Sold To The Dragon Princes: The Novel

by Daniella Wright

  “Like this,” John said as he lifted her bent knee over his forearm.

  He was suddenly there, rubbing against her most private of places.

  “John,” she whispered, trying for shock but sounding more pleased and anticipant than anything.

  “Love,” John answered with the endearment as he slid his sex over hers, never entering but stimulating the tender flesh.

  She needed him, needed the emptiness she suddenly felt to be filled the way only he could. She arced her hips forward, her back becoming a ballerina’s curve, as she struggled for fulfillment.

  “Not yet,” John moved his own hips away, teasing her with more strokes to the slick outside of her body.

  “There, yes, there…” she cried in his ear as that bundle of nerves she didn’t know she had before him ignited with sensation.

  Her eyes closed, her head tilted forward against John’s neck, and just as she reached her explosive climax he was there inside her, stretching and filling the way she’d wanted. His movements were gentle, making her reach higher and higher. She had never known, well, that this, that she, would be so loud. She called his name again and again is she fell apart in his arms which kept her propped up against the wall. She was glad. She was certain if he let go she’d simply pool to the floor in a satisfied slump.

  His peak of pleasure followed right after hers. He let her leg slide down his muscled side, down his own strong leg. He leaned his weight against her as they breathed heavily, chests rising and falling in a dance of touching and not.

  “I cannot wait to see our children,” John said to her, rubbing a hand over her naked middle.

  “Free,” is all she said, but he knew the power of that word for her.

  Yes, free.

  Her Ruthless Husband

  ~Bonus Story~

  An Arranged Marriage Erotic Victorian Romance

  Tessa didn’t know what she thought about the whole business of marriage and domestic life, particularly after having the freedom to explore jungles, wander the desert and meet a plethora of fascinating cultures with her father.

  But she knew this was what her father wanted, and the man of his choosing happened to be the same boy she’d been madly in love with from the time she was eight years old—well, as in love as any eight year old could possibly be.

  But now that the deal had been made, and the wedding contract signed, life with Gabriel wasn’t all she’d been hoping it would be. In fact, the wild animals in the African desert had made better company than her new husband.

  Gabriel had watched his father squander it all—all that hadn’t already been squandered by his grandfather before him. His grandfather had even sold off valuable land that had been in the family for generations.

  But Gabriel was going to get it back. He was going to get it all back, even if that meant marrying the Lady Tessa Drake, the girl who’d been a gangly teenager the last time he saw her, and who had spent the past several years traipsing around the plains of Africa with her somewhat-eccentric father.

  Her family had a title and money; right from the start, their union would bolster his reserves with a hefty dowry from her father. And her family had one other thing that Gabriel wanted desperately—the land his grandfather had gambled away to hers.

  * * *

  Chapter 1

  The church had never looked so beautiful, lavishly decorated in white roses and orange blossoms, the same flowers Tessa wore in a coronet atop her head and held in her quivering hands. Her father had spared no expense, insisting on ordering a dress from the most popular couturier in Paris. It was an early morning wedding, and so the bride was expected to wear little jewelry—which was fine with her. She couldn’t be bothered with such trivialities. Aside from her mother’s small, diamond tiara, the only piece of jewelry she wore was an intricate, handmade bracelet. She’d told the young woman who gave it to her she couldn’t possibly accept such a precious item, but the woman said it would bring her good luck, and she could return it on her next trip. A borrowed item, it was fitting to wear on her wedding day, though she had no idea when she might return it to the woman now. It was unlikely her new husband would have the same penchant for travel as her father had.

  Tessa didn’t know what she thought about the whole business of marriage and domestic life, particularly after having had the freedom to explore jungles, wander the desert and meet a plethora of fascinating cultures with her father. But this was what he wanted, what he’d insisted of her.

  He beamed proudly next to her. It was odd for a man to take so much pride in a daughter, but given that she was his only child, perhaps it wasn’t so surprising. Besides, he wasn’t like other men; no other father would have allowed his daughter to go gallivanting from country to country with him all these years. As liberal as he was though, in this one area, he was adamant.

  Perchance he knew he couldn’t leave it to her to find an appropriate match. After all, his daughter was not typical marriage material. Most people in polite society would call her a blue stocking, too interested in intellectual pursuits. It wasn’t becoming of a young woman, and a particularly unfavorable quality in a young wife. It had never concerned her before; she had no interest in spending all her time in the company of polite society. In fact, she preferred to keep away from it as much as possible. Finding a husband hadn’t been of particular concern to her either, given she’d had no intention of marrying. She would have been content to continue their travels together, just her and her father.

  She sighed and fidgeted surreptitiously. She couldn't remember the last time she'd been so uncomfortable. He’d been lax with her during all their travels, so her wedding day was the first time she'd been caged in a crinoline made of steel. A heavy contraption, it reached a circumference of six yards at its widest point. And the corset she wore beneath the gown was so tightly laced, she found it difficult to draw a full breath. What woman in her right mind cared to spend all her time trapped in such constricting contraptions?

  Her father placed a hand on hers, drawing her from her musings, and she knew it was time. She’d been so caught up in her thoughts, she hadn’t noticed the bridesmaid start down the aisle ahead of her. If only Akosua could be there with her, the Ashanti woman she befriended in Africa. She would have made a far better bridesmaid than the cousin she hadn’t seen in years. Then again, the weddings there weren’t ridiculously lavish affairs like this. Akosua would probably have felt out of place.

  One more deep breath—as deep as the binding corset would allow—and she turned her attention to the task in front of her. Butterflies fluttered rapidly in her stomach as she and her father started down the aisle. She nearly froze mid-step the moment she caught sight of the man she hadn’t seen in seven years. He was standing at the altar, dressed in perfectly fitted morning coat and doeskin trousers, and even more handsome than she remembered. But he was looking at her strangely. It was as if a fire had blazed to life in his eyes. For a brief moment it left her with the feeling he was a predator and she, his prey.

  In the year before he’d left for school, he had begun to look at her that way. It had always confused her because she’d always thought it was anger flashing in his eyes. But now, even with the space that separated them, her body was responding to the fire in his gaze with a heat of its own.

  He’d recovered himself by the time she reached where he stood, and he turned to the minister with her as her father stepped back. She tried to listen to the minister’s solemn words, but the man next to her drove her to distraction and she peered up at him from behind her veil. He was the same, and yet completely different. He’d been tall and lanky when he’d gone away to Cambridge, and she hadn’t seen him since. Though he wasn’t much taller now, nothing else of his previous form remained. The breadth of his chest and the muscles of his arms filled out his clothing like they had never done before. But more than that, there was a maturity in his eyes that hadn’t been there before. It was as if the weight of the world had rested on his shoulders for too
long.

  A wave of guilt washed over her for her good fortune. She’d spent the past several years happier than she could ever have imagined, while the man who would be her husband in a matter of moments could not have had the same good fortune and look so burdened. Well, she would do what she could to lighten his load. That was what a good wife would do, wasn’t it? In truth, she couldn’t be sure. She’d spent most of her life as a young woman amid cultures very different from her own. What the wives of the Nguni tribe would do for their husbands was probably in no way similar to what was expected of an English Lady.

  She recognized her cue and held out her hand. Gabriel’s clear, deep voice recited the words spoken by the minister as she watched his fingers slip the ring onto her own. Her brow furrowed as tiny sparks of heat radiated up her arm, originating from where his fingers made contact with her skin. The sensation made her acutely aware of his nearness.

  The remainder of the ceremony passed by in a blur. Before she knew it, she was scrawling her maiden name in the registry—a name she would sign for the last time—and leaving the church with her husband. She was married. In a matter of moments, her life had changed completely. She was no longer free to explore foreign places and meet people from a plethora of different cultures. She was the Duchess of Westmoreland. The only comfort to be found was in the man standing next to her. They had met when she was nine years old, days after his family had taken up permanent residence at the manor that had been in his family for centuries.

  The wedding breakfast, though immensely grand, passed by in the same blur. She carried on dozens of conversations with family, old friends and complete strangers, and yet she couldn’t recall a single word she’d said. It was all too overwhelming; there were too many people and too much noise. She fervently hoped her new husband didn’t intend for them to spend the Season in London—an endless parade of parties and galas, theaters and operas that she had heretofore managed to avoid thanks to her father’s travels. Gabriel had always preferred his family’s country estate to their townhouse in London, from what she could recall of their childhood, but a great deal of time had passed since then. She couldn’t expect him to be the same boy she’d idolized as a child.

  He sat next to her now with his back straight and his shoulders stiff, as rigid as he’d looked during the ceremony and wedding breakfast, too. Their guests had kept them engaged in conversation the past several hours, but now, alone together, she had no idea what to say. Though they’d once conversed easily, it seemed that was no longer the case.

  “May I ask where we will be going?” she queried, wondering where he intended for them to spend their honeymoon and finding nothing else to discuss.

  “I thought you would recognize your surroundings, Tess. Certainly you haven’t been away so long you’ve forgotten.”

  Of course she hadn’t forgotten. She’d just thought…

  “We’ll reach Westmoreland in a few moments,” he continued curtly.

  He had no intention of a honeymoon, but maybe that was for the best. Perhaps amid familiar surroundings, they’d find the easy camaraderie they once shared. It was to Westmoreland she would run every morning as a child, long before the sun rose in the sky. Far away from its immaculate gardens, he educated her in the art of sword fighting, sparring with swords and with words. It had always been her favorite time of day, the thing she looked forward to most above any other. He’d grown distant in the year before he had left for Cambridge, but she was hopeful some remnants of the boy she’d known still remained.

  Precisely three minutes later, the carriage started up the long drive that led to the manor. By the time they reached the top, it seemed every servant of the manor had made their way out onto the front lawn. What on earth were they doing? Had there been a fire? She saw no sign of smoke or flames.

  Gabriel smiled at her with tight lips, but a hint of merriment shone in his eyes. “Prepare yourself, my lady,” he whispered as he leaned down, so close she could feel his warm breath against her ear.

  She looked up at him questioningly, wondering what the servants were doing out on the lawn, and at the same time, why even Gabriel’s breath made her skin tingle in response.

  He alighted from the carriage without another word and turned to offer his hand. The lawn was silent as she descended, but he wrapped her arm around his and turned them toward the silent crowd.

  “Behold the Duchess of Westmoreland, your new mistress,” he announced in the strong, confident tone she remembered so well. The second he finished, a cheer rose up nearly making her jump.

  “You are serving me when you serve her,” he continued as the servants quieted. “What loyalty you give her, you are giving to me.”

  A cheer even more enthusiastic than the last went up as he led her up the steps to the house. “A tradition as old as the first Duke of Westmoreland,” he explained.

  Inside the manor, he released her arm. “I have some things to attend to, but Mrs. Finch will help reacquaint you with the manor.”

  And that was the last she saw of her new husband the entire evening. Hours passed, and eventually she climbed into bed, butterflies fluttering anew in her stomach. She’d hoped to have the opportunity to become reacquainted with Gabriel, to grow comfortable with him before this time. But she laid there now waiting for his footsteps to approach. He would come to her, and he would make her his. She was aware of what took place between a husband and a wife on their wedding night. Though every culture seemed to have its own customs, this was one that appeared uniform, and she awaited it anxiously.

  If it had been any other man, her nerves would have overwhelmed her, but it wasn’t any other man. It was Gabriel, the man she’d loved for so long. And truth be told, she was looking forward to it far more than a woman should—though she would never admit it aloud. Of course she was nervous; what bride wouldn’t be? But she wanted to know what his lips felt like against hers; what his body felt like beneath her fingers. And it was more than curiosity that had her wondering what it would be like to feel him inside her.

  Akosua had said it was quite pleasurable, and though she couldn’t logically fathom how it could be so, some part deep inside her knew Akosua had spoken the truth. It knew that Gabriel would make her body feel things she’d never experienced—never even fathomed—before.

  Another hour passed, and then one more, and she continued to lie there. Not a single footstep sounded in the hall. Well after midnight, she exhaled heavily, trying to breath away the disappointment and humiliation. He wasn’t coming. His cold indifference to her hadn’t been a result of a preoccupation with the day’s events. It was precisely what it seemed—cold indifference.

  How on earth her wedding day had gone so horribly wrong?

  Chapter 2

  Gabriel had kept his distance and delayed the inevitable as long as he could. He stood outside his bedroom, his hand poised against the door, hoping he’d given Tess enough time to fall asleep.

  The day had gone horribly wrong, right from the moment he’d first glimpsed his lovely bride. And that was precisely the problem—she was lovely, absolutely beautiful. He hadn’t seen Tessa in seven years, and yet his response to her was even more potent now than it had been then. Damn her father to hell! At the altar, even with the veil obscuring her features, her crystal blue eyes had captivated him and her cupid bow lips beckoned. Most of her dark, silken hair had trailed down her back, so unlike the fashionable updos worn by other ladies. So different, it was almost scandalous—and he loved it, even if he could never admit it. He’d almost forgotten how thoroughly Tessa loved to shun the expectations placed on her by society.

  But it didn’t matter; it didn’t matter how much his body longed to take her, to make her his. He wouldn’t do it. This marriage was to be one of convenience. It was a business contract and nothing more. He had no intention of treating her poorly—he could never do that. But nor did he intend to indulge in any of the more pleasurable aspects of the marital relationship.

  With tha
t thought fresh in his mind, he pushed open the door, willing her to be fast asleep despite his firm resolve. But crystal blue eyes looked up at him from his bed. She hadn’t even doused the lights.

  She was nervous—he could see it in her expressive eyes—but she didn’t look away. She didn’t slink down in the bed or pull the covers up to her stubborn, little chin. She laid there with her arms at her sides in a gossamer nightgown that did little to conceal the delicious curves that laid beneath.

  Heat flared and coursed through his veins, the mere sight of her setting his body on fire. It was ridiculous. He wasn’t some bumbling virgin—he hadn’t been that for a very long time—and he had no intention of sampling the delectable woman in his bed.

  Forcing his gaze away, he strode across the room, dousing the lights and stripping down to his trousers. There was no way he was going to climb into bed naked—not that the thin fabric that separated them would do much to stop him if he lost his resolve.

  He fidgeted with his clothes, laying them over the chair next to the bed while she continued to lay there in silence, so close. So damn close. But eventually, he could put it off no longer. Steeling himself with determination, he slipped into bed, keeping as much distance between them as possible.

  And he laid there, listening to her quiet breathing. In the dim light, he watched the rise and fall of her chest out the corner of his eye, his own breath coming quicker every time the simple motion pushed her breasts firmly against the thin fabric of her gown. His fingers itched to touch her, to cup her breasts in his hands and tease her nipples to hardened peaks. He would lean down then, leaving a damp trail of kisses in the valley between her breasts before he captured first one and then the other nipple in his mouth, making her moan. Her back would arch innately, her body silently begging for more, and he would be most happy to oblige her, tasting every inch of her supple flesh.