The Stone Warriors: Dragan

by D. B. Reynolds

  “Hush.” He gathered her wild hair in his hands, pushing away the few strands that were stuck to her tear-dampened cheeks. “I have a woman like that. She’s smarter than any of those, more beautiful. But even more, she’s compassionate and loving enough to fret over the feelings of a statue, for fuck’s sake.”

  “You weren’t just a statue,” she muttered, avoiding his gaze. “I always knew there was something more inside. I know it doesn’t make sense. But I knew.”

  “And you didn’t care that it made no sense, because you believe in yourself. And that’s more beautiful than the finest profile, the softest cheek. Though you possess those, as well. Have you not looked in a mirror, Mae?”

  “That’s the problem. I have. I know what I am. I’ve known my whole life. I’m the skinny geek girl who makes the boys feel stupid, because she’s too smart. The one doesn’t know how to dress or do makeup, because she’s always in the computer lab. Even my cousins make fun of me.”

  He rested both hands on her ass, holding her in place. “That’s on them, sweet. And I don’t care about them. I care about you, and no one else.”

  She pressed her forehead against her clasped hands, hiding her face from him. “You’re beautiful, not me,” she murmured, barely loud enough to hear. “And you have wings. I don’t even have wings.”

  He laughed. “They’re more trouble than they’re worth, and they hurt like hell. Come here.” Not waiting for her acquiescence, he gripped her arms again and pulled her up his body until they were face to face. “I love you, Mae. No one else. And when this is over, I want a life with you. A real life, with children and grandchildren. I want to grow old at last. With you.”

  Fat tears were pouring from her eyes so fast that it was a wonder she could see when she looked up and met his gaze. “You’re not just saying that?”

  He scowled. “I rarely lie, and never to you.”

  She frowned back at him. “But you do lie?”

  “Of course. To save a life, mine or someone else’s. Any man who says he wouldn’t . . . is lying.”

  “You’re telling jokes now?”

  “Kiss me, sweet Mae.”

  “Are you sure?” she asked, lip trembling with emotion.

  Smiling, he rolled, taking her with him, her eyes going wide when she suddenly found herself under his heavy body, her legs spread around his hips as he thrust his cock inside her. “Does this feel like I’m sure?” he murmured, leaning down to take her mouth, his hunger for her urging him to do more than kiss, to bite and mark her pale skin, so that every other man would see she was his, and no one else’s. Her heart was thundering against his chest, her breath warm against his cheek. “Answer me,” he growled. “Is my cock hard enough for you? Does it want you like I do?”

  “Yes,” she gasped, sucking in another breath as if she couldn’t get enough oxygen.

  He began moving, slowly, because her entrance was still so tight. So fucking deliciously tight. And his cock was achingly hard, wrapped in the delicate muscles of her sheath as they caressed and stretched around his width. It tested his control as nothing ever had. He wanted to shove her knees to her chest and fuck her so fiercely that her hot little body would burn with an unquenched fervor, until she begged him to release her from a need that threatened to burst from her pores. But as stiff as his cock was, as much as he yearned to hear her scream his name, he didn’t want to hurt her, didn’t want her to feel anything but loved, wanted. Because he wanted more than just her tight body and silky skin, he wanted her heart and soul.

  He moved deliberately, thrusting deep between her thighs, gliding on the satin cream of her arousal which drenched her pussy and trailed down her thighs. Her hips rolled with his cock, her nipples hard points as they dug into his chest. He bent his head to kiss her once more, swallowing the soft cries she made every time his cock plunged deep.

  “Dragan.” She breathed his name as she sucked in a breath, her pink tongue darting out to wet lips already gleaming from his kiss. “Dragan,” she repeated, seemingly unable to catch enough breath to talk. But her eyes said what she couldn’t, blurred with passion and dark with a desperate need that made his own eyes narrow to slits of smug satisfaction.

  “What do you need?”

  She swallowed hard, her fingers digging in the thick muscle of his arms. “I don’t know. It . . .”

  “Does it hurt?” he whispered.

  She shook her head in vehement denial, her sweat-dampened hair whipping around her face. “Feels good,” she gasped. “Too good.” It was plea for release. He knew what she needed, but he wanted her to say it. Wanted her craving to be a voracious thing that took away her reason, leaving nothing but a burning lust for him that demanded release.

  Her eyes met his, perfectly clear for a fleeting instant, before they rolled up until he feared she’d pass out. But a moment later, her lids snapped up, her lips drew back from her teeth, and her nails drew blood on his arm. “Do it,” she demanded. “Make me come!”

  He bared his own teeth in response, but instead of giving her what she wanted, he pulled his cock completely out of her steaming hot pussy, ignored her angry howl of protest, then lifted her bodily and flipped her facedown on the bed.

  “What—” Her stunned question was cut off, as he pulled her hips up from the bed and spread her thighs, sliding his hand over the smooth curve of her back to press her breasts against the sheets. She gave a soft cry, and he could feel the heat of embarrassment lighting up her entire body like a small sun. Spreading her legs even wider, he took a moment to admire her pretty pink pussy, lusciously swollen and wet beneath the sweet curve of her ass.

  “Mine,” he murmured as he slid two fingers between the soft folds and brought them to his mouth, the taste of her making his already aching cock feel like it would burst from his skin. “Delicious.” It was a low rumble of hunger, the sound of a man who’d met his limit.

  “Dragan.” She glanced back, hair covering one eye, the other a mix of demand and pleading. “Please,” she said finally.

  He growled as he slammed his cock forward, her liquid need surrounding him in shocking heat as he gripped her hips and plunged himself as deep as he could go, then pulling out and doing it again. He could feel his climax boiling like molten steel behind his balls, but held back, wanting to feel her orgasm pulsing around him in the moment he let go.

  She came hard and fast, her entire body squeezing down to the sound of her screams, her inner muscles tightening around his cock until he feared it would snap off. Digging his fingers into her hips, holding her so flush against his groin that he could feel the contractions as her orgasm spread through her body, he climaxed with a shout that was as much triumph as release, his heat filling her while she shook beneath him, her groans matching his as he pushed her flat to the bed, and collapsed bonelessly against her.

  MAEVE WOKE THE next morning to the sensation of Dragan’s big hand cupping her breasts. She didn’t think they’d moved all night, other than to roll over so he was no longer on top of her. She was still wrapped in his arms, their bodies so flush together, there wasn’t a whisper of space between them. His arms held her safe, kept her warm now that the sweat of the night before had dried, and the hotel’s air-conditioning had kicked in. Covered by a lone sheet, as was his habit, their sleep had been more a matter of losing consciousness, than true sleep. They’d both been exhausted, emotionally and physically, after their lovemaking the night before. Although what they’d done probably didn’t classify as “lovemaking.” If there was a separate category called “fucking,” they’d certainly done that. And she had no complaints. No complaints at all.

  She remembered his angry declaration. Angry, because she’d doubted him, or maybe because she’d doubted herself. He loved her. She felt her chest tighten and her lungs squeeze as the knowledge sank in. He was magnificent, and he loved her. She’d always kn
own she was smart and clever, good at problem solving. She’d taken quiet pleasure in it, too, though she’d never bragged about it. Her grandfather had told her once, when she’d brought home another round of glowing marks, that a lot of people were smart. It was what you did with it that mattered. And she’d tried to live up to that. So she knew was smart, but she’d never considered herself desirable. Not like some of the girls in her class, who spent hours practicing makeup and trying on clothes. She’d never really been interested in that, had preferred her computer and her online friends who shared the things she loved. She hadn’t been completely unlovable. She’d dated, and she’d had her heart broken. Which she now knew—had known even then if she was being honest—wasn’t the end of the world.

  But she’d never expected a man like Dragan to fall for her. Even though she’d known from their first night together that she was going to fall for him. Hell, she’d been more than half in love with him when he’d been a damn statue. And the real man had been so much more, utterly irresistible. But now that he loved her back. . . . She closed her eyes and smiled, unbelievably happy. As if all was right with the world. Which, of course, it wasn’t. Not yet.

  But once all this mess was done with, and Sotiris was dead, or whatever it took to get rid of a sorcerer permanently, she could imagine the two of them—her and Dragan—buying a piece of land in the Smoky Mountains. They’d build a house—or rather, have one built. She wasn’t that much of a romantic. She sure as hell didn’t know how to build a house, and her skill set didn’t even include a tool box. Her smile broadened into a grin at the image of Dragan in low-slung jeans and a toolbelt, chest bare, sweating in the sun . . .

  She gasped in surprise and pleasure both, as his rough fingers scraped over her clit without warning. The bundle of nerves was already super sensitive after the previous night, and now. . . . She groaned and pushed back against Dragan’s bulk, one arm going up and behind to circle his neck as he bent to nibble on her jaw.

  “You weren’t paying attention,” he murmured.

  “I was dreaming,” she managed to say, as jolts of pleasure rippled from between her thighs.

  “Mmm?” He hummed against her neck in a wordless question.

  “About you. There. Are you happy?”

  He chuckled. “Not as happy as you,” he countered, and dipped his hand between her thighs, sliding one thick finger inside her, moving it slowly in and out.

  Maeve’s super brain failed her in that moment, unable to think past the waves of sexual hunger he stirred up. When he pushed her thigh forward and slid his cock into her with the barest movement, she could only thrust her fingers into his thick hair and hold on, his strong arms wrapped around her so tightly that their bodies flexed as one, in a sinuous dance of desire.

  It didn’t take long for her to climax. The thickness of Dragan’s cock dragging over tissues that were still trembling from the night before, the pressure of his rough fingertips pinching her nipples. . . . She came instantly, flying apart in his arms, feeling as if it was only his strength wrapped around her so tightly that held her together, as the liquid heat of his orgasm filled her once more.

  He didn’t let go of her then, either. Dipping his head low, he kissed the curve of her jaw, his lips opening to lick the salty sweat from her skin. “I love you,” he whispered.

  “I love you, too.” She was glad he couldn’t see her face, couldn’t see the tears rolling down her cheeks. She was overtired, she told herself. Overwrought. Overwhelmed. But no matter how many “over” words she came up with, it didn’t change the truth.

  He loved her. The tears weren’t about being over anything. They were about being loved, and loving. They were the happiest tears she’d ever shed.

  Chapter Thirteen

  IT WAS LATE afternoon when they woke to the sound of Maeve’s cell phone ringing. She scowled up at the thing where it sat on the bedside table, wondering who could be calling. It was one of her burner phones, and she hadn’t given anyone the number. Her brain was still fogged with sleep, but she was certain of that much.

  “Are you going to answer it?” Dragan’s words were remarkably crisp, compared to how she was feeling. It made her want to turn her scowl on him, too.

  There was nothing wrong with her. They hadn’t had anything to drink, and judging by the low light peeking from below the blackout drape, they’d certainly slept long enough. She simply wasn’t a happy morning person. Or whatever the hell time it was. She liked to wake slowly, get her bearings—

  “If you don’t answer it, I will.” The demand was accompanied by a smart slap on her ass, which was followed by a comforting rub, which didn’t exactly make her want to talk on the phone. “Maeve.”

  “I’ve got it,” she said grumpily. Forced to sit up to reach the device, she leaned back against the headboard. The displayed number was familiar, but she didn’t try to work it out, just answered with a sharp, “Yes?”

  “Hi Maeve!” It was a woman’s voice, way too chipper.

  “I’m sorry. Who is this?”

  “Lili, of course,” the woman chided, though Maeve didn’t know why she was supposed to have recognized the number.

  “Oh, hi. How are you?”

  “Fine, as always. How’re you and Dragan?”

  “Um, oh, we’re fine, too.” Was this the lamest conversation she’d ever had? “Is something going on?”

  “Something’s always going on somewhere. But you want to know why I’m calling you.”

  Maeve struggled for a moment, then said simply, “Yeah?”

  Lili’s laugh was that of a delighted child. “Nick wants everyone back here for a planning session tonight. Two hours after sunset. You know when that is?”

  “I can certainly find out,” she replied, her brain almost fully awake and reminding her she was supposed to be smart.

  “Excellent. We’ll see you—”

  “Wait,” Maeve demanded. “How’d you get this number? It’s a burner phone.”

  Lili laughed again. “You’re good at finding things, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, so am I, and you made a phone call to the hotel before leaving here last night. See you in a bit.”

  DRAGAN PUT AN arm around Maeve’s waist, pulling her back onto the bed when she leaned too far forward to put the phone on the table. Tightening his hold, he hugged her against his chest. “Lili?”

  “Yes. You could hear her?”

  “Enough to recognize her voice. Nico wants us there?”

  She nodded, her hair a soft brush against his skin. “Two hours after sunset.” She yawned, then sat up straight.

  He missed the soft feel of her, but the sheet had dropped to reveal her lovely breasts, so he didn’t complain. “Problem?” he asked, cupping one breast and weighing it in his hand with a gentle squeeze.

  She leaned in to his touch. “Just a planning meeting, I think. I guess Nico’s decided what he wants to do.”

  “I know what I want to do.” He tugged her close enough to close his lips over her breast.

  “Do we have time?” she whispered, her fingers raking through his hair, holding him against her. He hummed agreement as he closed his teeth over the taut peak of her nipple. “Dragan,” she gasped, just as the phone rang again.

  He groaned and lifted his head. “Lili again?”

  Maeve was frowning at the damn phone. “No,” she said unexpectedly. “That’s the hotel phone, not my cell. Kato and Grace, maybe.” She reached to pick it up, but he took it from her hand.

  “Yes?”

  “Well, you’re in a good mood,” Kato responded.

  “I was, until the phone rang.”

  Kato laughed. “You don’t have to explain, brother. I understand.”

  Dragan echoed his laugh. “Of course, you do.” All of them had celebrated well
into the night after many a battle, wine flowing almost as freely as the women. But that no longer applied, he thought with great satisfaction. He and Kato both had found women to love, women who loved them back. It struck him that he and his brothers had all been freed by strong, beautiful women, who were destined to become their lifelong mates. And he thought how it must scrape at Sotiris’s soul to know that. It was a small satisfaction that would do nothing to lessen the pain and punishment they would deliver against that evil bastard. Sotiris would die screaming before this was over.

  “Did Lili call you?” Kato asked.

  “Yes. She spoke to Mae. We’re meeting at Nico’s tonight.” He glanced over at her. “Did she give you a time?”

  “Two hours after sunset,” she said just as Kato said the same.

  “Grace says we should eat something before we go,” Kato added. “Together, I mean.”

  “All right,” Dragan said and handed the phone to Maeve. “We’re having dinner.”

  Maeve took the phone with a smile for him, before she told Kato, “I saw a restaurant on our way in last night. On the patio. I guess it depends on what you consider sunset, but I figure dinner at 7:30?”

  Dragan heard Kato agree, then Maeve was hanging up the phone. “What time is it now?” she asked, leaning forward to see the bedside clock with its hellish red lights. Dragan didn’t need to look, he’d already done so and knew it was on the cusp between afternoon and evening, at just past 5:00. They had two and a half hours.

  “The tub is quite large,” he commented. “And the soaking heat will feel good on . . . any parts of you that might be feeling tender.”