squeezed it once before he followed the queen from the room.

  She turned back to her friends, where Olive was gaping at her. “Tell us everything,” she demanded, and then gripped Elsie’s wrist and pulled her to her usual seat—the spot on the couch, facing the fire. Olive sat right next to her, and leaned her head on Elsie’s shoulder, looking for a thorough explanation of her absence. Vivian sat on her other side, and Elsie felt as if she were truly home, at last, as she began to explain.

  Tate returned half an hour later, his face dark and his jaw tight. She rose and crossed the room to him, forgetting everything she’d been saying.

  She wrapped her arms around his waist and felt some of the tension drain from him. “How is he?” she asked quietly.

  “I only saw him for a minute,” Tate said. “He’s not well.”

  She turned wide eyes up at him. “Is he injured?”

  Tate shook his head. “It’s...something else. I don’t know what.”

  “We’re looking into it,” she heard the queen say from behind her. “We’ll get him back to who he is.”

  Tate nodded, looking decidedly uncomfortable. “Thank you,” he said after a minute.

  The queen turned to him. “He’s family,” she said, “as are you. We’ll look after you.”

  Tate didn’t say anything, but he looked at her strangely.

  “Have a bath,” the queen said with a faint smile, turning back to Elsie. “Enjoy a clean nightgown.”

  Elsie glanced down at what she was wearing. “I think I’ll burn this,” she said, her nose wrinkling.

  “Get some rest. We have much to talk about tomorrow.”

  Elsie nodded and tried to not let that worry her. The queen had hugged her, had told her how pleased she was to have her home—still, Elsie couldn’t help but feel responsible for so much of what had happened.

  Olive gripped her tightly again, and then Vivian, and as she bid them good night, she felt a comfortable satisfaction despite herself.

  •••••

  Elsie pulled Tate through the side door, across the little sitting room that she shared with Olive and Vivian, and finally into her bedroom.

  “I wondered if I’d ever be back here,” she said, leaning against his arm and smiling up at him.

  “Me too,” he said. He didn’t look altogether pleased about it.

  She ignored the sinking feeling in her stomach. “Have a bath with me?” she asked.

  Elsie delighted in having heated water at the turn of a dial. As she pulled her ridiculous, fur-lined nightgown over her head, she wondered briefly how she might wash it, there at the palace. A grin covered her face when she thought of her wardrobe full of dresses, and she dropped it in a pile on the floor.

  He slipped into the fragranced water first, and then she did, her back against his chest and her legs stretched out long between his.

  “It doesn’t feel like it’s really over,” he said, leaning slightly to kiss her shoulder. “I keep waiting for something to happen—to to need to do...something.”

  She nodded. “I can’t imagine how much worse it is for you. I was only there for a few weeks.”

  “I’m glad you were,” he said suddenly. “I accept that selfish part. Now that everything is alright, I’m so glad that you were.”

  She turned in the water so that her chest was against his, and her knees were spread on either side of his thighs. “Me too,” she said again, and kissed his jaw. “I’m so glad. I’m glad I was there and I’m glad you’re here now.”

  He nodded but said nothing.

  “Are you happy here?” she asked. “Can you be happy here?”

  He was silent for a moment, studying her face. “I think so,” he said. “I have you, and you’re happy here. I think that’s enough.”

  Her heart hurt at the uncertainty in his voice. “You have me wherever we are,” she said. “I like it here, but...I think I can learn to like it anywhere that I am with you. I liked it at the camp with you. I like it here with you. I’ll be happy with you anywhere we go.”

  “You’ll go anywhere with me?” he asked.

  She nodded. The thought wasn’t entirely pleasant, because she did love it here. But she loved him more, and she would.

  “Good,” he said, and kissed her chin. “Stay here with me, then. Stay where you feel at home, and show me why you love it, and help me love it, too.”

  She grinned and leaned to kiss him. His hands ran down the length of her back, and under the water to hold her ass. He lifted her slightly and pulled her closer, until her core was centered over the hard length of him.

  She giggled against his mouth and moved her hips tentatively. She was hot and needed him, already, so she put her hands on his shoulders and shifted slightly until he was positioned at her entrance. She teased him there for a minute, circling her hips and taking his head in
side, until he needed her too much and held her hips steady and pushed up into her in one long, fluid motion.

  She groaned, the breath stolen out of her, and her fingertips pressed into his shoulders as he held her hips in place and began to thrust inside of her. The feeling was exquisite—she was stretched and full of him, and here in the palace she wasn’t cold, and she wasn’t in danger. She was warm and safe and happy and could focus all of her attention on Tate, and when she leaned forward and took his face in her hands and tangled her tongue with his, she knew that this is how it was supposed to be. This is how it would be for the rest of time.

  She slumped against him when they were finished, and they stayed like that until the bath water had cooled. He rose first while she laid back, pressing her cheek against the edge of tub, and then he lifted her and carried her from the bathroom.

  He helped her as she collapsed into her bed; it was as warm and soft and as lovely as she’d remembered. Lovelier, even, because Tate was there with her.

  Tate hovered over it, watching her strangely. “Shut your eyes?” he said.

  She didn’t understand why, but she shut her eyes all the same, a faint smile on her lips.

  “It’s so strange to see you here while I’m awake,” he said, and then leaned down to cover her.

  She pulled his shoulders down so that he was on top of her, and then she rolled to the side and kissed his neck and his chin and his jaw. He pulled her head against his chest, his hand in her hair, and he pressed his lips against her head.

  “What should I tell them?” he murmured into her ear. “I don’t want to say too much.”

  She turn and looked up at him, furrowing her brow. She knew what he meant; she knew where his mind was. “Everything,” she said quietly. “Tell them everything. There’s no reason not to.”

  He looked a little sick at the thought, so she squeezed his hand.

  “Tell them what you’re comfortable saying,” she amended. “I can fill things in, if necessary. But I don’t think that things will go as badly as you’re worried they will.”