In the Arms of the Dragon Princes

by Jessica Miller

  He never gets a chance to finish. In one move I reach over, wrap my arms around his neck and press his lips desperately to mine.

  It’s not long before he kisses me back, pulling my body once again into his lap so that I’m flush against him.

  He pulls back gently and whispers.

  “Does this mean you’ll marry me?”

  “Yes.”

  He smirks and pulls me back against him.

  He kisses me desperately, passionately. I can feel his member growing beneath his pants as his hand travels to my knee once again.

  This time, he doesn’t stop.

  His hand moves over my panties and I adjust my waist to help him slide them off me. Soon, I’m pressing against his fingers, writhing in pleasure, shaking and moaning against him.

  He moves his hand out from beneath my skirt and I gasp in protest before he picks me up, like a bride on her way to the honeymoon suite.

  “Aren’t we supposed to wait until after we’re married to go across the threshold?” I ask teasingly as he opens the door and moves me to the bed. He places me on it gently and, with the sexiest smirk I’ve ever seen from him says.

  “Well, we’ve never exactly done things the proper way. Have we Emma?”

  I smile and shake my head ‘no’.

  It’s not long before we’re completely naked in front of each other. I stare at him as he traces my body lightly with his fingers before placing a kiss on each of my breasts in turn.

  He kisses his way down my body as though he’s paying it homage. Under his hands, I don’t feel like I did with Jake. I don’t feel like an object to be had.

  I feel like a goddess, I feel like something to be cherished, adored, and loved.

  When he slides into me, I cry out in pleasure and keep my eyes locked on him. He looks at me with a desperate, hungry expression as he pushes into my body in an ancient rhythm. He wants me. I can feel his want. He thrusts hotly and heavily inside me.

  I feel pressure building inside of me as I feel Gus above me, moving faster. Just before he loses control completely, he leans down and whispers into my ear.

  “I love you so much.”

  That one phrase sends me over the edge. Gus joins me and soon, we are lying together in a tangle of messy and exhausted limbs.

  He moves aside and opens his arms to me. I move into them willingly. He presses a soft kiss on my hair and snuggles against me. I smile to myself.

  In that moment, I remember what I told Gus that night in his office. If you can’t imagine life without a person, that’s when you know it’s right.

  I can’t imagine my life without Gus.

  And now, finally, I know that I won’t have to.

  THE END

  Bonus Story 9/40

  In the League of His Own

  Samantha Banks stood impatiently in line, waiting with her poster nervously rolled up in her hand and a blue marker. She’d been standing in the line for almost an hour since the football players had come out of the locker rooms after the last game of the season. Her team had lost, but it didn’t matter. Blake Stemmons was less than ten feet away. It wouldn’t be long before she was standing in front of him; close enough to smell his shampoo and look into his ice blue eyes.

  She was trembling with anticipation. He looked up at the line, grimaced and looked back down at the sports magazine he was signing for another fan. Samantha watched him look at his phone, scowling again and sending a quick text between fans. He smiled and talked to each person, but his actions were forced.

  More than once, she caught him looking up at her when he thought she wasn’t looking. She smiled, feeling like a million bucks but also feeling a little self-conscious. The room was full of blonde haired, blue eyed bombshells in high heels and plunging necklines.

  The woman at the autograph table was one such woman. Her mini skirt rode up, revealing the bottom curve of her ass cheeks as she bent all the way over so Blake could hear whatever she had said over the crowd of people gathered in the large breezeway.

  Whatever she’d said, Blake winked at her, handing her back her magazine before looking to the next person waiting for his autograph.

  Samantha was getting excited. Only four people ahead of her and it would be her turn to be in the presence of greatness. To get a chance to shake his hand before he signed her poster. Maybe even a hug, though she doubted it.

  The next woman sauntered up and once again, Samantha felt out of place. She was wearing her most flattering jeans and dark brown, mock-riding boots that came up over her jeans and stopped just below her knees. A sleeveless, bright yellow blouse that ruffled slightly in the front and made her eyes appear an even darker green than they were. Her chocolate hair fell in its normal loose ringlets around her face, framing her pert little nose and its smattering of freckles perfectly.

  Or so she’d been told. She’d spent most of her teenage years trying to cover up them up, but had given up long ago. It had been a pointless waste of money and no foundation she’d found had come close to concealing them entirely. She had a glowing, even complexion, and she’d tossed most of her makeup, sticking to a swipe of mascara and a tinted lip moisturizer.

  Her look was best described as minimalist, but in this sea of princesses, she felt decidedly frog-like.

  There was only person between her and Blake. Samantha rubbed her hands down her pants one at a time, making sure they weren’t sweaty. She was so nervous. She’d never been this close to Blake Stemmons and she was feeling especially nervous.

  The leggy blonde sauntered up to Blake, casually pulling her shirt to the side, offering her breast for his autograph. Blake smiled and Samantha saw him mouth “no thank you”. He pulled a headshot from the stack to his left and signed it, handing it to her before quickly picking his phone up and scowling at the latest message.

  Samantha smiled at him when he made eye contact, and she took a step towards the table, trying to walk carefully so she didn’t trip over her own feet.

  Blake looked at her, looked at his phone again and bolted. He stood so quickly that the chair behind him fell down and he shot out a side door. Another player took his spot, waving Samantha forward so he could sign memorabilia for her.

  “What’s your name, Sweetheart?” he asked, pulling a headshot of his own out and signing his name with a flourish.

  “Samantha.”

  “Well, sweet Samantha, I hope you have a wonderful rest of the weekend and thanks for supporting our team.”

  “Oh, uh, yes. Thank you for playing so well.”

  She walked away quickly, mentally kicking herself. Thank you for playing so well? Why had she even said that? What a ridiculous response.

  Samantha looked down at the headshot. She had to admit, the man was handsome, but he was no Blake Stemmons. She hung around for a few minutes, hoping that Blake would reappear and she could take her spot in line again. But the minutes passed and the lines dwindled.

  When twenty minutes had passed, Samantha approached a man in a tight white shirt that read “Security” and jeans standing against the wall with his arms crossed.

  “Do you know when Blake Stemmons might return?”

  “Look lady. Whoever is here, is here. That’s how the autograph signing works. He probably went to a party or something. That’s what these guys do when they’re not playing.”

  He didn’t budge and he didn’t smile. Samantha thanked him for his time and he harrumphed at her.

  “What a jerk,” she mumbled under her breath. “Guess I’m not going to get his signature after all.”

  Who was she even talking to?

  Dejected and a little peeved that whatever was on his phone couldn’t wait, Samantha walked down the empty hall and headed for the nearly empty parking lot. So much for getting the signature of her football hero.

  So much for thinking that Blake Stemmons was a standup guy who cared about his fans. She’d learned a lot about him tonight, and all without him saying a single word to her.

  For wee
ks, she’d been looking forward to this game and the chance to get his signature, and now, she’d wasted a perfectly good Friday night waiting in a line for nothing.

  She dumped the signed picture and the poster in the trash on her way out of the stadium.

  “Sorry, first-year rookie,” she said as she let the picture slip out of her fingers.

  She wanted to forget this night, and a picture signed by someone else wasn’t going to help anything.

  *****

  Samantha’s boots hit the damp pavement and she groaned. The lot was almost empty and she could see the bus stop, way out on the other side. She hoped the buses ran this late. If not, she would have to call her dad for a ride. She didn’t want to drag him out of bed at such a late hour if she could help it.

  When she’d walked to the stadium from the bus stop, it hadn’t seemed that far. But now that she was walking alone, and half the lights between her and the bus stop were out, she felt uneasy. This part of Atlanta wasn’t the safest this late at night. She’d left her purse at home so she didn’t have to carry too much, shoving her phone into her back pocket and her house keys and a thin wallet in her front pocket.

  Her pepper spray was in the purse, locked safely in her home.

  She heard footsteps behind her, but she quickly admonished herself for being spooked.

  “No one is there. You’re just imagining things,” she whispered to herself.

  Except she wasn’t imagining things, and she could hear the person behind her getting closer.

  She pulled her keys out of her pocket, trying to get her house key in between her fingers so she could use it to jab the man in the eyes if he got too close. It worked on television, so it should work in real life. Right?

  Her hands were trembling, and she dropped her keys on the ground. She bent to pick them up and the footfalls came more rapidly.

  Samantha turned and caught a glimpse of the man moments before he was on her, trying to yank the keys out of her hands.

  “Get off me!” She screamed the words as loud as she could, dismayed when they echoed pitifully off the empty buildings surrounding the parking lot.

  The stranger slammed her to the ground roughly, scraping her elbow and knocking the wind out of her.

  “Give me the keys lady,” he grunted. Samantha tried to pull her leg up to kick him in the groin, but he had her pinned.

  She heard a click and felt a cold blade against her neck. She froze. The sound of the switch-blade was unmistakable.

  “Is your shitty car worth dying over, lady?”

  “No” she croaked, fear constricting her throat and making it hard to believe. She didn’t bother telling him she didn’t have a car. She didn’t think the revelation would get her anywhere with the man, anyway.

  “That’s what I thought.” He snatched the keys out of her hand. “Damn you smell good. Maybe I’ll take you with me.”

  Samantha’s blood ran cold. Surely this thug was just trying to frighten her. Petty thieves didn’t usually branch out into kidnapping.

  A dark figure appeared from the shadows behind her attacker, and he was suddenly yanked off his feet and into the air. Samantha only saw his hands for a brief second before they gathered up her attacker’s clothing and sent him flying several feet to the right.

  The attacker hit the ground with a loud crack, grunting in pain.

  “You made me stab myself you asshole!” His voice was choked, as if he was fighting back tears.

  “You brought this on yourself. Get out of here before I call the cops.”

  The voice floated out of the shadows, but Samantha was more focused on her attacker, and the breath he’d knocked out of her.

  “I’m trying, man. But I can’t. The knife is in my leg. Oh God, it’s in my leg, help me.”

  Samantha heard a loud sigh, and saw the light from a cellphone as her rescuer pulled out his phone and dialed 9-1-1. When he pulled the phone to his face and the light caught it, Samantha gasped.

  Was it possible, or had she hit her head on the pavement when she fell?

  But she knew she hadn’t. Her hero was none other than Blake Stemmons. A man too into his cellphone to sign her poster, but apparently willing to take a moment to throw a street thug around like a rag doll.

  “Hello? Yes, I’m at the Peachtree stadium, in the parking lot. There’s a man here who stabbed himself in the leg with a knife.”

  “I didn’t stab myself, man. You threw me.”

  The mugger’s voice was high-pitched now, just short of a childish whine. Blake stepped a little further away, ignoring the man while he continued his conversation with the 9-1-1 operator.

  “No, he’s not mortally injured,” he covered the phone with his hand and looked at Samantha. “Miss, are you injured?”

  “I don’t think so,” she managed, wishing she could crawl into a hole and hide from this night. Could it get any worse?

  “I think you should probably send someone to look at the woman he attacked as well.”

  He hung up with the operator and knelt beside Samantha. She let him help her sit up, wincing when he placed his hand on her elbow and waving him off when he offered to help her stand.

  Apparently she had hit her head because it was throbbing inside her skull.

  “Are you alright?”

  His voice was soft, and he sounded genuinely concerned.

  “I am, no thanks to you,” she spat out.

  He was taken aback and Samantha instantly felt badly.

  “I’m sorry. It’s not your fault the guy attacked me. Though, if I hadn’t waited so long for you to not sign my poster, I would have been home and safe in my own bed long before now.”

  Blake reached out, gently cupping her chin and tilting her head so that the dim light of a distant lamp illuminated it.

  “I remember you. You’re the one that was in line behind the crazy woman who wanted me to sign her chest.”

  “Yes. I was the woman who foolishly waited over an hour for you so I could watch you text on your phone and then walk out when it was finally my turn. This has turned into to the worse night of my life, and I wish you’d just go away.”

  *****

  Blake took his jacket off, wrapping it around Samantha’s tiny frame while the mugger writhed on the ground, moaning in pain. They could hear the sirens in the distance, but it was a Friday night in Atlanta; those sirens could be for anyone.

  When Blake looked away to see if the ambulances were headed for the entrance to the parking lot, Samantha took a long whiff of his jacket. It smelled exactly as she’d envisioned it. Fresh and clean, with just a hint Aqua da Gio cologne.

  It was her favorite.

  Blake turned back to her.

  “Are you sure you’re alright?”

  “The concern on your face looks almost genuine.”

  Samantha’s tone was snippy, but she didn’t care. Leave it to the football star to snub his fans for a phone call but turn around and play super hero for publicity.

  “Look. I’m sorry about the phone call. It couldn’t wait.”

  “She must be another of the blonde bombshells falling all over themselves to get your signature.”

  “What? No. It’s nothing like that. It’s not important.”

  “It was important enough to walk out on your fans.”

  “It really wasn’t like that, and I’m sorry you waited so long to see me. But you’re seeing me now. That’s got to count for something, right?”

  “No. I’m bruised and battered, my head hurts and my favorite shirt is ruined.”

  She threw her keys at her assailant to prove her point, her anger getting the best of her. The heavy set smacked him in the side of the head, making a loud clanking sound before skidding across the pavement.

  “Ow! What the hell? Can’t you see I’m injured enough, you crazy witch!”

  Blake jumped up, retrieving her keys and handing them back to her.

  “I won’t tell anyone if you feel like bouncing them off his head again.
He deserves it.”

  “Says the man who wears shoulder pads and runs after a little ball for a living. I work for my money, man.”

  Blake raised an eyebrow but didn’t respond to the man. He’d landed on his own knife and the ambulances were pulling in, followed closely by the cops. His day was going badly enough.

  “Look,” Blake leaned in close, locking eyes with Samantha, “I want to make it up to you. How about dinner tomorrow night?”

  Samantha scoffed.

  “Why would I want to go out to dinner with a guy like you? You’re nothing like I thought you were, so I’ll pass, thanks. I don’t want to get stood up for a text message.”

  The ambulances were getting closer, their sirens blaring loudly across the empty space. Blake stood and waved at them, then squatted down beside Samantha.

  “I’m sorry. I feel awful and you’ve really misjudged me. I’m a good guy, and I’d really like the opportunity to show you. Just friends, no strings. At the end of the night, I’ll drive you home and we’ll say our goodbyes with no expectations.”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because you’re a jerk and I just don’t want to. I’m not into pity dates.”

  “It’s not a pity date. I noticed you a long time before the first text message. Trust me, I was much more disappointed when I had to step away than you were. I’d been waiting forever to talk to you.”

  “You expect me to believe that?”

  “It’s the truth.”

  “My answer is still no. I have enough to deal with right now, and I don’t need a new romance. Especially not one that’s doomed from the start.”

  “It’s just dinner.”

  “It’s just not going to happen.”

  The ambulances pulled up, one next to the man writhing on the ground dramatically and the other next to Samantha.

  Blake stood, walking over to the policeman to give him his statement after they cuffed the assailant. A paramedic crouched down beside Samantha, shining a light into her eyes and looking at her head.