by Ruby Sirois
He plucks the first one from the plate, holds it invitingly in front of my mouth. His eyes never leave my lips as I accept it right from his fingertips.
The super-dark chocolate ganache is cool in my mouth, revealing as it melts the rich flavors of cinnamon, nutmeg, and the subtle burn of chili. My eyes sink half-closed in bliss.
“What was the pastry chef’s name again? I think I’m in love.”
“I never said. For this exact reason.”
His fingertips are dusted with spiced cocoa. I take each one in my mouth, sucking gently, letting the bitter powder dissolve on my tongue. When it’s gone, I go back and slowly lick each one clean, looking up into his eyes through my lashes as I do.
We both know exactly what I’m thinking about.
A soft groan escapes him. It is the sound of someone enduring endless torment.
I blink up at him with as much innocence as I can muster.
“Something wrong?”
“Oh, there are many, many things wrong—but it’s probably not the done thing to rectify them here and now in the middle of Tredje Kronan.”
“That’s too bad.”
I sip the last of my wine, savoring the state I’ve put him in. The state I’m in.
“I like you feeding me chocolate.”
“I’m not going to lie to you, häxan. It’s just an excuse to get close to your mouth.”
“You need an excuse now?” I set my finished glass back down, snuggle into him. “Another one, please.”
For once he has no retort. I think this is the most biddable I’ve ever seen him.
Ragnarr takes another. It’s rolled in bright pink freeze-dried raspberry powder.
I meet his eyes, open my mouth for him. He places it on my tongue, but before he can withdraw his hand, I take him by the wrist. My fingers don’t meet around it. I suck his fingers clean once more as the truffle melts in my cheek.
Sweet, earthy licorice and the summery sour tang of raspberry: a classic Swedish flavor combination, married in the holy cathedral of dark chocolate. And it tastes even better because of the way he’s letting me lick it off of him.
“You taste delicious,” I say, sucking one last morsel of raspberry from his thumb.
The expression on his face is of exquisite torture. My panties are soaked through.
“You should taste the rest of me,” Ragnarr says, his voice low. He could set me on fire with the intensity of his stare. I’m not sure he hasn’t. “I promise it’s just as good.”
“Marzipan’s my favorite. I always like saving the best for last.” I give him a naughty smile. Nod at the last truffle.
“You’re driving me insane.” He picks up the little confection.
“At least I’m not alone.”
Ragnarr holds the marzipan to my lips. Holds my gaze with his blue, blue eyes. I want to drown in them, never come up for air.
I open my mouth, accept his gift.
A snap as I bite through the tempered dark chocolate shell. Smooth, sweet almond paste, rich honey, the faintest hint of rosewater. I make a noise of pleasure, deep in my throat. He echoes it, eyes fixed on mine. His body is tense against mine. And mine is tense against his.
I swallow. Rich almond lingers in my mouth. I lick a crumb of chocolate from the corner of my mouth.
“I’ve never been jealous of candy before,” Ragnarr says, voice husky. “I want you to make that noise for me.”
“I just did.”
“I want you to make it for me again. And again. In my bed. Tonight.”
“Tonight?” I echo, my tone teasing, belying how I’m on fire for him. “Is that my payment due?”
The look on his face is all the answer I need.
16: Ragnarr
We fall over each other getting into my penthouse. I barely close the door behind us and it’s all I can do not to rip the brand-new gown to shreds in my haste to get Emelie bared for me.
Her mouth tastes of chocolate and dark fruit. Each time my tongue duels with hers, I only want more and more of her.
She is in me. In my blood. In my soul. In my heart.
More than anything, I want to be in hers.
I can smell her, smell the sweet honey and wildflower musk of her. It fills my senses, calling to me, and my dragon is wild with lust. Her body radiates heat, scent, passion. She moans into my mouth as I kiss her, a high-pitched keening—the wild music of a songbird for its mate.
My cock has been raging hard for what feels like days, and all I want to do is fuck her senseless, fuck her hard, fuck her until she screams, fuck her until she is limp and satiated beneath me. I need to fill her up with my love, with my seed, to make her mine.
To claim her completely. My blood pounds with it.
It’s all I can do not to throw her down and fuck her, knot her, hoard her, right here and now on the floor.
“Lilla häxan, now you’re going to pay.”
“Gods, I hope I do.”
I groan in genuine need, which is nearly pain.
“Be careful what you wish for.”
Her eyes widen as I claw at my shirt. Finally ripping it off in impatience, two buttons go skittering off across the marble floor. I throw it in a corner and pick her up. Carry her to my bedroom. To my bed.
Her bra falls away under my hands like the whispers of a dream.
Bare breasts, creamy curves like alabaster, carved by the hand of a loving master artist. At another time I would stop, take my time, admire every bit of her as she deserves. But right now, I cannot. The need for her drives me, whips me into a frenzy like the rider of a charging horse, unrelenting.
I taste her—her lips, her throat, the delicate pink shells of her ears. Her honeyed scent is a drug. And she is just as wild as I, clawing at my skin like a tiger in heat.
“I can’t wait any longer, häxan,” I say. “Let me taste you. Please, I need to taste your honey.”
“I can’t wait any longer—if you make me wait a second more I think I’ll explode.”
Her skin is burning hot, satin over a forge.
My head dips lower—one tight nipple, then the other. The delicate well of her navel. The hills of her hips, the valleys of the backs of her knees.
She cries out wordlessly, pulling my head up to her. Kisses me deeply.
I have no more strength to resist left. No delicacy or tact left.
Her panties give way as if they’re made of dandelion fluff. They’re tossed aside, forgotten in a moment.
Emelie’s pussy is sweet, so sweet, her cunt honey creamy and delicious. Soft red-gold curls hide the delicate pinkness of her with disingenuous modesty, and I part them with the pointed tip of my tongue, seeking out the heated core of her.
I lap up her copious sweetness with long, slow strokes of my flattened tongue, and her body shakes with every upstroke. Her clit is hard and pink as a rare pearl, and I worship it in the only way I know how. I dance around it, teasing, worshiping, drawing the letters of all the words I want to say to her but don’t dare express: Stay. Love me. I need you.
Emelie, häxan. My sweet little witch. Never leave me.
Mine. You’re mine.
I spell it out, again and again. Somewhere, deep down, I want her to understand. To know. To acquiesce.
Mine. Mine. Mine.
She writhes under me, her cries growing louder.
Does she sense it? Does she know how I ache for her? How I need her, crave her?
How I can’t bear to live without her?
Mine. Mine. Mine.
Her fingers claw at my hair, spurring me on. She must know my need for her. It’s driving her wild.
“Oh gods, just like that—Ragnarr, don’t stop!”
Mine. Mine. Mine.
Her body shudders. Her moans are high-pitched, breathless. Her hips rock against me, riding me as I write my secret message.
Mine. Mine. Mine.
Emelie gushes, her cunt honey coats my face. So very sweet. If I could taste her every day, I’d never want for
anything else.
Her hips buck. I drink her down. She rides me, my tongue urging her on, her cries filling the air like music.
At last she relaxes and lies there, gasping.
“That—was—incredible.”
“You’re not done, häxan.”
“I’m not?”
“Again and again.”
I can’t help myself. I need to feel her, inside. I trace the wet pink lines of her pussy with my fingertips, exploring the rosy, delicate folds of her. Emelie squeaks, wriggles. Digs her fingers into me. Begs me, parts her thighs invitingly.
I slide one finger up inside her, exploring, relishing her heat. Her inner walls grip me, sucking me in.
I do her bidding, finding the rough top wall of her pussy, teasing her there. She’s hot as dragonfire inside, and she writhes with pleasure.
A second finger slips inside. She moans.
“Oh—Ragnarr, that’s so good.” She breathes in little gasps as if she’s running a marathon.
I can’t help but wonder if she will sound like that with my cock buried inside her. If her hips will shiver and rock like this for me when I fuck her.
When I knot her. When I hoard her.
The thought spurs me on. I want to make her come harder than she ever has before. I want her to remember this, to remember me. To want me, like I want her.
I pick up my rhythm just a bit, my hand making a rocking come-hither motion inside her. She clenches around me, breathing hard, pulsing around me once more.
So very wet. The feel of her intoxicates me. Her skin is warm fragrant silk. Her scent is exotic, utterly feminine, wild.
Everything about her is burned into me like a photograph printed on my soul.
My tongue finds her hard little pearl again. My fingers keep up their secret inner dance of love and need inside her. Her soft, full thighs clench around my head, and I couldn’t escape even if I wanted to.
She’s trembling, shaking, rocking her hips up to meet me.
“Ragnarr—!”
Her fingers tangle in my hair, telling me to fuck her harder. Her cunt grips me, tightens around me—and she comes again in an explosion of passion. She is so beautiful in this moment, lost in the throes of her ecstasy—and if I could give up every last penny of my fortune just to keep here here like this forever, I would do it without hesitation.
Her honey spills into my hand, a sweet, secret elixir of love. I lap it up, drink it eagerly, then beckon her, beg her for more.
“Again,” I growl.
17: Emelie
“Three—four—however many orgasms I just had isn’t enough for you?”
I’m trying to catch my breath. My heartbeat is loud in my ears. My body sparks intermittently with bright, delicious aftershocks of pleasure.
“A thousand wouldn’t be enough for me when it comes to you, häxan.”
He traces the wet line of my pussy with two fingers. But I’m too sensitive at the moment, and I gently push his hands away.
“I need a breather.”
My fingers trail down the hard ridges and valleys of his abdomen. Lower. Trace the hard ridge concealed there. He inhales sharply.
“Maybe there are things I’d like to do to you now instead.”
“Are there?” He asks.
I nod in reply.
“Then who am I to argue?”
My hands slide lower. I tug at his waistband. He accommodates me, shifts his hips, lets me pull down his bespoke trousers.
Fy fan. He’s gorgeous.
The tightly defined muscles of Ragnarr’s obliques point like Greek arrows straight down to his cock. A light silver-gold cloud of hair floats over the thick shaft of his erection. He’s as thick as my wrist, almost as long as my forearm. His balls are tight and heavy beneath it, lightly furred. My eyes skate up and down over him.
He looks like a marble statue of a god.
“What do you expect to do with this?” I ask.
I honestly don’t know how I could take him, but even so, my pussy is aching with need.
“That’s what my pheromones are for.”
“Your pheromones?” I have no idea what he’s talking about.
“My scent.”
“You mean, how you smell like vanilla and sandalwood and musk and cinnamon?”
“Ja.” His eyes flick down to his cock, then to me.
“My pheromones have been preparing you to be able to take me. Even when I lick you, when I kiss you, it prepares your body for mine. That’s how dragons work. Without them, no dragon would be able to take a mate.”
“Um.” This is incredibly hot to me. I’d had no idea. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Maybe I didn’t want to scare you. But I knew they affected you properly just from your response to me that first night. You have no need to fear my size. Your body will accept mine.”
My eyes trace the length of him. About halfway down the shaft, there is a thickening all the way around the circumference. It’s not like anything I’ve seen on a human man’s cock. I can’t help myself. I’m intrigued.
I trace it with one finger, lightly. Ragnarr gasps. His body jerks.
“And what is this?”
He grabs my hand by the wrist. I can’t tell if he’s trying to push me away or pull me closer.
“It’s my mating fist.”
“Your—your mating fist?”
Now I’m really lost.
“You really want to know?”
“Of course.”
“It’s an anatomical feature all dragons share. All shifters, too, no matter the type. It swells when I bond with my mate, locks me inside her for hours. It ensures that she is thoroughly fucked. Claimed. Bred. Hoarded.”
My whole body feels hot.
“So you’re—stuck inside? For the whole time?”
His eyes lock on mine.
“Ja, but only once my mate has agreed to be my hoard. Then I will knot her for hours.” He takes a breath. “The whole time, fucking you. Loving you. Marking you. Coming inside you, pumping you full of my seed.” He examines my face.
“Does that frighten you?”
My lips part. I contemplate this. I imagine him on top of me, his huge cock filling me. His mating fist, nudging right against my most sensitive spot. Locking him inside me, unable to pull out. His beautifully muscled body, holding me down. No way to escape. No choice. Making me come, again and again.
“Nej,” I whisper. My clit throbs. I feel my pussy getting even wetter.
“I don’t think it does.” I swallow hard. “I think I even like the idea.”
His eyes sharpen, becoming predatory.
“Do you?”
I swallow hard again. Nod. I don’t trust my voice.
A sharp intake of breath. His body is almost quivering, but he stays where he is. I can tell he’s fighting not to startle or scare me.
“I won’t rush you, häxan,” he says. “My mating fist is reserved for my hoarded mate. Until then, you can explore my body. Do whatever you like to me. I know you’re curious.”
Ragnarr groans as my fingertips brush the base of his cock.
“Ah, häxan. Just like that. That’s a good start.”
My fingers wrap around him. They don’t meet on the other side. I give him an experimental stroke, pull down the foreskin. Another.
I watch how the satiny skin moves along the iron shaft, as dewdrops of clear fluid grow large and quivering at the tip. How they drip down to the soft fold of skin of my hand between my thumb and forefinger.
I stroke him again, harder, enjoying the smooth feel of his fluid easing my movement.
I love how wet he gets for me—almost as wet as I get for him.
His breathing is faster. So is mine. I’m teasing myself just as much as I’m teasing him. Ragnarr’s hand snakes down, cups my ass, kneads the flesh there as I stroke him.
The low grunts he makes on every downstroke make me wonder how he sounds when he fucks. How he’ll sound when he’s inside me. When his
mating fist has tied him to me, when he pumps his hot cum inside me.
I shouldn’t be intrigued by it. I shouldn’t be tempted by it—but I am.
I raise my hand to my mouth. Look into his blue, blue eyes. Slowly lick his traces from my skin. Ragnarr’s fingers tighten on me, almost to the point of pain.
“How do I taste, häxan?” His voice is harsh, his accent thick.
I lick my lips. My mouth is full of the taste of him. I’m trembling almost as much as he is.
“Sweet. Salty. And like how you smell—delicious.”
“You can taste me any time you want.” His voice is utterly sincere.
I give the exposed head of his cock a lick, smile up at him as he shivers. Make an exploratory movement with my hand, tracing the lines of him from root to crown.
“Have you used your mating fist on many women?”
“Nej.”
“Nej?” I’m surprised.
“As I said, it’s—it’s something that is reserved for someone special. My hoarded mate. I have never used mine.”
His eyes are very serious. Very blue.
“So you can have sex and not use it?”
“Ja. But to truly mate—as well as to breed—that’s what a mating fist is for. When a dragon hoards his mate, he knots her—then he pumps her full of hoarding seed, again and again, before he finally orgasms truly with her.”
“Hoarding seed?”
“It is a special kind of ejaculate that claims a mate, but does not indicate his orgasm as such. It also acts as an aphrodisiac for his mate.”
My blood pounds in my ears, and I can’t help but imagine how that must feel. I lick my lips.
“And am I your true mate?”
I can’t believe my own boldness—the words just slipped out before I can stop them.
But he doesn’t answer me. Not right away. Not in words.
He pulls me down, kisses me deeply.
“I know what I feel, häxan. Do you feel it?”
I feel him against me. He’s hot, hard, trembling with barely contained restraint. My hand finds his cock again, strokes it.
I can’t take it anymore. I slide down his body, lick more of his wetness from my fingers, then from his shaft.