Kira stepped into the warm water, swearing that nothing had ever felt so heavenly. She hadn’t been aware of how her muscles ached until she sank into the pool. Closing her eyes to the sensation, she opened them when she felt him enter the pool behind her, his presence signaled by the rippling of water around her body.
“Sit,” he ordered.
She obeyed, sitting on one of the raised steps in the pool. It reminded her of the baths she had read of long ago, the kinds that existed in tales she no longer believed. Taking it in from this perspective, it didn’t resemble a pond or an indoor lake. Instead, it looked more like a grand mosaic tile tub. And her keeper looked like a king.
He put his hands in her hair, pulling it around to her back. “Lean back,” he whispered against her ear, his warm breath sending a shiver of longing all the way to her core. She lay against him, reveling in the feel of his body pressed firmly against hers. He poured warm water over her head, moving gently as if he knew he was stoking a fire deep inside her. The sweet scent of soap rose up, lulling her into a calmness she never thought she’d feel with a man such as him. As his hands moved in her hair, she let out a moan.
His fingers worked at the knots and tangles, gently fingering through them. When he was done, he pulled her head back into the water to rinse her hair. She moaned again as the water slid through her hair, dripping into her face. Warmth filled her, removing any inhibitions she may have otherwise felt. It was as if she couldn’t control her body. Her vision blurred and her senses heightened when confronted by the incredible man who moved to stand in front of her, a clear bottle in one hand.
She watched as he dripped liquid from the bottle into his other hand and then formed lather with it. He moved closer to her, reaching out to touch her breasts, which were already anticipating his touch. Now the desire to have him choked her, leaving her helpless and vulnerable.
Her nipples hardened and puckered, begging for more than a gentle touch. Begging to be teased, tormented, bruised. She arched her back and moaned as he took his time, gently wiping the lather onto one breast and then the other. Lifting them, caressing them. Ever so gently.
She clung to his shoulders for fear of falling backward if she did not. He moved his hands to her neck, massaging there before sliding down to her shoulders and her back. Her breasts ached for his touch to return. He blew a soft breath onto them, one that made her skin tingle and sent a wicked sensation all the way through her body, igniting the flames inside her, caressing her like a lover would. And she knew he would soon be her lover. The gentle dragon would take her and make her his.
“Lie back.”
She leaned against the second step, feeling the hard edge press into her back. His hand moved down to her stomach, sending a trail of desire as he touched her, spending an eternity caressing the skin there.
She moaned, begging him to touch her there. He didn’t. Instead, his hands moved down her legs, caressing them, lavishing the soap onto them. He raised them out of the water to steady them against his shoulders as he sank beneath the surface. His hands moved up and down the length of her legs while he breathed a constant stream of warmth against her skin. His hands then moved to her feet. Slowly. First one, then the other. Concentrating first on the heels and then the toes and then the ankles.
She closed her eyes, unsure of what to do with her hands. Her body refused to move for her, refused to do anything save yield to his touch. His roughened hands, the ones she knew possessed the power to kill, moved as if they were made of silk. And her longing to have them roam over every part of her body was more powerful than anything she’d ever felt. He finally released her, moving her legs back into the water, then rose above her, the water dripping off his hair making the dark mass look as if it were covered with crystals. His silver eyes caught the candlelight, reflecting his desire for her, a desire she felt, too.
He moved away from her. Only a step, but she suddenly felt cold having been abandoned by his touch. She watched as he took the bottle and placed it into her hand, his fingers brushing against hers. “Wash me,” he commanded.
“But you’re not through with me,” she protested, her desire for him overriding her senses.
“No,” he warned, “I’m not through with you.”
She followed his lead, taking his hair into her hands first. She worked the soap through the thick mass of black tangles and was amazed at how the tangles became soft waves when she rinsed it. What was left behind was a thick swirl of ebony hair that teased against her nipples as she worked. A vision of the hair falling into her face assaulted her with such ferocity she almost slipped into the pool. She clung to him to right herself. He moved his shoulders, unaware of his effect on her, encouraging her to wash him there.
She moved her soap-covered hands along his shoulders, tracing the scars down his back. Then she turned him so he faced her and began rubbing the soap into his chest, paying attention to the same sensitive areas he had so gently washed, trying not to think about the hardened muscles of his body, the slick skin she wanted to feel pressed against hers. Her care was rewarded with a smile that made his face look incredibly inviting.
When she moved to take his penis into her hands, he pushed her hands away. “Not yet.”
She bit her lip, wondering if he would become her lover tonight. Surely that was what he had planned when he brought her here. And she was more than willing to oblige. Her senses were spinning with intense longing to have him, to hold him, to be one with him. Still, he resisted her touch.
He lifted her, placing her on the ledge surrounding the pool. The cool surface sent a chill through her heated flesh. The heat from his breath sent a wave of desire through her. “Spread your legs for me.”
She obeyed. Nothing inside her wanted to protest.
“I want you to lie back,” he gently guided her with his hand, only letting go when her head made contact with the surface. “Are you ready for me?” he asked.
“Yes,” the word was barely a whisper. She quaked and quivered, aching for him to touch her, the desire coming from a place she couldn’t understand.
“You’re so small. If you’re not ready for me, I could split you open.” He traced a finger along her inner thigh, careful not to touch the one place she longed to be touched.
“Then do it.”
“No. First you must prove you are ready for me.” His words teased against her skin.
“How?” Her brow wrinkled. She was more than ready for him—so wet she couldn’t stand it. She was on the edge and all her nerve endings were tingling.
“Take this,” he pushed the soap bottle into her hand.
“What do you want from me?”
“I want you to show me where you want me. How you want me to take you.”
Her hand gripped the glass bottle. He wanted her to slip it inside her, wanted to stand there, face-to-face with her inner core and watch her, wanted her to move the bottle in and out the way he would move in and out of her. All this, she knew without words. “I can’t,” she protested.
He placed his hands on either side of her and pulled his body out of the pool. Holding himself up, he pushed his cock against her. She swallowed hard. Never had she felt anything like this. He pressed against her, willing her back to arch, bringing her closer to him. “If you want my cock inside of you, you will do as I tell you.” His words held a warning, a threat. They excited her as she gripped the bottle.
Her hand shook as she looked into his gray eyes and moved the bottle toward her lower half. She had never touched herself before. Never had the desire to do so. He slid back into the pool, his breath there, warming her skin as the cold bottle moved down her body.
“You’re doing very good, Slayer. You make me wonder how it will feel to be inside you, to join with you. You want that, right?” She nodded, unable to speak. The tone of his voice was both commanding and heated. Moving her hand, she parted her lips. She had never felt anything so incredible as her fingers moving against her skin. Closing her eyes to the s
ensation, she recalled how it felt when her maids removed the hair. They teased her skin and rubbed her lips in a way she could never explain. And they did something to some other part of her. This part.
Her fingers closed over her swollen clit as she gasped for breath. She looked into the dragon’s eyes, reveling in the silver glow of his approval. She was pleasing to him, a thought that made her only want to explore further. Continuing to stroke herself, she stared into his eyes, watching his reaction. She wanted him to touch this part of her that throbbed with longing. She began rubbing there, Moving her fingers in tiny circles. She refused to tear her eyes from his even as the waves of ecstasy approached. A moan escaped her lips as she slid the bottle into her opening, slowly but steadily, bringing a pleasant smile to the dragon’s lips.
Her lips were stretching, stretching beyond what they did when she placed her fingers inside her body. She arched against the bottle, moving it further in, taking all of its slender width into her body.
“You’re so deep,” he crooned above her. “Have you ever had anything so big in your pussy?”
“N-no,” she managed.
“Has anyone ever touched you before?”
She bit her lip and nodded.
“Ah, yes. Tell me who. Tell me who touched you, Kira.”
“You. In my dreams.”
She hadn’t realized she had spoken the words until his face lit up with confusion. “You dream of me?”
She nodded. “I think I’m dreaming now.”
“Tell me what I did to you.” He stilled her hand, holding the bottle deep inside her, stopping the movement. “Tell me and I’ll let you play.”
“You touched me,” she began. “Please,” she begged. The pressure of him holding the tapered bottle there was too much, as it filled her so completely, stretched her beyond her imaginings. The desire to have it move was so intense she was on the verge of begging when he slid it out, allowing only the narrow tip to stay inside her body. Images of him loving her in another time and place assaulted her at once.
“Tell me.” He slipped the bottle back in gently, as if he were aware that the slow movement was torture.
“You liked to touch me. Here.” She rubbed her clit as he moved the bottle in and out. He moved it slowly to the very tip and then pushed it back into her all in one motion. She moaned each time it went out, cried out each time it filled her. Oh, to have him there! Moving with her, pleasuring her the way he was doing now, only with his body.
“What else, Kira?”
“You liked to lick me.”
“Like this?” He bent, replacing her finger with his tongue, giving her clit a short lick.
“Y-yes. Like that.” Her voice wasn’t her own now. It was filled with longing, with desire. She couldn’t control her body as he moved the bottle and then slipped it back into place. She began to quiver, to shake, and was afraid she would break the glass, her movements were so fierce.
“There’s a good girl. Come for me.”
He moved the bottle even faster, grazing against her skin as he slid it in and out. She heard the sound of her juices squeezing out against the glass. The slapping of flesh against flesh only heightened the sensation of what he was doing to her body. “What else did I do to you?”
“Your fingers. You put your fingers inside of me.”
“Mmmm. Like this?” He slid a finger in with the bottle, stretching her even further.
“It never felt like this.”
“No, it didn’t.” He slid his finger out and pressed it to her lips. “Did I ever let you taste yourself?”
“No.” She took his finger into her mouth, shocked at how the movement thrilled her. She sucked at it, delighting in her own taste. Too soon, he removed it. “Please.”
“Please what? You want some more?” She nodded. “Then tell me more about what I did to you, about what you dreamed.”
“I don’t know,” she protested. Gods, she wanted him inside her. She wanted him to slide into her like the bottle was, to fill her completely and make her quiver, to hear his skin slapping against her like the bottle was doing now. The quivering started again. This time she clung to him, her fingers in his hair as he moved the bottle in and out, in and out.
“That’s it, my sweet. Come for me. I’m so big, I’ll hurt you if you’re not ready for me.” His voice was gentle, but the words only ignited the fire even further.
He pulled the bottle from her pussy. She moaned when she heard it release from her body. “No,” she protested.
“I’m going to give you something much better,” he promised.
An alarm sounded before she could take him into her body. Shit. Reality came crashing down around her, and the man who had become a regular fixture in her dreams once more disappeared into nothingness. She couldn’t even remember his name when she was awake. Only in her dreams did he become real. Well, there and in her video game. But he wasn’t a real flesh and blood man. And if he were somehow a part of her past he obviously didn’t miss her enough to come looking for her.
In the past six years, no one had showed up on her doorstep looking for a lost lover.
She rolled over in her bed and looked at the clock. Today was the day. She would catch her flight to New Orleans in a few hours and by tonight she would be another person entirely. Tonight, she would be the ultra-popular video game creator whose past didn’t matter to the masses of fans whose ravenous desire for the new game pushed her six months ahead of schedule. Tonight, she would be confident, poised, composed. She hoped. But most importantly, she would find a man in New Orleans who vaguely looked like the guy from her dreams. And she would try to overcome the longing inside her chest.
Chapter Two
Kira smoothed down the blue velvet fabric of her dress, enjoying way the softness lingered against her fingertips. She didn’t look half bad, she decided, giving herself a close once-over in the hotel’s full-length mirror. Her hips were a little wider than she would prefer, her breasts a little more on the verge of spilling out of her gown, but overall, not bad.
It had taken three weeks to choose the right dress for tonight’s festivities. She had gone through several goth numbers heavy on the black lace and satin ties, but this one with its princess neckline and nipped waist seemed to be exactly what she needed to boost her morale. And it was working. For the first time in six years she didn’t feel like she had “freak” stamped on her forehead. For once, she felt as if she had an identity, something to cling to in a world of harsh reality. But it was all a smoke and mirrors act. She knew that beneath the confident external layer rested the heart of a woman whose life was still filled with too many unknowns about her past to even begin to plan a future. All she had was right now, this moment.
Her lines were well-rehearsed. If anyone asked anything about her life she had a fairy-tale background she could recite with very little effort. She hoped. And not a single word of it had anything to do with ending up in a hospital bed and not really knowing who she was.
The only thing she had remembered when she woke up six years before, in the hospital bed, was a name. Damon. Who he was or how he fit into her life she wasn’t sure. She remembered him calling her Kira so she adopted the name, finding peace with it even if it had been born from a feverish dream. She still hadn’t recovered from whatever had happened to her. Every now and then she felt it in her system, some presence that shouldn’t be there. When it became too much for her she secluded herself and disappeared into her imagined world.
She hadn’t realized how much her time with Leland had scarred her. She bore his mark just as completely as she bore the mark of whatever it was that had left its imprint on her shoulder and its DNA in her system. Leland was certain it was a werewolf, but Kira wasn’t so sure. The hunger that overtook her had nothing to do with blood. She fed on sex, or at least, she would have had she been able to give into the craving that started somewhere deep within her body and radiated out through her pores.
That was the reason she pushed m
en away. Leland included. The need was so strong, so primal, she knew if she unleashed it, it would devour her. And she had nothing to offer a man except for what looked back at her in the mirror. Her past would remain a mystery, just as it had since she woke up in the hospital, the feeling of fire shooting through her body.
“Freak” didn’t begin to cover who she was or what she was, and until she understood the changes raging inside her she could never trust herself. Sometimes she felt as if there were a beast living within her, lying in wait. Maybe Leland was right. Maybe the genes he couldn’t identify were those of a werewolf. It was as good an explanation as any. Lately, though, her handle on reality seemed a bit more concrete.
She had labored over her video game with the obsessive energy of a woman possessed by demons. The world, the characters, the conflict—they all seemed to fill a void within her, helping to squelch the rising flames of insanity. The man who had become the hero, whose face seemed so real and familiar, had been her savior at a time when very little was certain.
And as she worked the throbbing ache in her shoulder seemed to die down to a low hum, always there but no longer threatening to destroy her. It had taken two years to create the first Dragon’s Law game, and now it was the hottest video game in the country. The second of the series was almost complete and tonight the cover and plot would be revealed to the rabid audience downstairs. That was the reason she had ended her seclusion and come to New Orleans.
Secretly, she had also hoped it would be a way to reclaim her life—or start a new one. Item one on the list was to find a man who didn’t care about her past and wasn’t interested in a future.
Taking in a deep breath, she memorized her surroundings, reveling in her first adventure on her own. The room was impressive—from the large jacuzzi tub to the sheer ivory drapes to the bed that was so obviously not made for one person. The four posts hinted at all kinds of wicked games that could be played if only she had a willing partner. This was the Princess Suite and tonight she would rule the convention with all the grace of Diana and all the dry wit of Xena, Warrior Princess. And she would finally find someone to have a wild, hot, no-regrets fling with—no matter what.
Dragon's Law: Damon Page 2