by Ruby Sirois
She smiles. “Me too. I used to be a competitive diver when I was younger. I won a few medals—two silver, one gold—in the Swedish Nationals in that life.” She splashes the surface idly with one hand. “Now I just swim to keep myself sane.” A couple of breaths. “And even though it’s inconvenient, working in the city and having to commute all that way, I can’t bear to be away from the water.”
“I know the feeling.”
No need to go into details. Something in my siren song urges me to be careful, to swim lightly around her, to not offer too much. She is the bright flash of a rare fish, and I fear scaring her away. My fingers move of their own accord, riffs flowing through them, playing the melody of my siren song. Her eyes drop to them and she smiles.
“You’re the type who can’t stop playing music no matter what, huh.” A little laugh at my quizzical look. “I knew some guys in a metal band, one of them was like that.”
She reaches for my hand under the water, takes it. Her eyes widen, and her fingers tighten around mine before she drops it again.
Now I’m sure. She felt it too—the shock of recognition. The one my dragon’s melody felt when I took her hand in Dreamscape.
“Do I know you?” she says.
“Only from my dreams.” I say it lightly, flirtatiously—but her lips part in surprise. Did I say too much?
“I’m sorry,” she says after an awkward pause. “It’s just that I’ve been having these recurring nightmares lately. About my coven, and that fucking dragon, setting everything on fire, and he almost killed us, and then—“ her voice trembles, breaks, and she shakes herself. Tucks her hair behind her ears with both hands. A deep breath. “Well, you don’t want to hear about that.”
But the tone of her voice is clear: it is colored with disgust, fear, remembered dread. Her eyes sparkle with tears. Now I know what my dragon’s melody wanted me to be careful of. With a sinking feeling, I realize she hates dragons. It was another type that terrified her, not a water dragon like me—but I don’t think those finer points will be appreciated. It’s clear she is traumatized by the experience, and I will not frighten her further. Yet despite my reservations, I am convinced she is meant for me—my siren song’s wild, celebratory melody, one which is new to me, sings it in unmistakeable harmonies.
I can’t resist. I take her hand, raise it to my lips. Sweet, powdery hints of peach blossoms and honeysuckle, underlaid by earthy vetiver and a touch of salt-encrusted sea grass. A wild, fresh scent, that of a woman who spends time outdoors. It is intoxicating, alluring. I hum a bit of my siren song, letting it dance from me into the dawn-kissed air, enjoying how it echoes from the calm umber water.
“Näckrosen,” I say, my siren song weaving through the syllables, music expressing what words yet cannot.
She makes a little noise. My eyes fly to hers. She stares as if I am something she’s desperately wanted her whole life, yet never knew existed until this moment.
I can’t help myself.
I reach out, trace her full bottom lip with my thumb. Water splashes my chest as I comb wet hair back from her temple, pull her face gently toward me. She comes willingly, eagerly, her arms finding their way around my neck, her lips meeting mine.
She tastes of Baltic seawater and dreams, of longing and of home. Her bare breasts, soft and round, press against my chest, and my hands skim the dip of her little waist and generous hips, the sweet fullness of her ass covered only by a triangle of fabric. She weighs next to nothing in the water, and my arms hold her close, sharing the heat of my body with her in the cold water. Her skin is slick against mine, the hard pink pearls of her nipples pressed against me. My cock, trapped between our bodies, pulses with my heartbeat, with the insistence of my melody. The barrier between us is whisper-thin. Thighs wrapped around my waist, she rocks her hips against me in time to it. It’s all I can do to hold myself back.
Her tongue duels with mine, as eager and full of need as mine. Holding myself back with an effort, against my draconic instincts, I instead let her take the lead. I want to lose myself in her, to take her and make her mine, but my siren song trills warnings whenever the temptation becomes too great.
Let her come to you, it sings. Let her invite you in—don’t press her.
Her fingers rake through my hair, and she kisses me eagerly, greedily, as if she’s been starving. She explores my body, the dip and bulge of every hard muscle. I offer myself to her, happy to let her indulge herself. I want to her learn my body, learn the feel of me, to know in her soul what I already do: that she is meant for me. That she is my mate.
“You make me hear music,” she says, kissing the stubbled line of my jaw, the cords of my neck. “It feels like I’m dreaming. Like I’m swimming in dreams.”
I hum to her, wordlessly, cupping the delicious roundness of her full ass in my hands, as she tastes me—the dip of my collarbone, the lobe of my ear. I ache for her, to taste her curves, and my siren song reflects my need—but I will not make her afraid. I would die first.
My cock throbs, and her hips respond. She knows what she’s doing to me, and she’s reveling in it, the little minx. I groan into her. She already has me under her spell.
My fingers dip into the back of her bikini bottom, tracing the line of her crack. Not too low—just enough to tease her. To tease myself. Her breath picks up, and she makes a little noise deep in her throat before bringing her mouth back to mine. I take it in a passionate kiss, my tongue the only place where I dare take the lead, where I dare assert my desire the way I want to.
Her body responds to mine, relaxing into mine. The scent of honeysuckle and peach blossoms mixing with feminine musk surrounds her like mist. Her skin is so soft, the water turning it to the slipperiness of satin, and my hands glide along her curves with no resistance at all. She is hot where the water is cold, soft where I am hard, demanding where I am yielding.
My hand snakes up to cup the curve of her breast, thumb flicking against the hard point. Her hand comes up to cover mine.
“Don’t be put off,” she says.
“Put off?”
I am confused—she is everything I’ve ever dreamt of.
“I have scars. It was elective, I had a lift, but some people—I mean, guys—they haven’t liked them. Now I’m a little paranoid about it because of what some people said.”
Now I see them, the same on both breasts—faint white lines, a circle around the nipple, a vertical line reaching down underneath, and a horizontal one along the bottom curve. Each set makes the shape of an anchor. But they are faint, and if she hadn’t mentioned them, I would never have noticed.
“I couldn’t care less about scars,” I say, and I mean it. “Your breasts are perfect. Beautiful. All of you is beautiful.” The shape is stunning—high and round, as if she’s turned back time. “I’d worship them, I’d worship all of you if you’d let me.”
She melts into me. I take one point between my lips, flicking with the tip of my tongue, and she gasps. Cupping the back of my head, she urges me on.
“Oh, I’d let you,” she says, her voice husky and low. “I might just beg you, if this is the preview.”
I switch to the other nipple, relishing the feel of the tightly puckered areola against my tongue. I trace the circle of it, lapping water droplets from the warm satin of her breast, trace the horizontal line underneath before taking the point back in my mouth. She gasps, cries out, arching her back to give me a better angle. She tastes clean and sweet, and I can’t help but imagine how she tastes lower down. The salt and musk of her, how hot and wet she’ll be for me, how hard she’ll come for me. My mouth waters, and I work her more insistently. She responds by purring her approval, digs her fingernails into my shoulders.
My cock throbs, hard and needy against my abdomen. I have her firmly around the waist with one arm, tracing the lines of the other breast with my free hand. She writhes against me, her breath coming in little moans and gasps. I paint my need for her onto her skin, the melody of my siren song snaking
around us like the eddies of summer breezes.
Her arms tighten around me, and her body stiffens, stills—then she gasps, cries out, and her whole body shudders against me. My tongue never stops its movements against her nipple, and I suck a bit more of her flesh into my mouth. I hold her tightly against me as she falls apart in my embrace.
“This isn’t something I’d normally do,” she says at last. Her body is limp and languid, her voice husky. “Any of this, all of this. But that was—oh, that was unexpected, so I have to admit—I haven’t come from that since before I had surgery,” she says. “It was always an easy way for me before that. I thought all the sensation was gone afterwards, but with you—“ she takes a deep breath. “There’s just something about you that brings something out in me. You must have some kind of a magic touch.”
She takes my mouth hungrily, her tongue dancing against mine, as if the floodgates within her have broken open and years of pent-up need have just now been allowed expression.
Her body is still quivering against me. I wrap my arms more securely around her, willing my body heat to warm her. She sighs and melts into me, the softness of her curves accommodating the hard angles of my body against hers.
“You taste so good, and that music—mmm, I heard it when I came. It made it so much more intense somehow.” She pulls back, gives me a shrewd look. “Is that your gift?”
“Music? Oh, I’d say so.” I don’t add that it is the air I breathe, the water in which I swim. Music is my lifeblood.
“You didn’t tell me you were a witch.”
A witch? I open my mouth to protest. My siren song trills.
“I’m not exactly a witch, näckrosen—but if you’re asking about gifts, I do practice magic. And music is my strength.”
“Not the only one, I’m sure.” She laughs a little, and I smile down into her eyes. “It must be very powerful, if even I can hear it.”
“Indeed. But most can’t.”
The only others who’ve ever heard my song are other dragons, and of those, only my brothers.
Because, like all water dragons, the one my siren song is truly meant for is my hoarded mate.
If I had any doubts left lingering about her, they are gone now.
Glossary and Swedish Pronunciation Guide
In Swedish, emphasis is not limited to any one syllable as there is in English. Equal emphasis is placed on multiple or all syllables. R’s are preferably lightly rolled on the tip of the tongue.
Google Translate has a pretty good free “Listen” feature if you want to hear things pronounced. Set it to Swedish unless otherwise indicated.
Names (in approximate order of appearance):
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Emelie Odenberg - ehm-eh-lee ooh-dehn-beryeh - the g in Odenberg is soft and pronounced like a short yeh sound with no diphthong.
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Ragnarr Thoringr - rangnyahrr toohr-ing-rr - the g in Ragnarr is soft, similar to the gn sound in lasagna. The th in Thoringr has a hard t sound like in took, not a soft th like in through. The g in Thoringr sounds like ing like in cooking followed by an r sound, lightly rolled. On Google Translate listen function, refer to Swedish for Ragnarr and Norwegian for Thoringr.
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Thor - toohr (not thore)
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Linnea Eklund - linn-knee-ah eeak-loond
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Pernilla - pehr-neel-lah
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Peter - peeyeh-tehr
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Anna - ah-nah
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Fröja - froeya
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Eiríkur - eye-ree-koor (oo as in moon) (Norwegian pronunciation)
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Malin - maahw-lihn
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Hjalmr - yahl-mhr
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Annika - ahn-knee-kah
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Pelle - peh-leh
Glossary:
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Din ödla - deen oed-lah - a derogatory term for dragons; literally, you lizard
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Fy fan - fee faahn - an expletive, used in a similar manner to god damn it.
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Fy helvete - fee hel-veh-teh - an expletive, stronger than fy fan.
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Gamla Stan - gahm-lah stahn - the oldest part of Stockholm, Sweden; literally, Old Town
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Häx/häxan - hex-ahn - witch (Plural: häxarna - hex-ahr-nah)
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Häxan min - hex-ahn meehn - witch of mine
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Häxjävel/häxjäveln - hex-yeah-vehl/hex-yeah-vehln - derogatory term for witch; fucking witch (plural: häxjävlar/häxjävlarna - hex-yeah-vlahr/hex-yeah-vlahr-nah)
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Ja - yaw - yes
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Jodå - yoo-dah - yes indeed; emphasizing a positive stance or statement, usually in response to a negative or doubtful one
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Lilla häxan - leell-ah hex-ahn - little witch
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Nej - neigh - no
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Tredje Kronan - treeyh-djeh krooh-naahn - Ragnarr’s member’s-only club; literally, The Third Crown
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Skål - skoal - “cheers” as in before drinking.
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Stortorget - stoor-tohr-yet - the oldest city square in Gamla Stan; literally, Big Square
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Östermalm - oes-ter-mahlm - the richest, most exclusive part of Stockholm
Also by Ruby Sirois
Landing Her Dragon, book 2 of Thor’s Sons Crave Curves, is on preorder exclusively on Amazon Kindle Unlimited. Release date: 25 September 2020.
Click here to preorder now!
Curvy and the Canid: A Wolf Shifter Fairy Tale Retelling is available at all of your favorite retailers.
Click here to read now!
Slaying Her Dragon and Enchanting Her Dragon,
books 3 and 4 in the Thor’s Sons Crave Curves series, releasing in 2021.
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Follow Ruby Sirois on Amazon to get updates on new releases!
Praise for Ruby Sirois
Look what international beta readers had to say about Deal With Her Dragon:
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“Ruby Sirois is an exquisite writer. Her power of description is amazing. I loved this book—I loved the concept and the writing—I loved the characters, and the food. Man, I loved the food! I finished the book wanting more of Ruby’s dragons and witches. Thumbs up for a great read." —Ivy M Bazley, betareader.io
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“Ruby Sirois writes so well that I feel what the characters feel. It’s not unusual in sex scenes that a reader becomes drawn-in and affected… but she does that throughout!” —Tyseco, betareader.io
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"★★★★★ FFO Paranormal, shifter, BBW audiences and people who like stories with a guaranteed happy ending... Ragnarr's worship of Emelie's body is gloriously described, amazing!" —Cat, RedInkAndCoffee.com
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"A fantasy romance you would fall in love with. Hot, sexy, panties-dropping book. Emelie was easily lovable. She felt real and I loved her more for it." —Palindrome, betareader.io
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“A very cozy read. A feel-good story with characters you want to spend more time with … but my favorite part is probably the food. The way the author not only describes each dish but the history behind it and how the characters enjoy it. It makes the world more real, and the story more immersive.” —Dinara T.
What is “A Rousing RubyNesque Romance”™?
A Rousing— means not only is it exciting, it’s also sexy—you’ll be turning page after page under the covers all night long.
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RubyNesque— is the promise of honoring all kinds of women in a body-positive and uplifting way: no bashing of any body types, ever. It’s the promise of heroines dealing with and conquering their self-esteem issues when strengthened by unconditional love, desire, and acceptance—no matter
their size, age, or background.
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Romance— lets you know there’s always a HEA and no cheating, ever!
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A Rousing RubyNesque Romance: it’s a promise and a guarantee.
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Love,
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Ruby Sirois and RubyNesque Publishing™
About the Author
If you ask Ruby Sirois, there’s nothing sexier than a huge, muscular alpha male taking what he wants—especially when a sassy woman with curves for days is involved!