“We have a decent amount,” he replies, his eyes dropping to the triangle of chest I’ve exposed. I don’t stop unbuttoning, watching his face.
“Do you believe love should be separated by rules and protocols, Khal?” I ask softly, trailing my fingers down the swath of exposed skin. His eyes are hot as he stares at that skin, my shirt just covering the tips of my breasts but exposing the rounded curves of my cleavage. It takes him some time to raise his eyes back up to my face, and when he does the edges of his scales are brighter, his eyes glittering.
He stares long and hard and the air is crackling between us. My own breath catches, my heart beating faster. Will he give in? Will he admit that his leaders here are wrong, claim me the way we both clearly want him to?
He swallows, shakes his head, and starts to turn away. Every muscle in my body tenses and my nostrils flare. I grab his hand, as if I could physically stop him from leaving if I wanted to. I don’t know what I’m expecting.
He whirls around. Cold fear runs over me as he grabs my arms and lifts me off my feet. I’m less than an inch from his eyes. My breath bursts from my lungs at the abrupt movement, my eyes widen, but that’s all the time I have to react.
The next instant, his hand is tangled in my hair and his mouth is on mine. All thoughts leave my head as he kisses me with a passion I’ve never experienced before. His taste fills me, the feel of his body against me, the hard and sure way he crushes against my body.
My whole body is on fire, tingles running throughout. Is this what he was feeling all along? How has he been holding back? With a sigh, I soften against him. My mouth molds against his as I slide my hands up his muscled arms, but he pulls away, completely out of my arms, setting me back on the ground.
My now-empty hands tingle and I drop them, then open my eyes. His burn with a fire that matches my own. His mouth parts as he draws in quick breaths, but then he takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, his mask settling onto his face.
“This is inappropriate,” he says harshly.
I don’t know if he is trying to convince me or himself. I’m not sure even he knows.
I take a step toward him, hot, wet air brushing against my bare skin.
“Is it?” I ask, my whisper loud in the quiet.
He stares, clearly struggling with himself, and there’s no denying the massive tent in his loose robes just below his waist. I watch the war in his eyes, between desire and duty. His body quivers, his hands start to rise, but ultimately he falls on the side of duty.
Silent, he turns and leaves, leaving me to bathe in the spring alone. Gritting my teeth I turn my back to the tunnel. His loss.
Except it’s not his alone. It’s mine. The coiled spring in my core pounds desire with every beat of my heart. Blood burns hot and I still taste his lips on mine, feel the pressure of his hard, muscled body pressed into mine.
Screw it.
Sliding out of my clothes, not caring if he’s watching or anyone else is, I sit down on the edge of the warm water. Sliding partway in, enough that the water comes to my waist, I run my hands over my stomach and down between my legs.
Pressing hard against my opening I apply pressure to my clit, closing my eyes and holding onto the memory of what happened.
As soon as I touch myself a gasp escapes. My heart doubles its beating and in only two or three rubs I’m breathing in shallow, soft moans. His hands. So strong, gripping me tight. His mouth claiming mine.
Claiming me.
Never in my life has one kiss, one moment been so passionate, so filled with desire, or so dominating.
Pressing harder, I slide one finger inside myself and my body explodes. Muscles tighten, toes curl, my back arches, and I slide into the water up to my neck. The warmth of the springs adds a layer of sensation as my nipples are covered by it.
I’m left shaking and gasping in air as the orgasm passes.
Floating, alone, I know. I have to make him see. I have to make Khal mine.
15
KHAL
I wait in the tunnel, far enough inside that I cannot see into the cavern holding the spring, but I do hear the splashing of the water, the sounds of Ashlee bathing. I try not to think about her naked and wet just behind me, but it is a losing battle.
I take a deep breath, trying to slow the racing of my heart, the thoughts that keep wanting to invade. No. I must remain strong. Must remain disciplined. I keep repeating this to myself, though it is not as successful as I would hope. Meaning, not successful at all.
Clenching my fists tight enough that my nails draw blood, I struggle to remain in control. Duty wars with desire. My prime cock throbs, demanding its need be met, but I am of the Order. I am trained and will not fold.
“Ahhh.” Her voice echoes off the stone walls of the tunnel.
I rush forward, certain something is wrong. The sound wasn’t one of pain, or fear, but why would she cry out?
I’m not out of the tunnel when I see her leaning against the edge of the pool. Her hand is between her legs while the other is running over the swell of her oddly exposed and incredibly erotic breasts. She moans again and now it’s clear that the sound is one of pleasure.
Staring, my hearts stop, no breath. I don’t move a muscle.
Is she?
Her body arches and thrashes in the water. She is.
As her body breaks the water soft fur comes into view between her legs where her hand works furiously. In this aspect she is akin to what I recall of Zmaj females. Her breasts, soft mounds that are open and exposed, are an erotic delight and nothing like the Zmaj females were when they existed. My mouth waters and my fingers tingle at the thought of touching them, tasting them.
She rubs furiously between her legs and there is no more resistance possible. Pulling up my robe I grab my prime and stroke, moving in time with her own stroking. She’s moving fast and I won’t last long.
Her moans grow louder. I bite my tongue to keep silent, not wanting to give away that I’m watching her in this private moment, that I’m participating to some degree. My balls pull tight as I stroke faster, harder. She’s building to an edge and I’m right there with her.
She moans then cries out, a long low sound that echoes off the stone walls. Her body arches, her stroking stops, and in that moment of her release I let my own go as well. My seed flies out, splattering on the stone wall and dripping to the ground. It continues to pump out, more than I’ve ever seen, going on and on.
Finally it finishes at the same time as she lowers back into the water and floats. I step back farther into the tunnel, unwilling to be seen. I retreat up the tunnel and wait. Eventually I hear Ashlee exit the water and her footsteps drawing closer toward the drying cloths.
Everything in me wants to turn around, wants to walk over to her. Wants to finish what she started only moments ago, but I do not. I hold strong, cling to my duty. Cling to my sense of self. It is painful.
When I hear the rustle of clothes being put on, I carefully compose my face. She must not know how much her advance affected me or that I saw her in her moment of privacy. I must remain strong against any further attempts on her part. I can’t give in to her. If I did I know I’d betray the Order and I can’t do that.
Stilling myself, I turn around when I hear her much lighter footsteps enter the tunnel. She glances at me only briefly before continuing on past me.
“You didn’t have to wait for me,” she informs me, cool tones over her usually warm voice.
Surprised at the turn, I do not follow her immediately, but when she continues walking, I quickly take a few steps to close the distance between us.
“You require an escort while here in Order territory,” I return.
She nods stiffly, not even turning her head to look at me. I frown at her delicate profile, at a loss. This is not the Ashlee that I have grown to know over the last two days. She seems upset. Upset on a deeper level than I can fathom.
For the first time, her company is cold. The walk back from the spri
ng leaves me...uneasy. And not because of the tingles of attraction I’ve come to expect between us. I remain silent next to her as we continue to walk, pondering this change and how much I do not like it.
The Order has trained me to assume I do not need love. The Order is enough to meet all of my needs. It is a truth, a fact that I have never questioned. The Devastation reinforced the idea for me. The Order is the only reason that I am still alive, that I still have purpose after the fall of our civilization.
And yet.
And yet.
I look over at Ashlee once more. I would be deluding myself if I continued to deny that this woman does not light up every circuit within me. That her cunning and wit do not draw my admiration, do not filter into my dreams, into my consciousness. I have been unable to curtail thoughts of her for days now. Long enough to know that I will not be able to.
And now, after that kiss...
The thought of it, of my duty to the Order, is not quite so strong, fading into the background as thoughts of claiming Ashlee for my own take its place. I cannot stop thinking about the passion with which I would take her. How I would touch her. How I would worship her.
I feel like a changed man when we open the door and enter the room with Archion and Nora. She walks me to the door leading out. I turn to the object of my obsession, not knowing what I want to say, but needing to say something.
“Thank you,” she says curtly.
I feel the loss of her warmth like a blow.
“Ashlee—”
“Good night,” she murmurs, soft and final.
Before I can respond with any words of my own, she closes the door. I stare at the hard barrier. I’m more alone than I can ever remember feeling. Sighing, I turn away. I suppose I deserve it.
There is no point in running from myself anymore. The emotional armor that I believed I was erecting against Ashlee was a deception from the beginning. A lie I let myself believe. The truth is, the moment I laid eyes on her, I have not been able to rest.
No amount of sparring, of considering the possible promotion, or anything else that was once a goal or dream penetrates the cloud of emotion that rose in me upon her entrance into my life. My chest aches hard enough I wonder if I took a hit I missed in training. I am beginning to think that I might understand exactly what Archion experienced with Nora.
And... perhaps it is worth fighting for, but I cannot do anything about that now.
Replaying every moment we’ve been together in my thoughts, I storm away to my room. Slamming the door behind me I pace the small space that is allotted as mine. This can’t be happening, not now, not ever. Rolling my shoulders to relieve the tension doesn’t work.
Perhaps I can fight off my frustrations by expending energy against the other Zmaj warriors there to practice. Leaving my rooms, I make my way to the sparring rings. There’s a lower warrior lingering, waiting for a partner, so I nod to him. He nods back and we step into an area of hard packed sand marked out for bouts.
We pace off, stop and stare at each other, then salute. The moment he straightens I attack, rushing in close, throwing fast jabs with my fists. He backs up on the defense. Feinting with my left I swing my tail right and sweep his feet out from under him. He goes down hard, his head slamming against the ground. He doesn’t move fast enough and before he can rise again I pin him until he concedes defeat.
Rising off of him I offer a hand. He takes it and I pull him to his feet.
“Train more,” I say. “Harder.”
“Yes sir,” he says, saluting me again and leaving the ring.
As I’m turning to look for another partner someone calls my name.
“Khal!”
I turn and see Typhon, Thargar, and Reoz watching me from the far side of the arena. They are higher warriors, a group that does not usually deal much with midrange warriors like myself, but they have been attempting to be more inclusive, inviting me into their fold more as of late.
A result of Tashak’s approval, perhaps. Their attention is enough to cut through the doubts. I nod then walk over to them. I can’t deny it is an honor for a midrange warrior to be considered for a higher seat. Their attention is a sign of my progression in the ranks of the Order.
“Good fight,” Typhon comments. “Perhaps you need someone with some more experience, though. He didn’t really present a challenge, now did he?”
“Perhaps,” I agree. I gesture toward another open practice space. “Would you like to spar?”
An easy grin spreads across his face, arrogance beaming. It’s a common trait among most of the higher warriors. They’ve earned it, of that there’s no doubt. They have the skill to back up that arrogance.
“I would love to,” he says, cracking his knuckles, then stretching out his wings and tail.
“Do not go overboard,” Thargar warns.
“Of course not. Besides, Khal is an excellent fighter,” Typhon says.
I do not respond to any of the byplay between the two. They’ve been treating me like a golden child now and I am of mixed feelings about it. I have not changed since last week and the only thing that has changed is Tashak’s approval. That does not sit well, but I cannot focus on that now.
Typhon and I enter the ring. He pulls his lochaber off his back and my stomach rolls. He intends this to be a more serious bout if we’ll be using the traditional weapon of the Zmaj. Most battles are unarmed, such as mine with the lower warrior.
A dull ache forms in the back of my head as I reach for my own weapon. He leans his against his shoulder and gives me a quarter bow which I return, but my own is in full. Respect is earned and he has earned his. The familiar, simple motions stop all other thought and I’m in my center. My muscles alight, sparking with fire as my body prepares to fight, responding to the threat Typhon represents.
He moves faster than I can blink, swinging his lochaber in sweeping circles then slicing in from my left, not telegraphing his movement at all. I move fast, avoiding the blow, spinning around and slashing at his flowing robes, but he is not where my blade slices.
Whirling around, I barely dodge a kick.
I focus harder. This is no lower-level warrior. His speed and skill would tell me that even if I did not know.
His grin widens to almost a smile and he gives a slight nod of appreciation that I came so close to hitting him. We separate, putting a few feet between us, and each fall into a ready stance, facing off against each other.
“You’re getting better,” he taunts.
“Thank you,” I say, remaining humble, knowing that he’s trying to get into my thoughts, knock me off my center.
I will not play that game with him.
“So, you’ve seen the newcomers,” he says. “What do you think, Khal? Any worthy mating material among these strangers? Rumors are flying.”
He twirls his lochaber in front and around him with blinding speed. It whistles through the air making a music of its own, the music of battle.
“That is not a subject I feel free to discuss,” I say stiffly.
My inner dragon roars defensively at his putting attention on Ashlee. She is mine. None may have her but me.
Something must show in my eyes that he picks up on. The grin is a wide smile and he chuckles before he moves. I don’t see it coming. The butt of his lochaber catches me upside the head, knocking me to one side.
Pain explodes, blasting away thoughts and filling my head with stars.
Blinded I drop and roll, feeling his lochaber slicing through the air where I was a moment ago. Rolling to one side I stop and leap to my feet, using my tail to rise higher, spreading my wings while swinging my lochaber quickly in front of me, making a defensive shield against any incoming attack.
Shaking my head, the stars clear slowly and my vision returns. But the anger is now pure, burning through, using doubts, fears, and frustration as its fuel.
Typhon rushes, pressing his advantage, but I’m ready. Ducking down and keeping my lochaber spinning, I catch the blade of his
weapon with the shaft of my own, blocking his blow, but more importantly stopping him from pulling it back. A twist and thrust and he loses his grip, his weapon flying across the ring to land with a clatter.
His eyes widen and for the first time I see doubt in his eyes. He moves backward and I press the attack. Swinging, stabbing, and thrusting, forcing him to dodge each of my blows as he tries to work his way to his fallen weapon.
I don’t let up. He threatened her subtly, but I don’t care. She is mine. None may touch her. He may not even look at her with a hint of desire or I will cut it out of him and feed it to him while he bleeds out before me.
He ducks a blow then shoulder-rolls over to his weapon, picking it up as he rolls across it, but I’m on him before he can bring it to bear.
Swinging hard, with every intention of taking his head, I stop the instant my blade almost meets his neck. His wide eyes stare as we both pant, breathless.
“Yield,” I huff.
Slowly, he nods. The sound of a dozen men gasping fills the arena. I take my blade away and store it on my back, offering my hand to Typhon. He takes it, rising.
We stare at each other. My hearts pound, breath coming in ragged gasps. Never have I performed so well. It’s clear in his eyes he didn’t consider the possibility I might beat him. I hadn’t considered it possible either, until his subtle threat to Ashlee.
Everything changed in that instant. It wasn’t a fight for me then, it was survival, protecting her.
“Good fight,” he says.
“Thank you,” I say, stepping back far enough to give him a full bow.
There is no point in antagonizing him or the others. The group of them stare, their gazes making my scales itch. Ashlee dominates my thoughts, images of her flitting through my mind, making it impossible for me to read the situation before me.
Are they angry? Will they respect me or target me? Doubts rise, but a messenger interrupts before anything else can happen. He races up, bows to Typhon, then to me.
“Tashak would like to meet with you,” he says.
Dragon's Temptation: A SciFi Alien Romance (Red Planet Dragons of Tajss Book 15) Page 11