Drawn by Dragonblood

by Lynn Burke

  “Are you okay, Jon?”

  He expelled a heavy breath and settled back against the couch with a sigh. “Yeah.”

  “Did he hurt you?” Quietness lingered between us long enough my heartbeat sped back up, and I pressed my hand against his chest, eyes clenched shut and searching as though I could read the energy beneath my palm.

  “Not physically, no,” Jon finally answered.

  The unsettled energy I noticed the evening before from him tingled along my skin, and I worried my lip. I could feel his pain. His confusion. His need to keep himself safe.

  We had always been close, but never had I ever experienced in my own heart and mind what he did.

  Brow furrowing, I wished to send him some of my peace about Elijah. Share my trust of the man’s heart and intentions toward us, for I didn’t doubt him with a single cell in my body.

  Elijah loved us both. Deeply and unconditionally. I’d held his gaze while every flex of his ass pushed his cock into my husband. I sucked Jon and felt wave after wave of Elijah’s devotion pouring from his eyes as we stared at each other, pleasuring our lover. I felt his caress deep inside my body hours later, his passion and love as though his hand reached inside me and placed his heart in my care.

  But how did I share such thoughts without sounding like a crazed lunatic? How did I tell Jon that I understood his pain, that I felt it with every breath he exhaled?

  “Talk to me,” I whispered instead, imagining my inner peace flooding from my chest, though my arm and hand, into his spirit.

  “I’m fucking scared.”

  “We can go home, right now,” I told him the same thing he’d offered me, even though my heart broke. “We can leave this all behind and start over.”

  “No—”

  “We can move to another city, Jon. Head south where it’s warmer like you’ve always wanted to do. I’ll—”

  “No, baby.” He pulled me tight against him, muffling my mouth against his neck. “This job—it’s too important. Think of everything we can gain from this. The experience, the contacts I’ll make. Hell.” He snorted a laugh. “The fucking salary I’m making for gaming is ten times what I could find doing design work. We’re staying.”

  I pulled back and peered into his blue eyes, the vulnerability he shared with me squeezing my heart. “Don’t do this for me, Jon. Please.”

  His smile, however swoon-worthy, didn’t ease or melt me like it usually did. “I’m doing this for us.”

  “I’d rather if you did it for you.” Jon didn’t reply, and I rubbed my thumb along his scruffy jawline. “Did you speak with him this morning?”

  “No.” His gaze flitted around the apartment. “Being the chicken-shit I am, I pretended I was asleep until he left.”

  “You’re not a chicken shit.” I hoped he read the truth of my thoughts in my eyes when he finally looked me full in the face. “You just need to figure out how you feel—what you want.”

  “I want to submit so fucking bad,” he whispered and swallowed. “I want to give him every goddamn inch of me, inside and out. I want to lay my entire fucking life at his feet and tell him to do with me what he will.” A frown furrowed his brow as he peered down at me. “What kind of man does that make me, Dakota?”

  I cupped his cheek in my hand as my eyesight grew hazy from the sudden tears clogging my throat. “It makes you a man who loves deeply. The kind every single person on this planet is searching to find. Faithful. Devoted and honest.”

  His gaze lightened although he didn’t smile. “You just say that because you don’t know anything different than me.”

  “I don’t want to, either. You’re it for me, Jon. You have been since we were kids.”

  We stared at each other in silence for a few moments, and I needed to bury the hatchet once and for all.

  “I’m sorry for hurting you all those years ago,” I whispered, my throat tightening.

  He huffed a snort. “You’ve said it a million times already, baby, and I’ll tell you again—I forgave you the second you walked away. There’s nothing you could do to change how I feel about you, Dakota Taylor Ebel.”

  A half-sob, half-laugh escaped me, and he pressed his lips against mine, settling my world, erasing all doubt from my mind.

  A heavy sigh shuddered his chest, and he pulled away and tipped his head back against the couch, eyes closing as he pulled my head against his neck once more. “Love you, baby.”

  “Love you more,” I whispered, closing my own eyes and praying to whatever god above existed that Jon would find the strength to give into what both he and Elijah longed for.

  Living without one or the other wasn’t an option in my heart or mind. I needed both like I needed oxygen.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Jonathan

  Dakota always soothed my inner demons, but I held tight to the wall I’d built, the imaginary line I couldn’t cross.

  More coffee, breakfast, shower together, and cuddling—without sex—on Elijah’s bed, surrounded by his scent … fucking heaven if it weren’t for the damn ache in my chest that no amount of rubbing or scratching eased.

  I wondered over my well-founded fear. Wondered over the sexual high Elijah had taken me on the night before. Wondered at the cum he’d filled me with, at its ability to hit me like the sweetest drug. And watching Dakota surrender herself to him without me involved turned me the fuck on.

  I hadn’t slept worth a shit, and I finally drifted off in peace, Dakota wrapped around my body. When I woke, Elijah sat on the couch in his suit and tie, Dakota still naked—and straddling his thighs.

  I should have seen red, my stomach souring, but found my cock swelling and my hand sliding down my stomach to wrap around it, same as the night before when Elijah had made love to my wife.

  He lifted his gaze from her face, the rush of emotions in his eyes hitting me like a rush of wind and stealing my breath.

  Goddamn him and whatever that … energy … is. Fuck.

  His slow smile jerked my dick. “Good morning.” The low rumble of his tone pebbled my skin.

  I didn’t stand a fucking chance of preserving myself. Protecting myself from hurt.

  Fuck if I was going to stop trying, though.

  ****

  Chopper packed full with a bunch of our shit and a dozen or so bag of groceries, we headed back to the cavern for the rest of our four-week stay.

  Elijah asked if we would move to his room, and I carried our stuff there without bothering to ask Dakota. She wore her heart on her sleeve even if she glanced at me with a question in her eyes.

  Settling into a routine came easy enough. We cooked together, showered together, slept together, Dakota more often than not a writhing, panting mess between us. Still, Elijah wouldn’t allow either of us to taste his cum. He also didn’t try to fuck me again, and I couldn’t decide if I was thankful or pissed off about that fact.

  Any kisses shared between the two of us weren’t the gentle sort, but pure fucking war—and I refused to back down.

  The sexual tension in the tech room, like a swarm of hornets, raised the hairs on my neck, heightened my pulse to the point of needing to talk myself out of hyperventilating on a daily basis.

  Elijah had said I would pay for coming before he’d given me permission that night in New York, and every heated glance, every stare that singed my body, promised he would hold true to his word.

  I dreamed of the dungeon. The cross. The chains dangling from the ceiling and the cane that would probably hurt like a goddamn son of a bitch. Desire to kneel at his feet and beg for him to hurt me—love me—had me hard as a rock more often than not. I jerked off more than a horny teenager in the bathroom, and I swear to fucking God that Elijah could tell. Like he could smell the cum on me even though I cleaned up thoroughly every time.

  Coming without his permission rang in my head, haunted my dreams, but fuck if I could stop.

  No amount of burying myself in Dakota’s ass, pussy, or throat eased the ache inside me. Like a darkn
ess leaching into my soul, a hazy sheen of … something … latching onto my innermost being, demanding I soothe its need.

  What was that all-important piece, what link that would set my world right again, the same as it was when I’d first met Dakota? Did Elijah cause the unrest? The thought of leaving fucked with my reality to the point I didn’t consider it any further.

  What was I missing?

  Five long-ass motherfucking days, and no amount of beer, good wine, fucking, or pouring myself into my job eased the unrest.

  Elijah had disappeared an hour into work, the tension snapping between us probably catching up to him.

  Dakota had gone off down the mountainside, camera in hand to get some images for a newly contracted White Mountains travel brochure, and I slaved away, putting the latest robot model to the test in its seventh or eighth different suit of armor. My eyes burned. Throat itched. Backside fucking ached.

  Tossing the controller onto the desk, I sat back in my chair and pinched the bridge of my nose.

  Something had to give.

  Can’t fucking do this anymore.

  I shot up from the desk and stalked into the hallway. Empty, I noted, and no sound from the garage or hallway leading to the upper floors.

  Like a string tied to my head, it swiveled toward the door directly across from me. My hand lifted before I thought, punching in the key code same as before. The lock clicked, and I pushed the door in.

  Soft light rose, and I stepped over the threshold.

  Silence reigned as I glanced around the room. Although coated in a bit of shadow, I noted the cleanliness of the floor, the various benches, and peg boards and tables with their precisely lined toys. My feet moved me to the left, my fingers trailing over various instruments which promised pain, some of which I didn’t recognize or know their use.

  Floggers, crops, whips … a cane that made my backside clench and rushed the blood to my cock. My breath echoed in my ears as I lifted the wooden rod, its smoothness and natural warmth reminding me of the scale-like armor Elijah had created.

  Lifting the cane closer to my face revealed tiny scales—definitely designed by Elijah.

  I slid my hand along its length, and like I stroked myself, pre-cum oozed from my dick, smearing in the jeans near-choking my swollen length.

  The fucker would hurt when wielded by Elijah—I had no doubt.

  And fuck if that thought didn’t make my dick jerk, my heart rate accelerate.

  A rush of that something swarmed over me, catching my breath a second before Elijah’s presence registered in my lust-filled brain. The darkness in me rose, tingling my hands, my feet … my cock.

  I turned.

  Elijah stood in the doorway, tensed like a dragon ready to leap at someone touching his treasure. Pale eyes, dark pupils swirling—I didn’t fucking imagine it.

  I swallowed, but couldn’t tear my gaze from him. Couldn’t fucking breathe as he stalked toward me, shoulders hunched, chin lowered, gaze piercing. “The darkness in you calls to me.”

  I didn’t know what the fuck he meant, but it sounded like truth.

  “Let me show you.” He stepped close, clasping his hand around mine still clutching the cane. Our chests bumped, and he tipped his head to the side, his gaze roaming down my neck and back to my lips. “Let me set you free.”

  Yes.

  My balls seized, and I released my hold on the cane as Elijah stepped back, taking it with him. “Strip.”

  One rumbled command, and my hands shook while obeying, pushing down my jeans and kicking them off around my bare feet. I pulled my t-shirt off overhead and dropped it to the floor where it landed with a soft swish, the only noise besides our breathing.

  Fists clenched at my sides, I stood before him, leaking and shivering even though a fire burned in my body.

  He took his time sizing me up, his gaze lingering here and there, and until he circled me, I wanted to beg him to just get on with it already. Lifting his arm, he trailed the end of the cane up the inside of my thigh, over my cock, and up my abs, leaving a trail of fire in its wake.

  I hissed between my teeth, my nerve endings alight and ready to fly.

  “I know you want me to strap you to that cross,” he said, his voice strained as I felt, “but you lost that privilege by disobeying me.”

  A frown dented my brow as he set the cane down and reached overhead to the dangling chains I hadn’t realized I stood beneath. “Give me your hands.”

  Fear squashed by need, I obeyed, and soft leather caressed my wrists, shackles attached to the chains.

  Elijah moved away, and my gaze trailed up and over the ceiling, to the other end of the chains against the far wall. He pulled them upward until my arms stretched overhead. Strung up like a fucking turkey.

  “I’m going to do what I dreamed of doing,” he said, pressing his chest once more against me, his mouth on my ear. “Hung at my mercy. Mine to torment, mine to pleasure.”

  He wrapped his hand around my cock and squeezed.

  “I’m going to break down every fucking wall you’ve built to keep me out.”

  Yes.

  I shook my head, but couldn’t voice the argument in my head. I wanted to shout a resounding no. I wanted to tell him to stop, but found my lower lip between my teeth instead.

  He left me, striding toward one of the tables. He returned with a blindfold. “To help you see better,” he said, wrapping it around my head and shutting out the light.

  “D-don’t I get a safeword?” I managed to ask past the thump in my chest and the tightness in my throat.

  The tip of the cane moved down my spine, bringing a shiver along with it. “Do you want one?” he asked, sliding the cane down between my ass cheeks.

  Rather than say yes, I found my hips pressing toward him and a moan escaping my parted lips.

  The warm tip disappeared, and a whoosh sounded.

  Crack!

  Pain fucking exploded across the top of my thighs, and I jerked forward, cursing and jerking the chains.

  Crack!

  Another landed above the first, and I bit my lip so goddamn hard the coppery tang of blood hit my tongue.

  I breathed through the searing pain, finding something to finally focus on, something all-consuming…

  “Again,” I whispered.

  A third whoosh, and pain lanced across my left ass cheek—another across my right.

  “God—”

  Elijah’s cane hit me like a million hornet bees’ stings, right above the backs of my knees, and I stumbled. It took me a few seconds to get my feet beneath me, my breath escaping in pants, my dick leaking so much it dripped off my balls to the floor.

  “More,” I heard myself say through the buzz rising to life between my ears.

  He landed hits up my thighs, over my ass, every sting lessening in pain. Morphing with the rising ringing in my ears into something so goddamn heavenly, so fucking luscious, I found myself drifting toward the darkness in my soul … almost as if I floated … almost as if I could fly free, exactly as he’d promised.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Elijah

  I didn’t hold back, but gave Jon all the strength of my arm, taking care to not hit him in the same place twice. Red welts rose across his freckled skin, and my dragon squealed with glee—shuddered with every crack. I trembled with the need to release, shift, with every moan from Jon’s lips.

  The scales on the cane would keep his skin from breaking—and would also make his recovery ten times faster than a man-made cane beating would. Even as I made my way up over the tops of his ass cheeks, the lowest welts began to fade.

  My heart pounded so hard, I fought for breath. Sweat coated my body, and I ripped my shirt off, the cotton restricting my movements.

  Jon sagged in the chains, his head tipped back, sweat dripping from his body. His brow smoothed over, and I stepped close, rubbing my jean-clad, aching dick against his ass. He moaned and pushed back against me even though the friction of my jeans against his raw as
s had to sting like hell.

  Sweetness hit my nose, jerking my head to the empty doorway—to the door I’d left open on purpose. I dropped the cane and reached around Jon’s waist to grab hold of his straining dick.

  Dakota stepped into view and pulled up short, her breath catching. Eyes widening as her gaze flitted down over her strung-up husband and the leaking dick I slowly worked. She licked her lips, and I smiled over Jon’s shoulder when her focus finally landed on my face.

  Jon groaned and tipped his head back against my shoulder as I smeared my hand around his crown and down to the root.

  “I’m going to fuck you, now,” I said against his ear while kicking off my loafers. “And you aren’t going to come until I say so.”

  Jon whimpered and nodded, and I stepped back, tearing at my jeans with a hint of my talons since Dakota stood on the other side of my beta. I kicked the material off my feet and pressed against Jon once more, lubing my hand with the slick mess oozing from his dick.

  I wanted to thrust into his ass with one shove. I wanted to demand he submit not just his body but his heart to me as well. I wanted to pull his hair, tilt his head back, and sink my fangs into his neck. Mark him. Make him mine.

  Instead, I held Dakota’s gaze while using his pre-cum to slicken my dick and crowding close against our lover. As though knowing what I readied to do, my own cock oozed with need, and I rubbed against his puckered hole.

  The darkness—my dragon—demanded I take what belonged to me.

  Teeth clenched, I pressed forward, breaching the ring of muscles in Jon’s ass. He groaned and found his footing enough to arch his back.

  I grabbed hold of his hips and glanced down to find the welts nearly gone from his backside—and to watch while I sank my hard shaft slowly into his ass, pull out a bit, and press back in until my drawn-up balls rested near his.

  “This ass belongs to me,” I growled against his ear, my gaze once more on his wide-eyed, panting wife.

  Jon gasped and whined, a few curses muttering past his lips as I pulled out to the head and slowly slid back in, balls deep.