by Lily Cahill
Marta wasn’t a Valdez, and she wasn’t a Dragomir. She was an innocent bystander. It’s possible that this witch—whoever was behind this—would let her leave unscathed. But Arryn would be alone, then, and she’d just seen that he didn’t have great control of his ability to shift.
Was that why he’d reacted so poorly when she brought it up during their first meeting?
Well, if they were going to get to know each other, start with a clean slate—then they needed to talk.
She sighed. “You can correct me if I’m wrong, but …,” It was hard to find the right words. She didn’t want to upset him, but she needed to know. “You don’t seem to as natural with your second form, as your brothers.”
Arryn tensed, and his face was a hard mask. Still, there wasn’t anger there—or, at least, she didn’t feel it directed at her. He didn’t meet her eyes, instead looking somewhere over her shoulder.
“You could say that.”
She moved to the couch and sat down. He raised an eyebrow but didn’t comment. If they were stuck there, she wasn’t going to waste time with formalities. She patted the cushion beside her, and his lips curled in a smile.
“Do you … is it all right if I ask about it?”
He sat down, closer than she would have expected. She could feel the heat from his bare skin emanating in her direction, and it made her feel strangely dizzy.
“My dragon form isn’t exactly my favorite topic of conversation,” he admitted, gruffly.
“I remember from the last time we spoke.”
At that, he had the good grace to look abashed. “I was rude, then, and I’m sorry for that. There’s no excuse.”
“I might be more inclined to forgive if I understood,” Marta heckled. When he hesitated, she knew she had to do more. She sighed. “If we’re starting over, I should come clean with you. I’m an empath—I have a sense of what people are feeling, and it helps me to intuit how to help them. And with you, I get this feeling of hatred toward your other self, but I don’t understand why.”
Arryn settled back into the couch and looked over at her. He still looked guarded, pulled tighter than a bow string, but his eyes—they were dark blue, and she felt like they were staring past her skin and bones and directly into her soul.
“I was really young, when the coup happened,” he said. The words seem to dry up, however, because he opened his mouth and then closed it, quickly.
This was important, Marta knew. She wanted to know, but it was more than that. She felt compelled to ask more questions; she needed to understand what drove him, what made him this defensive person. It was only once she did that she thought she’d be able to break past his walls.
“I was still in the Ukraine,” she said, in lieu of his reply. She kept her tone even and soft, hoping to calm him. From the infinitesimal way he relaxed, she thought she might have succeeded. “The mortal and Other governments, they are both run together there. None of this separation, like in the United States. I was very small, but I remember hearing about it on the news.”
He nodded. “I don’t remember much of what happened, honestly. It’s all a sort of blur. I barely even remember my parents—I have impressions of them, more than concrete memories.”
That was something she knew a little about, as well. “I’m very sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you,” he said.
He reached out to touch her hand, and she felt that same frisson travel up her arm. It was both wonderful and terrifying.
“It’s kind of strange,” Arryn continued, his hand still on hers, his warmth still hitting her skin. “Because—I mean, they’re my parents. Of course I wish they were still here. But I didn’t know them, really, and now … I can see why people would have been angry enough to riot. I can see what they wanted change. But the way it happened ….”
“It was barbaric.”
“It was. And when I was younger, I didn’t understand. I remember right after it all happened, I was crying, and I asked Blayze where our parents were, and he told me they were dead. He told me they’d be killed because people feared them for what they were.”
Despite her better judgment, Marta squeezed his hand. “He should never have told you that.”
“He was, what—ten, twelve? He was upset. I don’t blame him. And he was probably right—they were powerful, and they were the rulers. Unrest and unhappiness were due to things they wouldn’t or couldn’t change. But I didn’t understand that, and I thought he meant that people killed them for being dragons.” Arryn snorted, and it was a terribly unhappy sound. “I guess that wasn’t that far off, either.”
Guilt socked Marta in the stomach. No wonder he’d turned cold and standoffish when she brought up his dragon self during their first conversation. He’d spent his whole life hiding who he was, but it was more than that—he’d grown up fearing what he was. Fearing what it meant for his life, for what others would do to him if they found out.
“You can’t blame your nature for what happened to your parents, and you can’t let what happened to your parents stop you from embracing all of yourself.” Marta’s words came out in a rush. She felt her cheeks heating up, and when his gaze fell on her—steady, curious, the sudden flow of words stopped in her throat. “It’s—it’s like in Jane Eyre. Jane thinks she’ll never be good unless she suppresses her passions, but—“
For the first time, Arryn let out a laugh that sounded real. “God, you and that book.”
“It’s a good book!” she said, feeling even more embarrassed.
His hand tightened around her own, and she realized she’d nearly forgotten that he’d been holding it. Now, she noticed that he’d drawn their joined hands into his lap, and he was so warm and handsome and his chest was so very right there.
Marta felt like she was going ten shades of red. She tried to extricate her hand, but he only held it closer. The action made her stomach swoop pleasantly.
Arryn’s eyes were heavy on her now. She could feel them tracing the lines of her body, even as she stubbornly refused to meet his gaze. She was afraid of what she would do if she did.
Words tumbled out of her mouth before she could stop them. “You, um. You should really finish reading it. The book, I mean.”
He laughed again, soft this time, and when she dared to glance up—seeing his face like that, lit up with a smile, made something inside of her melt. He looked like the kind of man who didn’t smile enough.
And what he was projecting—the warmth, the gratefulness, the peace, the desire—it was a heady mix. That feeling in her chest, that this was right, was only growing and growing. She’d always dismissed her mother’s tales for fanciful, but now, facing Arryn, they all seemed so obvious, so true.
This man—he was hers. He was destined to be hers.
And she was destined to be his.
“Is that really what we should be focusing on right now?” He asked, still grinning a little.
The only other thing to focus on was him, and Marta worried that if she did that, she would make an absolute mess of this situation. How was she supposed to tell him that she had just intuited that they were fated to be together? It was safer to keep rattling on, whether he wanted to listen or not.
Her voice sounded too high to her own ears. “I just really believe that you’d identify with her—“
Arryn moved in close so that there was no space between them, his thigh against hers, his chest turned toward her and pressing against her arm. The words died in Marta’s throat.
“Marta,” he said, his voice dropping low. The gravel in it made her insides tighten with anticipation. “I don’t care about the book.”
She gave off a strangled laugh. It was too much. He was so close—she could feel the warmth coming off his skin, his scent was everywhere, making her head spin. He smelled natural and real, like clean sweat and something distinctly male.
And, God, he still wasn’t wearing a shirt.
“I …,” she struggled to find the words. Or any word
, in general. It seemed like her entire vocabulary had suddenly fled her brain. “You ….”
And then his lips were against her own, his tongue sweeping inside of her mouth, his arms around her back. Her hands went to his chest, desperate to touch. She could feel the smooth warmth of his skin under her palms, the delicious plane of his chest and his hard abs. As his mouth worked against hers, she let her hands linger and explore—every inch of him was gorgeous.
And the desire he was projecting … she was helpless to ignore it.
She felt him grab under her thigh, lifting her up, and bringing her so that she was straddled across his lap. There was a brief moment of self-consciousness—although she worked hard to be healthy and eat right, she was not a thin girl. She’d long ago accepted that she would always be curvy, and it didn’t bother her, but she knew some men felt differently.
Arryn was not one of those, apparently.
He moved her with ease, standing up with her still in his lap. Still kissing her, he set her back down on the cushions of the couch and hovered over her, his perfect skin just inches from her. She couldn’t stand it—it was cruel and unusual, to be near someone so beautiful and not be able to feel him against herself.
Marta pushed him back until he was sitting up and then joined him, pulling off her top as soon as she had some clearance.
Arryn let out a deep growl, and it went straight to her core. She felt her inner muscles tighten at the sound. Something about it resonated with her and made her want more of him, more of everything.
She hadn’t come here for this—hadn’t expected this—but there was no way she was turning back.
He reached behind her and undid the clasp of her bra hurriedly, pushing at the straps so that it slid down and off her arms. His eyes devoured her, and she leaned back, letting him look his fill. She liked his eyes on her body, the heat that she saw there. It made her feel sexy—she’d been with men before, but none of them had ever made her feel like this.
His head dipped, and he left a kiss on her stomach, working his way up her sternum and then moving to her right breast. He closed his lips over her nipple, taking it into his mouth and rolling it. Marta felt the sizzle of heat echo inside of her. It was too much and yet not enough. She arched her back, crying out as his hand massaged her other breast. His touch was intoxicating, and she felt drunk on it.
His lips left her nipple to work their way up her neck and back to her mouth. Marta could feel the heat of his cock against her through the fabric of her jeans. Why were they both still clothed at all? She tangled her hands in his hair, holding him tightly against her, trying to decide if she wanted to keep them there or do away with his shorts or her own pants—there were too many decisions to make, and she wanted all of it, right now.
Luckily, Arryn seemed to read her mind. He propped himself up on one elbow, supporting all of his weight so that he had a hand free. It skated down the curve of her side and then walked to the button of her jeans, popping it open. The zipper was down, then, and suddenly Marta wanted her wand so that she could disappear all of their clothes. She wasn’t sure there was actual spell for that, but fuck it, she’d make one up.
His fingers dipped below her panties and gently traced the slit of her pussy. She was so wet, she knew it, could feel how damp her panties were. He brushed ever so lightly over her clit, and Marta keened into his mouth. Yes. This was what she wanted.
She relinquished her grip on his head and pushed down his shorts, letting his dick swing free. She could only push them halfway down his thighs. She couldn’t push them down more without readjusting their position, and he was pretty thoroughly in control in that department.
And he was going so slow, still touching her in a way that was meant to tease more than anything else. She couldn’t stand it. Now wasn’t the time for gentleness.
“I want you inside of me,” she groaned, barely forcing the words past her numb lips. It was hard to think in English. Hell, it was hard to think at all.
There was a firmer touch against her clit—finally, finally. “Why rush?”
She wanted to widen her legs, but her jeans kept her mostly in place. There was nothing more frustrating in the world than not being naked with Arryn Dragomir.
“Because I’m dying,” she said.
He chuckled darkly, but his hands moved to her waistband and began to pull down her jeans and panties in tandem. “You think you’re being a little dramatic?”
Her legs were finally free. Arryn tossed her jeans across the room and let them land in a pile. How could he flirt and tease at a time like this? How did he maintain any semblance of control at all?
Arryn let his head hang low, right over her pussy. She could feel his breath there, on the inside of her thighs.
“Fuck, please!”
The words barely came to her.
It was enough, though, because he finally obliged.
He took her clit between his lips and then tongued at it, lapping over her pussy. Marta could no longer think, let alone think in English—her words were a babbled mess of Ukranian gibberish. Her hands went into his hair without her knowledge or consent, but he didn’t seem to mind. She felt as two of his fingers entered her, pumping in and out in time with the wicked deeds of his tongue.
She was on the knife’s edge in an instant, already so close. There was a strange, high-pitched noise in the room, and somehow, she realized it was coming from her.
His fingers slipped out of her, and Marta let out moan. No, no, he couldn’t be teasing he more, she couldn’t handle it, she needed to come—
And then his cock was there, filling her up, joining them together. Marta choked on a groan, her eyes flying wide as she felt her body adjust to his size. She’d barely seen his cock; he’d distracted her as soon as she had pulled down his shorts, and she hadn’t gotten a good look. It felt huge inside of her, and she let her legs fall wide as he pushed all the way in.
Nothing had ever felt this good before.
Arryn pulled out and then thrust back in sharply, making sure to brush over her clit with his thumb as he did. Marta couldn’t take it—she’d already been so close, and with him touching her like that, she was a goner. All of her muscles contracted once, twice, and then she was gone. Pleasure hit her in wave after wave, each one greater than the last.
When she came back to her senses, her throat felt sore—had she screamed? Arryn worked his hips, slamming into her again and again. His eyes were dark and almost entirely pupil. He was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen.
“Can you come again?” he asked, his voice harsh with panting breaths.
“I … I don’t….”
She’d never had a man ask her that before.
“I want to make you come again,” he clarified. “And again and again and again. Can you do that for me, baby?”
His words were like fire inside of her. She every muscle that had seemed relaxed a moment ago go tense as desire coiled again at the base of her spine.
His thumb worked at her clit as she dug her heels into his back, urging him deeper and deeper inside of her. She could feel it, that beautiful, elusive pleasure building. It was impossibly good. No man had ever made her feel like this before.
Arryn never lost rhythm, never seemed to slow down. She could feel him moving inside of her, moving above her, and she grabbed at him, bringing their lips together as she exploded around him again.
He followed her a moment later, panting harshly against her mouth as he came, eyes shut in ecstasy. As he came down, he laid himself across her, and she circled her arms around him, holding him in place.
When she could trust her voice to form words again, she said, “Well, that was unexpected.”
His laugh rolled over her, and she hugged him closer so she could feel the sound inside her. Who would have known how wonderful it would be to make Arryn laugh?
Now that she had found this, had experienced it—she could never let this man go again. Attachments had never been her forte, but
now, that would have to change. She’d found Arryn, and every instinct was screaming at her to stop, to trust this. She could feel him through the cloud of his emotions, and she knew he was thinking the same thing.
Chapter Six
Arryn
MARTA FELL ASLEEP BENEATH HIM, her breaths going deep and even.
He moved so that he could lay beside her and spent a moment watching her face. His brothers had all had this happen, so he shouldn’t be surprised that he managed to find the right woman—the kind of woman from the fairy tale, his true love. Augustus had treated them all well.
Still, he couldn’t help but be surprised that this was happening, that it was all real. How could he have ever predicted this incredible woman? She was so beautiful. He thought of her face as she’d fallen apart with him inside of her, her eyes closed and her mouth open, her head thrown back, her blond hair splayed around her head like a halo. But she was so much more than that. She was fierce and levelheaded and he could never let her go, ever.
Leaning in to press a kiss to her forehead, Arryn got to his feet. He stepped back into his shorts and paused in the living room, trying to sense the magical energies that Marta had been talking about.
Something felt—well, different than it had before, but it was difficult for him to say how. Maybe an elf or one of the fae would have been able to read the subtleties, but he had never trained for that. He’d let his anger over what had happened to his parents dictate how he felt about the magical world as a whole.
It was possible that the changes he was sensing were the new wards that Marta had put up around them. A nagging feeling in his gut, however, told him otherwise.
His eyes darted to Marta. Part of him thought he ought to wake her—as much fun as what they had done had been, it hadn’t been the best decision in the world. Being held hostage in a magical storm was never an ideal time to have sex. Although in his defense, she had looked so sexy, disheveled from the wind outside and their run back indoors, flush with the adrenaline that had helped her to protect them both. No man could have resisted her at that point.