“Do you like it?”
Her heart pounding with insecurity, McKenna slipped away from the source of her yearning, but not for long. He came up beneath her and curled his body around hers as if he were a snake and she his prey.
Why did being eaten alive feel so damned good?
The comparison should scare her, but it didn’t. She’d never water danced. This felt like romance, but it was probably only lust. They were wound so tight around each other that Bastian’s man lance knocked at her door, throbbing and abrading her in that spot where it was most likely to spear her, fill her throbbing sheath, and bring her terminal pleasure.
Despite her best intentions, she opened like a flower to receive her lover.
She’d known him for no more than a month, but she could get stupid for this man. Allow herself to feel. Reveal her flaws. Lower her walls.
No, she wouldn’t let herself go that far. She’d satisfy her lust. Have sex. Live for the moment. She’d never done that before.
For his good as well as hers, she’d keep the fortress locked, but she’d open the drawbridge.
Bastian nuzzled her hair, and she loved it, but . . . “You do realize that my hair is the prettiest thing about me?”
“You, my Kenna, are the prettiest thing about you. You show the world a beautiful heart and a lush body sculpted by a master. These breasts,” he said, peaking a nipple with his thumb, through her dress, and making her open further. “They fill my dreams. I would like a pillow made of breasts like yours. Though yours belong where they are.” He stroked her hips and bottom and slid his hand between her legs.
McKenna swallowed an involuntary moan.
“You have a woman’s body made to cradle the man who loves you, perfect for bringing him comfort.”
Had he said love?
Not love; lust. English wasn’t his first language.
She would consider this night’s play a prelude to pleasure. Foreplay at its finest.
And if this was foreplay, what would the deed be like?
McKenna slapped the flat of her hand against the water at either side of them to splash some sense into herself. Bastian jumped and she fell away from him, but he caught her and water danced around her in slow, swirling circles, his eyes mirroring pinpricks of moonlight, his wet hair lying rakishly on his brow, his angular features predatory.
A cool breeze zephyred through her as their waltz became more intimate. Her hips in his capable hands, he held her near the center of his need, controlling her. Controlling himself, she believed.
This was a man with a fire in his belly, intense, beastly, precise in every move, his gaze hot, hungry. Voracious.
Why could she see so much better in the dark tonight than ever before?
She half expected his heat to bring the lake to a simmer, while their desire collided and sparked, like flint against steel, which seemed actually to be happening, because sparks flew from between them, like pale, fluorescent blue fireflies flitting around them.
Stars of their own making. Magick!
Despite her best efforts, tentacles of desire changed her, and the slightest abrasion, like Bastian’s lips at the crown of her breasts, raised her high with desire, molten and pulsing.
When had he come so inexorably close?
When had this raging physical awareness overtaken her?
She lost her breath to a rush of longing. Without permission, her breasts tightened, her nipples pebbled, and she slipped the palm of his hand inside her blouse—bold creature that she’d become—and Bastian knew exactly what to do.
She closed her eyes and gasped from the bliss of his touch.
How much tighter could she be wound, before she climaxed without him?
The magickal jock-sock puppet beneath his jeans danced under her hand, and he hissed. Trying to get closer, she learned that zippers did not slide well against wet denim.
Bastian’s determination, however, won the day. Their clothes came off so fast, he might have used magick on them, too. Or he broke the damned zipper.
Then again, maybe he’d used magick on her. Who cared?
He raised her in his arms and put his mouth to her breasts.
She shivered. She screamed. Arched into him, and abraded his mammoth man lance with her heat-seeking body.
Her legs parted.
Bastian found his way there, caressed her with the back of a hand, sending shock waves through her, but he stopped abruptly. “McKenna, a confession.”
Open and ready for more, she pulled from her own pleasure and focused on his words.
“I remember nothing of women,” he confessed. “I do not remember how to pleasure one.”
Her interest peaked like his dragon lance, but he owned enough doubt for them both. “You’ve got great instincts, then. Put your hands where they were, and if you go wrong, I’ll guide you,” she said, simply not herself tonight.
Bastian relaxed and went with his instincts, and with a talented hand, he pleasured her, making her body sing, no guidance needed. She floated, partly in the water, partly in his arms, but mostly among the stars, definitely under his spell.
Perfection, his touch. Tender and gentle, slow, sweet, scarcely stroking. Stunning in his precision, he made her slicker than the water, raised her to heights that took her breath. She came, and came again.
After years of celibacy, she thanked the universe for this man, a dragon with a magick touch.
She lost track of how many times she came. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m afraid I’ll pass out before you get yours.”
“This is for you, just you. One more time. Once more, my Kenna.”
When she thought she might die of satisfaction, he let her catch her breath, then made her come once more.
“I can’t,” she said. “No more.”
He slid her down his body, and what did she find? Heaven between his legs. “Holy mother of pearl. This is enormous.” Her limbs shook as she fondled him, her knees like jelly. She could drop from exhaustion any minute, yet she couldn’t stop exploring him beneath the water. “There’s more here than meets the eye, buster.”
“It’s ugly,” he said. “You should know before you see it. Buster is another pet name?”
“Sure, pet. Ugly or not, every man should have such size. Better yet, every woman should have a man with such size. Bastian,” she said, opening her eyes.” I’m not sure this will fit. I think it’s too big.”
He covered her hand. “We will take it slow, then, make your reception of my flawed man lance easy. But not here. On your bed where we can play all night and sleep in between, my Kenna. And you need to see my lance first and approve.”
Or disapprove? Not bloody likely. “You’re a good man, Bastian Dragonelli. Better not catch me in your net.”
“I am already caught in yours.”
She supposed she was caught, too, but she’d learn to get over him when the time came.
Bastian shook his mane of wet black curls and splashed her with common sense. “Bastian, I came, like, eleventyseven times and you didn’t come once.”
“Come where?”
Not an issue, then. She refused to feel guilty and stepped away from him.
He allowed her to.
How dare he allow it!
THIRTY-NINE
McKenna wanted more of . . . everything, and Bastian acted as though they were done for the night. She stamped her foot in frustration and caught something sharp.
He shouted with her, and carried her from the water. Dawn teased them with its presence as he sat her on the bench beside the lake, and turned to put on the sandy jeans he’d tossed to shore. Ouch.
“My dress, get my dress. Don’t look,” she said, crossing her arms and legs, trying to cover everything. “Hand the dress back before you turn around.”
“We are a pair,” he said, sitting beside her and lifting her foot to his lap.
She tried to tease his package with her toes.
“Kenna, stop that. I am trying to examine you.”
&
nbsp; “I was trying to examine you.” She batted her lashes and attempted an innocent look.
“Your foot is not bleeding,” he said, warming and rubbing it with his talented hands—hands better suited to making her come her brains out, she believed.
The pain in her foot vanished, and they both breathed easier. Her other discomfort, however, lingered. “What kind of a pair are we?” she asked.
“The kind who are uncomfortable in their bodies. Mine does not fit right and I am embarrassed about my flaw.”
“My body should be smaller,” she admitted.
“Smaller?” he asked. “I feel like a big clumsy oaf when I am near you.”
“You do?”
“I do. You said you thought Ciarra was beautiful, did you not?”
“Stunning,” she said. “Ciarra is stunning.”
“Keep that in mind,” he said, cryptically. “Me, I am, how do you say, turned off, when I see a girl’s bones beneath her stretched skin. While your bones are beautifully covered.”
“Your perception is skewed, but I rather like the way you think.” Was he for real? “Never mind that. Listen, when I hurt my foot, you shouted with me. Why? And how did you know which foot hurt, because you checked the right one?”
“When you hurt yourself, I feel pain in the same place. Probably because you are my heart mate.”
“Get out of town! I am so not your heart mate.”
“You want me to leave town?”
“No, it’s an expression. Like . . . you’re bananas, bugsy.”
“You are joking with me. I can tell.”
About damned time.
“When you cut your hand making French fries, McKenna, I shouted, too, remember? Because I felt your pain.”
“Holy guacamole, I remember that. Wait, so you’re taking care of me to ease your own pain?”
“I care about you, McKenna.”
“But you feel better when I feel better?”
“Well, yes. Is that not the definition of caring?”
He was undeniably trying to think through his answers as he spoke.
“Pain is nothing to me,” he said. “I have been run though by warriors bearing the finest spears, bitten by the vilest of dragons, sword-sliced, battle-axed, wing-clawed, and slam-dunked by tail spades.” He made a clawing action with his hand against the claw scars on his neck. “Often to within an inch of my life.” He kissed her nose, and didn’t she love it.
“I can assure you that when it comes to stepping on a sharp stone, I care more for your pain than my own.”
“Why don’t I believe you? Oh, I know. You’re a man.”
“A man who made you pant with sexual pleasure not long ago. The man who will do so again.”
The husky promise shivered beneath her skin and licked a trail to her center like warm molasses on a hot summer day, skimming, slithering, shivering her nerve endings, inch by happy inch. Anticipation times a trillion.
“You have no idea how beautiful you are,” he whispered, his breath hot against her ear.
More shivers, a series of them, like small earthquakes. “I know how blind you are.”
“My eyesight is keen, day and night. You do not know, do you, what you do to me?”
“I suppose I do; you having been stuck on a desert island without a woman for centuries. I’m sure I seem attractive enough, until you find someone better. And you will.”
Bastian stood over her, his back straight, fists clenched. “You anger me when you belittle your worth and beauty. Do not say such things about my heart mate.”
Unsteady emotional walls called for laughter as a distraction, but McKenna couldn’t work up a chuckle. He’d touched her, body and soul, and she might never be the same. Where were those self-defense mechanisms when you needed them?
Bastian began to undo the buttons on her wet dress, beneath which she hadn’t replaced her underwear, and when her blouse lay open, he boldly examined her breasts, his violet eyes bright. No doubt about it. No faking. He liked what he saw.
He kept his gaze on them as he carried her back in the water, and there he continued his magick as he took to laving a nipple, scattering shock waves, like mini orgasms, raging quivers, and breathless gasps.
“It should be your turn now,” she said.
“Not until you see what you are getting yourself into with me.”
“Sounds ominous.”
“Define ominous.”
“Scary.”
“Ah. That is for you to judge. If you do not want that ugly part of me inside you, I will go back to my own bed, and we will never speak of it again.”
“Are you kidding me?”
“I am not, believe me.”
“Did your Andra Goddess teach you to be gallant to the ladies?”
“No, Vivica did.”
McKenna chuckled. “Trust Vivica to get to the heart of what needs fixing. That explains so much, you polite little devil.” Lust with Bastian, she decided, she could probably survive. He, if no other, would understand her quirks. She could do lust with a gallant dragon. But never love. Love hurt.
She kissed him, because she didn’t want him to see her disappointment. Stupid her. She wanted love. Lust was less than, but, just once, couldn’t she have more than?
He kissed her tears, the ones he wasn’t supposed to see, and her damned emotion overflowed at his tenderness. She wanted more from him. Yes, she would accept what he offered, though she should fire him. She’d send him away after Halloween. No, she wanted to make his first Christmas special. And he could help with spring planting. Summer and fall would bring more guests than usual in Salem; a handyman would be . . . handy.
Okay, so she needed him, but not necessarily in her bed.
He whispered his concern, apologized for making her cry, didn’t want her to hurt. Good thing he couldn’t see in her head. She was a lunatic, so spooked by her feelings for him, she could talk herself out of, or into, anything.
Despite all the right words, she saw a lifetime of wild need in his eyes. The eyes of a fire-breathing dragon, claws bared, wings spread, ready to fight for or mate with her.
“Bastian,” she whispered. “Should I be able to see your wings? Holy mother of pearl, you have wings. You are a dragon!”
“I am fighting my inner beast,” he said through clenched teeth, “a beast who does not want love to win.”
That word again. Love. He didn’t know what he was saying. “What can I do to help you?”
“Let me look at you. When I fought my inner beast after I fell, I discovered that you can become like a shield against my demon dragon.”
She stroked his brow and didn’t take her gaze from his. “Watch me. Use me as your shield. I’m honored.”
The telltale signs of his struggle stood out in stark relief, clenched teeth, delineated muscles, pain twisting his features. The way he looked the day he broke through her foundation.
Lightbulb moment. He’d been fighting his inner beast when she came down the stairs that first time. “Who’s winning? You or the beast?”
His silence made her nervous, until he sighed and shuddered. “I won. This time.”
“Shall I test the dragon?” She teased his warrior lance with her body, moved against it, teasing him and herself, and finally, she boldly cupped it through his jeans once more. “Big,” she said.
“Afraid so.”
“Bigger than the norm?”
“I’ve seen pictures, so yes, I rather think so.”
“Bastian, play the game to keep me safe. Say it’s small, tiny even, so I don’t want it. Tell me it’s not good for me. I won’t like it. You can’t possibly satisfy me. Say it.”
A grin split his face, wider than she’d seen on the rare occasions he smiled. Had he smiled before this, beyond the first day, other than to the children? “Oh, but, my Kenna, you are in for the biggest, largest, longest, most unique pleasure of your life . . . if you would but let this poor dragon into your bed.”
She swam away.
The water, warm from his body heat, added to their buoyant play, pleasure a goal for them both, yet he kept allowing her to push him away, to keep the ultimate battering ram at bay so as to keep her walls intact, more or less.
Bless him and curse him, too.
“Now really, can it possibly be as big as a battering ram?”
His warm breath tickled her ear. “McKenna Greylock,” he said. “I have in my shorts one resourceful, multitalented, prehensile dragon lance. And, in its own magnificent way, it very nearly does breathe fire.”
FORTY
When Bastian opened his eyes, he expected to find McKenna sleeping beside him at the edge of the water, but he found Lizzie on the nearby bench, Steve in his wheelchair, and the sun high in the sky.
How long had he slept? “What time is it?”
“Half past lunch,” Lizzie said. “Did McKenna throw you out last night?”
Steve chuckled.
Bastian looked over the property behind them for McKenna but saw neither her nor her ancestors. “Where did everyone go?”
“What everyone?” Lizzie said. “We’re here.”
That was when Bastian heard the children behind him and pulled his feet from the water, too late. Wyatt tossed Jock, curled into a happy ball, to Whitney, while his docile guardian emitted tiny purple puffs.
“Hey, Uncle Bastian. Look at our fun new beach ball.”
Bastian nodded.
Dewcup hovered about them, applauding. At least Whitney had sweetened his faery’s disposition. He hadn’t been cursed in a week. Both entities had fallen for the children, as the children for them.
Bastian regarded Lizzie and Steve. “Did either of you go in the water?”
Lizzie shook her head. “I’m too close to my due date and Steve can’t get out of his chair. We felt safe letting the kids play close to shore, because you’re here. We would’ve sent you in, if they were in trouble.”
“I am honored you felt you could count on me.” Bastian dusted the sand off his jeans and looked for his shirt. “Is McKenna in the house?”
Lizzie shook her head. “She must be doing errands. We thought she beat you up and left you for dead, but when we saw you breathing, we let you sleep. Is that McKenna’s bra floating near the shore?”
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