Deal With Her Dragon

by Ruby Sirois

  He bucks like a wild mustang. I smile to myself. Stick my tongue out, lick him delicately just at that sensitive little diamond-shaped spot where the head meets the shaft. His head lolls back, and his fingers twine into my hair.

  “If you keep doing that, häxan, I think I’ll die the little death.”

  “Should I stop?”

  “If you stop, I’ll die the true death.”

  I smile up at him. Lock eyes with him. Kiss him softly there, stick out my tongue to taste him. The taste of him is intoxicating. My mouth waters.

  His shaft is fever-hot, pulsing with need. I give him teasing little licks around the crown, taking my time, enjoying myself. Enjoying the feel of his foreskin sliding along the shaft. Enjoying my control over him. Enjoying how it’s teasing me too.

  “Mm,” I say. “You taste delicious.”

  I lap at the little drops of his pre-cum, enjoying the silky feel of them, the sweet salt of them. His abdomen is tensed, the muscles of his abs and thick chest standing out like boulders. I’ve never been with anyone half as gorgeous as Ragnarr, and I’m enjoying every second of it. The sight of him is just as delicious as the taste.

  I take the head of his cock in my mouth. It’s big, but I wrap my lips around as much of it as I can, determined. My tongue flicks against the tiny slit at its apex, tasting each time another drop escapes him. The feel of him, the taste of him makes me wet, and my hips rock against the bed as I suck him.

  My right hand slides up and down his shaft, the ridge of his mating fist bumping my fingers with every stroke. It feels like it’s grown a bit. I take a peek—it’s definitely bigger than before.

  “How big does it get?” I ask. My hand doesn’t stop stroking him.

  “You want a lesson now?” Ragnarr gasps.

  I don’t think a lesson is very high up on his current agenda.

  “I can’t help it—I’m curious.”

  “I’ve never used it—I don’t know—” His answers are short. Curt. “Bigger. Ahh—!” He cries out as I take him back in my mouth.

  “How do you know how to do that—?”

  “Mm,” I hum in reply. I don’t want to stop sucking him.

  He tastes amazing. I find my rhythm, stroke him in time with my hand, enjoying the feel and taste of him in my mouth. He’s hot, hard, the supple skin like silk. Soft silver-blond curls brush against the side of my palm with every stroke. His strong hips buck up to meet me.

  I expect him to grab my head, to force himself on me, but he never does. Ragnarr clutches at the sheets instead, hips meeting me in a perfect restrained tempo. Like he promised, I can explore his body just as I like, in my own time. I vary the speed, the pressure, experimenting with every variable just to see how he’ll react.

  It’s as if I’m torturing him. He cries out, gasps, almost sobs with pleasure. I want to see how far I can push him before he falls off the edge. It’s become a personal challenge for me. I smile to myself, redoubling my efforts.

  “Häxan!”

  He is writhing. I don’t let up. I urge him on.

  He buries his fingers in my hair, throws his head back. My rhythm is steady, relentless. I spur him on with my tongue, with the bobbing of my head, with the rocking of my hips against the lush mattress.

  I don’t let up when he comes. He’s sweet, hot, a steady pulse, and I swallow greedily. I don’t want to let him go. I want all of him, to keep him close. His mating fist is thick under my fingers, the ridge of it like a ring of hot iron in my grip.

  He tastes amazing, and he comes for longer than I expect, which pleases me.

  When at last he relaxes, I let him go reluctantly. Give his shaft a few lingering strokes with my tongue. Suck the sweet cinnamon taste of him from my fingers.

  Ragnarr pulls me up, kisses me deeply, enjoying the taste of himself from my mouth. He feels incredible, but a sudden surge of doubt floods over me even as his tongue duels with mine.

  What am I risking, really? Why am I taking this seriously, the ridiculous idea of becoming his hoard?

  And yet, I can’t deny what he’s become to me. I can’t deny my passion for him, nor the deeper feelings springing up like weeds no matter what I do to dig them up.

  He is so beautiful, and I am so torn.

  18: Ragnarr

  My heart is pounding in my ears. My body is languid with the force of my orgasm. I lick the taste of myself from her lips, relishing her little sighs.

  “Just make one more little wish, häxan,” I say impulsively, pulling back to look at her.

  Emelie’s eyes flick between my cock and my face, and I have to admit, she still looks impressed. It makes me proud.

  “Why?” There’s an odd note in her voice.

  “So you’ll be mine forever. In my hoard. Of my hoard.”

  “Right,” she says. “Stuck in a dank cave forever?”

  “Dank cave?”

  “I don’t want to have to sit in a cardboard box for all eternity.”

  “A cardboard box?” Now I’m completely lost.

  “That’s why I’m not making any more wishes.” She tightens her lips. “I’ve flown close enough to the sun already.”

  Emelie raises her hands to her throat, moves to remove my disc from around her neck, but I stop her.

  “Even so, keep it, häxan. Don’t give it back, it’s yours.”

  I don’t say that it hurts me that she’d take it off so blithely. It wounds me that she’d throw away my mark without so much as a second thought.

  And I’m confused by this sudden shift in her.

  I don’t say that I love how she looks, wearing nothing but my sigil, that she’s more beautiful in it than anything else I’ve ever seen in all my thousand years. I wish my sigil is all Emelie would ever wear for me.

  But if I say so, I’m sure she’ll be even more determined to deny me.

  My heart contracts painfully. I hold my tongue.

  I pull Emelie close, kiss away any further arguments she might have. I can’t bear to hear them.

  I feel her relax, but yet I sense the wall between us. I try to ignore it, to focus only on the feel of her softness against my strength, to enjoy what I have whilst I still have it.

  Her breathing grows ever slower, steadied by the weight of sleep. My mind floats on a warm cloud, knowing her lush body is right there next to mine.

  The last things I’m conscious of before I fall asleep are the warm, delicious weight of her in my arms, the honeyed fragrance of her hair. And the knowledge that she is close, so close to being mine—if only she would let it happen.

  Soft hands on my body. Exploring, stroking, from my face all the way down to my bare thighs. Inquisitive fingers trace the grooves of my abs, the circumference of my pectorals, the veins on my forearms. They comb through the line of hair leading down from my navel, dipping not quite low enough to explore the silky patch beneath.

  My cock is awake before I am. Hard, aching, ready for her. Emelie’s fingers find it, gently pulling down the foreskin, stroking my shaft from crown to root with smooth, confident strokes. It’s not long before my entire body is fully aware and there’s only one thing on my mind. She’s teased me long enough.

  “Keep that up and see what happens,” I growl, rolling on top of her.

  Emelie’s body is so tender beneath the hardness of mine, I’m driven nearly insane. She smiles lazily, just as if she knows what she does to me, wrapping her round, full thighs around mine. She locks me into the saddle of her pelvis with the crooks of her ankles with perfect intent.

  “Maybe I’m curious,” Emelie says, eyes full of mischief, looking up into mine. Her arms snake around my neck and pull me closer.

  “Maybe I want to see what happens.”

  I groan. “You know I can’t resist fulfilling any wish you make.” My cock is wet with pre-cum, throbbing with anticipation of the heat of her cunt. My hips roll against hers.

  Emelie’s eyes widen and she inhales sharply as my shaft slides along the crease between her pussy
and her thigh, nestling there, so close to home. My hips move against her again in an ancient rhythm, and hers rock up to meet mine. I palm one breast, feeling its soft weight bounce gently as we move together.

  “So close to you, häxan,” I say in her ear, sliding my hands down her voluptuous body and cupping her glorious ass. I guide its movement to match my beat. “I can feel how hot and wet you are for me already.”

  My cock pulses against her. I want nothing more than to plunge myself deep into her, to feel Emelie’s wet little pussy tighten around me, to feel my mating fist swell almost to bursting inside her. To lock myself inside her for hours.

  “You don’t know how I want to slide my cock deep inside you. To fill you up with my mating fist, feel you tight around me as you come for me, milking me for mine.”

  I find her wet slit. I nestle there without entering. We both gasp at the feeling.

  It’s like being so close to home, returning after many years gone, and all I want to do is run there. To her. To find my way where I belong, buried deep inside her, and never let her go.

  “Feel that?” I say. The ring of my mating fist pulses with the pounding of my heart.

  “My mating fist. It knows when it’s found where it belongs.”

  “Does it?” Her voice is weak, breathy, despite her bold words.

  “It’s never responded like this to anyone else.”

  My sweet witch moans, but doesn’t respond further, focusing her attention on my body against hers.

  The thick ring of flesh is distended, almost painful with need, but still only at a fraction of its full size—not enough to knot her properly.

  I am tempted, so very tempted—but I will not let it grow larger. Not yet. Not now.

  It will be enough just to feel her incredibly tight cunt sleeved around my shaft.

  My hips rock against her, slide my cock along her slit. Her fingers dig deep grooves into the hard muscles of my ass. I growl, redoubling my efforts. The ridge of my mating fist bumps against her clit with every stroke, making her shudder and gasp each time.

  Her response is lascivious, shameless. Her thighs tighten around me, urging me on like a horse to the gallop.

  “Keep doing that, häxan,” I growl. “Keep doing that and see what happens to you.”

  “Is this my payment?” She says, gasping. “Is this what you make all your poor damsels do?”

  Her fingers dig deep grooves into my flesh.

  “Nej,” I say, my voice a deep rumble. “Only you.”

  She moans when the head of my cock parts her folds, finds her entrance, pushes in. Emelie cries out sharply.

  I freeze, not wanting to hurt her, even though I’m sure my pheromones have done their work on her body. Still, by her reaction I’m afraid I’ve wounded her, alarmed her somehow.

  “Nej,” she says, her arms tight around me. “No, don’t stop.”

  She writhes against me, her body pleading even more than her words.

  I let out a breath, silently thank my pheromones. Angle her hips up again, position myself. My cock is so hard, and her entrance is so tight, but she only urges me on.

  “Do it,” she breathes. “Please, Ragnarr.”

  My cockhead slides in, and she cries out once more. Nods.

  “Don’t stop!”

  I capture her mouth with mine, taste her need for me as her tongue duels with mine. She tastes of newly abandoned sleep, of wildness, of wanton desire.

  I push, my cock gaining just the slightest ground. Gods, it’s a tight fit. I can’t slip in all at once, but it doesn’t hurt her. On the contrary, her body is a rose blossoming, her petals spreading wide to accept me.

  Her nails scratch and scrape at me, begging me, goading me, urging me on. I cup her round ass in my hands, adjust the tilt of her hips. I taste the salt of her skin, the heat of her desire, the lust on her breath.

  I want her to feel what I feel. To want what I want: to be mine forever. My mating fist throbs, wanting to expand, wanting to claim her, but I tamp it down—it is not yet the time. I know she isn’t yet ready.

  “Do you want me?”

  She nods.

  “Speak it!”

  “Ragnarr—! I want you!” Her voice ends on a moan as my cock enters more deeply.

  Inch by inch, steadily gaining ground. Her breath warms my shoulder, panting desperately, in, out.

  “Oh gods—fy fan, Ragnarr—just fuck me! You’re driving me insane—!”

  I growl, finally pushing into her down to the hilt, and she lets out a little scream. My cock nudges the deepest floor of her pussy, and the walls of her are tight, so tight. I would do anything, give anything, to knot her right now, to hoard her and never let her go. It throbs in response, ready to make her mine if I’ll just let it happen.

  “You’re mine,” I growl, moving on top of her, my cock thrusting inside her.

  Her hips jerk up to meet me, an equal to every stroke. She is not afraid, but eager to meet me. Her skin is warm satin, and her limbs are so pillowy-soft and pliant.

  I would do anything for her, I know. I would die for my witch.

  “I’m yours,” she whispers, her voice so low as to be nearly inaudible.

  She didn’t mean for me to hear her, but I groan. It’s all I’ve ever wanted to hear her say.

  I play the words over in my head—I’m yours, yours, yours.

  I find a rhythm inside her, the same as her words: I’m yours, yours, yours.

  I’m urged on by her words, her kisses, her fingernails digging into the muscles of my ass. She is so hot and tight around me, and it takes an effort to move inside her. She writhes beneath me, a wildcat in heat, little gasps escaping her with every thrust.

  Her skin radiates desire, need. The scent of her fills me.

  “So delicious, häxan.”

  She is so soft and feminine beneath me, so wet. Heat radiates from her core, inviting me in more deeply.

  Mine, my dragon says. Mine.

  “Your cock is so big,” she gasps. “I can’t—”

  “You can’t?” I pause, propping myself up on my elbows.

  “I can’t—oh, fuck, don’t stop!”

  I resume my tempo. She is so hot, so silky smooth. Her thighs are tight around my waist, her arms plump and creamy around my neck. My mating fist aches to fill her, to mark her, to claim her.

  Nej, I say viciously. Not yet.

  She squeaks, then shudders in a sudden explosion of orgasm.

  I ride the wave of it, giving her what she needs, never slowing, never flagging, determined to make her come as hard as she can.

  Emelie melts down with passion again and again, her pussy squeezing me in smooth undulations of lust until I’m ready to explode.

  I can’t tell where her orgasms begin and end—they come in waves, crashing against the shore of my body, never ending and never beginning. Her skin slides against mine, our sweat mingling, her cunt honey mingling with the wetness from my cock.

  My own orgasm rises up to meet hers—I feel it coming in like the tide, inexorable. At the last moment, I growl and I pull my cock out of her, shoot pearly streams of cum between our bellies, marking her breasts and arms with my passion for her. I shudder, burying my face in her hair, my body tense and hot with the primal force of it.

  I roll onto my back and close my eyes, panting, feeling the aftershocks of orgasm shoot like flashes of electricity through my limbs.

  I have never come like this with any other woman. I have never felt this before.

  And I know now, more than ever, that she is mine.

  Mine.

  I want to tell her. Need to tell her. Need to claim her. To love her.

  I open my eyes, my mouth to speak. I glance over.

  Morning light gleams from the edge of my token as she holds it delicately between thumb and forefinger. Only the barest fingernail crescent of silver is left along one side, the moon nearly eclipsed by the sun.

  Despite the pleasure we just shared, despite the joy we’ve just ha
d with each other, a little frown furrows Emelie’s forehead between the wings of her eyebrows. She worries her kiss-reddened bottom lip between her teeth.

  Then she lets the token fall, and turns her face from me.

  19: Emelie

  “Mother Moon,

  We call to Thee

  To bless our rite

  So mote it be.

  * * *

  O Spirits, we invoke you now

  Aid us in our sacred duty

  Wandering both near and far

  Show to us unearthly beauty.

  * * *

  We send up pow’r—

  O, hear our call!

  In witches’ hour

  We are one with all.

  * * *

  Bless us, protect us,

  Assist us, empower us,

  Hear us, be one with us.

  We do entreat thee!

  * * *

  Assist us, be with us,

  Guide us, provide for us,

  Walk with us, be one with us.

  We do entreat thee!

  * * *

  Mother Moon,

  We call to Thee

  To bless our rite

  So mote it be!”

  We witches dance, widdershins, within the sacred circle. Calling up the power of the moon to aid us in our goals, we focus the glowing white energy. We send it flying to do our bidding, aided by the divine hands of the Ásatrú gods.

  Our full moon ritual overwhelms me with its beauty, nearly bringing me to tears. I hold my heart’s desire in my mind: the well-being of So Mote It Bee, the success of my business, the proliferation of my heart’s children. I sense the spiritual energies focused by my coven-mates toward their own goals, shimmering in rainbow shades echoing the auras of the witches who sent them up.

  Lunar energy swirls around us, illuminating the sacred circle, lending power to our rite. It fills me, up from the soles of my feet, up through every chakra, until it bursts through the crown of my head in an explosion of divine joy. I am full of holy energy. I swim in the power of the infinite. I am blessed by the light of my gods.