by Ruby Dixon
Then do not wear them anymore. I much prefer you like this. He cups my breast and nuzzles my neck.
I gasp, leaning against him and closing my eyes. “I thought we were kissing.”
We will. I am merely admiring my mate and her soft skin. He strokes my breast, careful not to drag his claws. And you are very, very soft, my Emma.
His thoughts give me delicious chills. I shiver and reach up to caress his jaw, wanting to touch him, to contribute in some way. He’s caressing me and I feel like the focus of everything.
You are my focus, he agrees. You are my world.
It makes me color with pleasure to hear that. When was the last time I was anyone’s world? Ever? “I should touch you, too, though.”
Soon enough, he agrees. For now, let me please my mate. He continues to stroke my breast and then leans close. I wish to kiss again.
The book? I ask him, breathless and leaning in against him.
Zohr’s mouth closes over mine and his tongue dips into my mouth. We will look at it when we run out of ideas. He brushes the pads of his fingers against my nipple.
I moan, rocking my hips as he touches me. I’m full of unfulfilled need, wanting to alternately press his hand even closer to my breast and push him away. He’s pleased by my frustrated response and continues to rub the tip of my nipple with his thumb, back and forth, over and over as he kisses me.
I can feel myself getting slick between my thighs just from this. Can feel the spiral of heat curling in my belly, and I’m hungry for more touches, more kisses. I lose myself in his embrace, not caring about anything except his touch—
Until the ticklishness of his touch gets to me and my foot kicks the dead goat.
That kills the mood. We’re making out and there’s a carcass right there.
He pulls away from me, his eyes like molten gold. A tendril of smoke escapes one nostril. Shall I cook it for you?
I’m not hungry right now, and the thought of butchering a goat would definitely kill the moment. But I don’t think I can keep kissing him with its dead body right there. It goes against everything I am.
Shall I get rid of it?
Seems terrible to waste so much meat. I hesitate.
I will cook it for you and then return. He leans in and gives me another fierce, urgent kiss and sends a bevy of emotions through our connection that leave me breathless and hungry for more.
How can I argue with that? “All right. I’ll wait here.”
His eyes gleam as he slides me to the floor and gets to his feet. Find us a good page in your book while I am gone. And he turns to leave, and I can’t help but notice that his cock’s eye level with me and very, very erect. I get all achy at the sight of it, and I kind of wish he’d come back so I can stare some more.
You will get your chance, he promises.
Someday I’m going to remember he can hear everything I’m thinking. Seems unfair, because I suspect I’m not picking up one hundred percent of what’s going through his mind.
Perhaps in time, he says, slinging the goat over his big shoulder with ease and strolling away with it.
Um, while you’re gone, can you gut that thing and skin it before you cook it? I tell him, inwardly wincing at how it’ll go if he doesn’t. And then find something to cover it up so flies don’t get on it?
I shall do as you ask. He sends an image of coals and a fire pit, and then everything changes to a tumble of dragon thoughts. He feels different when he’s in his dragon form. It’s like his head is more stream of consciousness. It’s fascinating. I want to sit and just watch the world through his eyes as he goes out into the streets and looks for a place to put the kill. He decides on the trunk of an old car and rips it open with his claws, and I’m riveted.
Of course, if I sit there and watch him, I’m not going to find a picture…
Decisions, decisions.
Reluctantly, I pull my thoughts from his when he uses his claws to slit the skin. It’s as good a time as any to pick up the book and see what I’ve got. Of course, I decide that now’s the perfect time—instead—to strip off my jeans and panties. If he’s going to be nothing but skin, I can do the same. I’m not a chicken in every other aspect of my life, so there’s no need to be shy around Zohr. Not when he knows me more intimately than any other person on earth.
It’s a bit of a change in thinking, but just the act of stripping off my clothes makes me bolder. I toss them aside and then pick up the book even as the scent of smoke begins to drift through the air. I flip through a few pages, fascinated, and lose myself for a time. I’ve never read a book about sex and I never saw a dirty movie. Back when I was growing up, I was too young, and then the Rift hit. I’ve never even seen a porny magazine, though I’ve read books and let my imagination go wild. It’s fascinating to look at the pictures and wonder about all the movies that I never got to see. Were they as lurid as this picture of this man rubbing his cock on his partner’s ass? Or were they tamer?
I’m transfixed.
24
EMMA
I turn the page in the book and I can’t stop staring at the next image. It’s the couple, but this time he’s holding her in his arms and his hand is between her legs, her pussy spread as he fingers her. The woman’s head is thrown back in ecstasy and she has this look of utter lust on her face that’s just riveting.
I want to see that, Zohr tells me, and his thoughts are full of heat.
I shiver, setting the book aside but leaving it open to that page. Are you…are you almost done?
He sends me a mental image of the meat roasting, smoke pouring out of the back of the car with the trunk lowered. It is only a tiny blaze, he tells me. It will cook it very slowly. Now I go to wash myself. I can feel his thoughts shift as he changes to human form, and then he sends a mental image of himself at the sink, washing his hands. I want to be clean when I touch you, he tells me.
It’s the most functional, practical of statements and it makes me squirm. I want him to touch me, too.
I return, he warns, his thoughts full of promise and seduction.
I’m here. I finger-comb a few strands of my hair, feeling a bit silly and a lo loco as I wait. Like Zohr’s going to care what my hair looks like.
Then he’s there, stalking down the aisle of books toward me, and I feel all restless and breathless with anticipation. He moves with incredible grace, my dragon, but I can’t deny there’s a predatory hint to his steps, as if he’s hunting me.
It’d be the shortest hunt ever—I don’t plan on going anywhere.
As he moves toward me, I start to get to my feet.
Do not stand, Zohr says, and his eyes are impossibly gold, so gold that they could be the sun itself. I will just bear you to the floor once more.
Oh. I hug my arms over my chest as he approaches, and I notice again that I’m eye level with his cock. My mouth goes dry at the sight of him, all magnificent equipment and the barest hint of a scale pattern on his skin. I can’t help but admire him like a starving woman. He’s just so…nice to look at. I wonder if Sasha feels like this with Dakh? I always thought he looked a little crazy-eyed and intimidating, but she looked at him as if he’d hung the moon.
At the time, I was a little skeptical of how hung up she was on him. That maybe she wasn’t very strong at heart and needed someone to look after her. She was always so sweet and girly, and I’ve never been like that. At least, I haven’t since the Rift. But looking at Zohr right now, I’m pretty sure I have a dopey, lovesick expression on my face.
Then I stop myself. Love?
Too soon. Just an expression.
What is an expression? he asks, prowling over to me.
He gets down on hands and knees and moves over me, covering me with his big body. He smells like smoke and barbecue, and his mouth tastes a bit like fire. It’s fascinating and I’m distracted by his tongue and his lips and just how good he kisses. It doesn’t seem fair that he’s that good already and we just started. How’s a girl supposed to keep up with
a natural talent like this?
Expression? he asks again, nipping at my mouth with his fangs. Funny how I never think of them when we’re kissing. I was so terrified of them when I first saw them, thinking he’d bite the crap out of me at every opportunity.
Only when I wish to give you my fires, he tells me, and his thoughts are amused. You are easily distracted when kissed.
I really, really am. I can’t even remember what we’ve been talking about. All I know is that his big, yummy body is over mine and I can feel the heat pouring off of him. His thigh wedges between my own, and it sends a pulse of need shooting through me. I’m breathless with anticipation, wondering where—and how—he’s going to touch me.
I will touch you however you wish, he promises. Now show me your book so I know where you wish me to begin.
My nipples get hard at his words, and I’m panting when I point at the open book nearby, the two-page spread that I found so fascinating just a short time ago. It’s less fascinating now, especially with Zohr back. Zohr and his big, golden body and the way he feels over me. He’s hard all over, nothing but rippling muscles and scale-dappled skin, and the pasty, hairy people in that book can’t hold a candle to someone as beautiful as him. “They need books for people that look like you,” I whisper, sliding my hand down his shoulder and then letting my fingers move over one of the dangerous-looking spikes that jut from the backs of his arms. “It’d be a bestseller instantly.”
His thoughts rumble with amusement. I still do not understand books. My people do not have them. He lowers his head, and his hair tickles my skin. A moment later I feel his scorching mouth move over my breast. But I would gladly admire images of my beautiful mate all day long.
I don’t think I could do a book of pictures like this, even if there were the option anymore. I’m amused at the thought, though. That amusement quickly turns to lust as he tongues my nipple. I moan, holding him close against me, basking in his heat and his big, delicious body. Who needs a book about sex when you have a big gorgeous hunk of a dragon-man on top of you?
I would see this book, though. Zohr lifts his head from my breasts, eyes gleaming. He pulls the book closer and gazes down at the picture that I’ve selected, and I can feel his intense curiosity. It almost matches my squirmy discomfort.
Almost.
He licks her cunt? Zohr asks. I have not done this to you yet? He sounds surprised. I have thought of it many times. Even in my fever I did not taste you?
I’m blushing. I know it. How am I supposed to talk about this with him? In my mind, sex isn’t something you discuss, it’s just something you do. How am I supposed to have a conversation about whether or not he licked me? You did. I just…you know what? Forget it. It’s no big deal. I try to reach over him and shove the book closed.
He pulls it out of my grasp. But you liked it enough to bring it up again? Why do you act so shy?
I frown at him, trying to figure it out myself. Because it feels…intimate? Because I’m not used to asking for things? Because I worry it’ll make it that much harder to leave when we do part? “I don’t know.”
I think you do, but we do not have to discuss it now. He leans in and kisses me, slow and soft. We can discuss it after you are sighing with pleasure, my mate.
“Are you always this high-handed?” I mutter, but I’m relieved that he’s going to quit pressing me on it. I don’t like being pressured to analyze my thoughts. I’m not used to it. I’m not used to being around others. To needing them. I’m not used to asking for things and I’m not sure I like how vulnerable it makes me…
It’s far more vulnerable than any sexual act.
I only wish to pleasure you, he tells me. Not make you unhappy.
I know. That’s why I’m such a jerk. He really does just want to make me happy, it seems, and I keep messing things up. I cup his face in my hands. I’m not trying to fuck this up.
I know. He leans in and gently kisses me. You ruin nothing. You cannot help the way you feel. His eyes flare with intense gold. And since we are feeling…I am going to make you feel a great many things. He slides down my body and moves toward my thighs. Many, many good things.
I sigh, shivering at the thought. Then I’ll return the favor, I promise, playing with his hair as he kisses his way down my belly.
That makes him lift his head, confusion in his eyes. What?
“You know, take you in my mouth?”
His eyes narrow. Why would you do such a thing?
Now I’m thrown. “Why would I want to go down on you? Really? That’s what most guys want, isn’t it?” I don’t have much experience with the actual physical act, but I’ve been propositioned a lot and it usually involves some form of dick-in-mouth. “I thought all guys wanted their cock sucked.”
They do? He looks shocked. Your females want such an insult?
“Wait, how is that an insult? Because I’d be on my knees?” I’m surprised at how rigid his people think if giving a blow job freely is an insult.
If a male does not spill his seed inside a female, it is because he does not find her worthy to bear his young. She is shamed by him. He looks baffled. You wish for me to shame you?
Oh jeez. “No, I don’t want you to shame me, Zohr. It’s…it’s nothing like that with humans. There’s no shame in spilling…anywhere, really. Some guys find it sexy to come in their girl’s mouth.” At least, according to the romance novels Sasha loaned me, and the fact that every single one of Azar’s men propositioned something similar. How is this news to him? “Some prefer dick-sucking because then you can still have sex but not make the girl pregnant. Which is a good thing because every condom on earth is probably expired by now.”
Zohr considers this. Humans think very strangely.
I have to chuckle at his befuddlement. “We’re a very practical sort, you know. A pregnancy is not always a good thing when no one can support the kid. Like I said, sometimes it’s just practical.”
And humans are practical and imaginative, he agrees. Two very interesting things. He kisses my stomach again. I must try to think more like humans.
“Oh, I don’t know,” I tell him breathlessly. “I kind of like you just the way you are.”
His thoughts reward me with a surge of pleasure.
It’s the truth, too. Every human guy I’ve met has been either like Jack—independent and slightly aloof, not good with touchy-feely or any sort of kindness other than basic survival. Or they’re like Boyd—just a real human bag of shit. I can’t blame either because that’s how you survive. The After’s made them who they are.
But I much prefer Zohr and his protective affection toward me, and the way he makes me feel like I’m the only person that matters in his world. A girl could become addicted to that kind of thing.
He moves lower, kissing my belly, a faint smile playing on his mouth. I lie back, sighing, and try not to worry about if I’m getting too attached, or what’s going to happen tomorrow. I should just let things be and take it one day at a time, one hour at a time, one kiss at a time. Kiss by kiss. That sounds nice.
Zohr flicks his tongue over my belly button and then goes lower…and stops. Alarm and unease flare through his thoughts. He lifts his head, and his eyes are almost completely black.
I rise up on my elbows, tensing. “Zohr? What is it?”
Someone comes. His nostrils flare.
“Someone?”
A drakoni. I can smell her on the breeze. I can feel her thoughts as she approaches. I have sent out a broad warning, but…something is strange.
“A broad warning?” I ask, curious. “How does that work?”
Yes. It is sent out when others approach too near to a nest. His thoughts shift and he sends to me. I get a pulsing wave of aversion that rolls through my mind and makes me shudder.
That must be what he’s talking about. But she’s still coming?
She ignores my warning.
“Maybe she thinks she can score herself a hot date?” I say, trying to lighten the situat
ion.
That is not it. She can smell me here with my mate. I do not understand what she is thinking. He shakes his head and his eyes seem to grow darker. I get flashes of irritation through his mind. She keeps trying to open her thoughts to me. She wants to talk.
An alarm bell goes off in my mind. “Aren’t all the other dragons crazy? If they don’t have a mate?” Before he can answer, I grab his arm. “Don’t do it. I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”
I need to know what she wants, he tells me, getting to his feet and stalking away. I will not allow her to intrude on us.
Is that what this is? Just a simple intrusion? God, I hope so. I hope she’s just crazy enough that she thinks she can come hang out for a chat and not so crazy that we need to fear for our lives. I watch Zohr storm forward, menace and anger radiating from him, right down to his clenched fists.
I don’t like this at all.
I grab my knife out of my boot and chase after him even as a shadow flies overhead, temporarily darkening the building. The old, familiar dragon fear rushes through me and I halt, resisting the urge to run for cover, to seek shelter from fire. To escape.
I am here, Zohr tells me. His thoughts are swift and strong, even if they’re angry. I will not let her bother us. I am merely going to chase her away. You stay back.
All right, I tell him, but I still don’t like this. I move behind a nearby bookshelf to take cover. I wish I had my gun. Or a bat. Anything longer than the small knife I have in my hands.
I watch, nervous, as Zohr moves to the front of the bookstore. He pushes through the glass doors and then immediately changes to dragon-form, his tail moving back and forth with clear agitation. I wince as it slams against the dirty glass and leaves cracks. I feel woefully inadequate right about now.
The dragon soars overhead again, and I watch, breathless, as Zohr moves forward along the ground, raising his head and trumpeting a warning call. I hate the sight of his crumpled wings folded against his back. They still feel like my fault. His thoughts blast out again, another even stronger round of the aversion/mental-repellent, and I shudder. It makes me want to leave. I don’t see how she won’t. I wait for her to land, or to fly off, but her shadow just circles overhead.