Dragon's Revenge

by Debi Ennis Binder

  Mayra and Wolfe exchanged surprised looks. She hadn’t known anyone else was planning to return to Nesht with the Brens and Jannia. The wave of sadness that went through her surprised her even more. Winter was ending in her homeland; within weeks, leaves would turn the trees green, and then erupt in flowers. Flowers would bloom and the sounds of birds and insects would permeate the palace gardens. Young animals would be born. She sighed softly. Perhaps she needed to return home for just a little while.

  She looked up to find Wolfe’s eyes on her. He seemed to read her thoughts, bending down close to her to ask if she wanted to accompany the Brens back to Nesht.

  “No, not yet,” she replied and smiled. “I want to see the Spryng here at the Aerie. Perhaps we could go back, later in the year.”

  Mayra stifled a yawn. She was still slightly sore in places, but more than that, she was tired! Perhaps even ready for bed in the middle of the day. Warmth stirred in her. She had gotten little sleep the previous night. But she had two questions for Gaulte—

  “Gaulte, where do the younglings hide during danger?” she asked.

  “There is a chamber that leads out from the corridor of our chambers,” he replied at once. “It’s at the other end of our chambers. When Plyn af’Nanyn came that day, there wasn’t time to get to it.”

  Mayra nodded. She wanted to ask Gaulte if he had started to use Dragon-Song in the Roost to stop Hagan, but she stopped as she realized that she had almost pointed out to the Aerie that Gaulte had nearly lost control of himself. If Gaulte had used his ability to project the powerfully loud notes and vibrations of a Dragon-Song throughout the Roost, he would have disabled Hagan; but he would have destroyed many eggs—perhaps all the eggs. But he had stopped in time.

  She had only just refrained from using her magic herself—but only because she didn’t want Hagan to know where she was and she didn’t want to harm Wolfe, Fleura, or Fyrid. She really hadn’t given the eggs that much thought at the time.

  She stole a glance at Hesta. Hesta was still gazing at her with that same strange, thoughtful look. Mayra felt those beautiful green eyes boring into her, and it made her shoulders twitch. Why in the world was Hesta staring at her so? What was she thinking?

  Chapter Forty-Four

  The Ceshon Aerie

  Day twenty of the First Moon of Wynter

  Wolfe dropped the book he was leafing through into his lap and interlaced his fingers behind his head. He leaned back in his chair as he watched Mayra search the top of their table for her comb. She had been chattering off and on for almost an hour, mainly about Hesta’s odd expressions. Had Wolfe seen the red dragon anywhere this afternoon? Had he talked to Hesta about anything strange lately?

  Mayra didn’t wait for an answer to any of her questions.

  Wolfe shook his head as she vanished back into the small room at the bath of their chamber where the huge rock tub sat. She quickly reappeared, still talking, but more to herself. He started to ask her a question but as she held out her hands by the fire to warm them; she gave a long sigh and said she would find Hesta the following day. Wolfe opened his book again, but he found himself more interested in watching his mate.

  Mayra finished untangling her hair and stood close to the fire to dry her loose, wet locks. She was wearing a sheer shift and nothing more. As she rose, Wolfe looked up again and this time, he froze.

  She was backlit by the fire, and the curves of her body showed through the shift, as though she were nude. She flung her hair over her breasts, and bent over to brush it, presenting her bottom to him. He could take no more. When she straightened, he was already next to her. Her surprise turned to a sultry smile.

  As she started to speak, Wolfe bent and touched his lips to hers. Hers parted at once, inviting him in, asking him to delve into her, while his hands slid down her back to grasp the bottom of her shift and pull it upward. The sweet scent of her soap surrounded him, released by the heat of the bath and the fire. He raised her shift but her hands had tightened in the fabric of his tunic. Although her eyes remained closed, she deftly turned the fasteners, pulled the cloth apart, and pushed it off him. Wolfe ran his hands up to cup her bare breasts, running his thumbs across her nipples. Her eyes flew open, and—

  “Oh!”

  Her small gasp fired him; they briefly parted as Wolfe snatched off both garments and dropped them to the floor. Her busy hands slid down his chest toward the laces that held his breeches together. When she expertly unlaced and parted them, he gave a huff of laughter.

  “Have you been practicing?” he asked gruffly.

  She raised her eyes to meet his, slowly licked her bottom lip, and a jolt of desire went through him. Her hands returned to the task of stripping him, sliding over his skin as she proceeded. Her hands were warm and soft as they went over his buttocks and then down, taking the garment with them.

  He finished undressing himself so quickly that Mayra burst into laughter.

  “Are you sure you use a bit of magic to help with your clothing?” she demanded.

  “Come here, elf,” he whispered hoarsely, drawing her into his arms. Wolfe hesitated, ready to pull her down onto the rug in front of the fire—but no. He scooped her up—his armful of bare, elegant, weightless elf—and carried her to their bed.

  * * *

  Mayra barely had time to breathe before she was in their bed, her hair flying out behind her and cascading over the pillows. They lay fully exposed in the bed, the coldness of the room bringing goosebumps to her flesh, until Wolfe drew her small body up alongside his, and warmed her. After several minutes, Wolfe rolled her onto her back. He rested his weight on his forearms, allowing his skin to slide against hers as he crawled over her.

  “I will not cause greater pain to those places where others harmed you,” he whispered. Then, he gently pressed his lips to her shoulder and then her neck, bestowing gentle kisses on areas still tender and bruised. He was promising to remember those aching areas were there while he turned her body into a blazing, panting mass of desire, oversensitive to his touches, but unable to stop begging for more.

  As though he’d heard her, Wolfe’s lips closed around a nipple, he drew back—and Mayra took a great, gasping breath as she twisted her fingers into his thick hair. Wolfe jerked his head up, and she stared into eyes that were smoldering flames beneath blue ice. These were eyes that could terrify a warrior but vowed only passion and pleasure for her.

  He splayed his fingers over her flat abdomen. She felt her skin and muscles quake and quiver beneath his hand, and he chuckled.

  Mayra loved being this close to Wolfe, so close she could see the sweep of his long, black lashes shadowing his eyes, the black stubble on his face, the sheen of his long, thick hair. He seemed to want nothing more at that moment than to explore her body, so she did the same, running her fingertips over the slabs of muscles across his shoulders and arms—relishing the way the her body shivered with the sensation of feeling Wolfe’s skin next to hers.

  The spasms deep between her legs intensified as she traced the lines of his tattoos, wondering what the many strange shapes and lines meant. As she pressed her fingers more firmly against the lines, those ripples intensified until she stopped with a gasp. Wolfe had told her his tattoos were magic. The pure, pulsing desire that filled her was so sudden she was certain of at least one kind of magic the tattoos symbolized and enhanced—arousal! She couldn’t help stopping a moment to wonder if magic was enabling the tattoos to focus Wolfe’s intense passion back to her.

  Wolfe’s lips found their way back to her nipple, and she gasped. No, the magic that Wolfe made her feel was his magic alone, his lips, his hands, his—

  “Kiss me again,” she whispered suddenly. She never wanted to control herself with him, to hide her emotions, to feel shy or embarrassed. She wanted him to know exactly what he did to her, what he made her feel.

  Those full lips, wonderfully soft for a man who spent so much time outdoors, gently touched hers, hovered, and then swooped down. His tongue
delved into her mouth and slid down her tongue, and fire burst within her. She could feel his quickening breath, matching her own. She relaxed against soft, fragrant pillows and gave herself wholly to her mate.

  Those big hands were rough, yet wonderfully gentle against her soft skin as he cupped her breasts. His thumbs flicked across her nipples, and she jerked as a bolt of pleasure shot through her body. He was still then, and she opened her eyes to slits. Wolfe’s face hovered right above hers. One side of his lips lifted into his roguish smile.

  “Why aren’t you opening your eyes?” he asked softly.

  “I want to be surprised when you touch me,” she replied. She gave him a saucy grin and promptly closed her eyes again.

  He chuckled and returned his lips to hers, to kiss her slowly—his tongue gently seeking hers. He abruptly arose from beside her and, as his hands parted her legs, she opened one eye to peek at him.

  Before she could see what he was doing, one large hand cupped the soft flesh between her legs, and she gasped at the touch. She tingled at the feel of his hand, wonderfully cool against her damp, heated skin.

  “You are a tiny elf,” he whispered with a wicked grin. “I shall have to work at rousing you still more, my sweet.”

  More? When she was already panting and trembling?

  “You won’t hurt me,” she said, pursing her lips in a flirtatious pout.

  “Oh, but I must make sure of that,” he returned, and gave action to that declaration by sliding a finger into her heat, and chuckling when her muscles clutched around him, her head fell back, and her eyelids fluttered. His long strokes drew soft cries from her. His fingers grew damper as his tender, tickling caresses grew firmer and went deeper.

  When his touches suddenly stopped, Mayra raised her head with a gasp, and she glared at him. He chuckled, slipped his arm around her waist, and pulled her to him.

  “Oh no,” she whispered through her teeth, “you’re going to do what I want!” And she took a long breath and pushed against him with her hands.

  Wolfe, with a surprised look, sat back on his legs and caught her up to him.

  “What are you doing?” he demanded, then brushed his lip down her neck.

  “I want to overpower you,” she whispered, splaying her hands across his chest. “I want to sit atop you! It’s my turn to be master.”

  * * *

  Wolfe stared at her. Overpower him? Sit atop him? Her turn to be master? For some reason, those sweet demands inflamed him nearly as much as touching her did.

  “Wolfe, I want you now.” She raised herself onto her knees to kiss him; at the same time, her eager hands slid down between his legs, seeking him. Her slender fingers wrapped around him; this time, it was his eyelids that quivered, his breath that caught at the heat of her touch.

  She stroked him and the little witch knew exactly what she was doing. Taking control!

  “A battle for domination in the bed?” he growled. “I am eager for that, my sweet, given that I will certainly win!”

  Her mouth fell open. “You think so, just because you’re bigger than I am?” She slanted a look up at him. “We shall see who wins.”

  With that, she flung her arms around his neck and pressed her soft breasts against his chest. As her lips slipped across his chest, she slid those wicked hands back down between his legs and returned to the exploring that was threatening to drive him mad—and to allow her to win!

  “How impatient you are, my sweet,” he teased, but he did not move back from her eager hands, or her lips. She silenced him for several minutes, teasing him with her nibbling lips and bantering with his tongue as he sucked in her tiny moans and enraptured sighs

  Wolfe caught her chin in his fingers and raised her face to his. “We have neglected our lovemaking. I must taste that sweetness and perhaps dampen that soft and tiny passage still further ere I shall easily fit there.”

  Her eyes widened, but Wolfe was certain she still did not understand what he planned. She released him; before she could move—

  “Oof!”

  Mayra was back in the pillows, on her back, and Wolfe was again over her, sliding his hands down her body. He touched her breasts, but lightly, for that was not what he sought. His hands returned to her thighs, and he slowly parted them; she cried out her pleasure when he gently touched the hot, silky skin beneath her soft, blond curls. A quiver went through her as an inarticulate gurgle escaped her. Another wave of heat washed through Wolfe, inflamed by her fervent cries of pleasure—and by the warm scent of her arousal.

  His lips ran the length of her body. He paused to swirl a tongue around each nipple and around her navel before doing as he had promised. He pressed his lips to the soft, blond triangle.

  “Wolfe?” she began, alarmed. “Wha—?” Wolfe had slid his hands under her bottom. He drew her closer to him. His tongue slid into her, possessing her as no man ever had. “Oh, Wolfe!” she cried.

  Her back arched, bringing her body closer to his lips and tongue. His hands tightened on her, capturing her. He continued to tease and torment her, pausing occasionally to enjoy her gasps and moans, and then returning to plundering her charms. Mayra was writhing with fervent abandon, and Wolfe was rapidly losing control of his own desire. He had been determined to show her his mastery over her—but hearing her, seeing her, was proving too erotic.

  He ground his teeth. Wouldn’t denial bring greater release once he was the winner of their little challenge?

  She was getting closer and closer to losing control. He almost had to press her into the mattress, his hands firmly on her hips as he struggled to keep her within reach of his tormenting lips.

  * * *

  Mayra was writhing amid the sheets, awash in a sensory storm, her connection with the world around her long gone. All she knew was that each time he paused, raised his head, and gazed at her with passion-darkened eyes, she wanted more of his shockingly intimate caresses, his fervently seeking—ruthless—tongue and lips, giving her pleasure in a way she’d never known a man could kiss her!

  She arched her back, moaning, her fingers twisted in the sheets, when it started—the intense, breathtaking joy that began at the core of that secret place that Wolfe was assaulting with such abandon, and shot through her entire body in waves of unceasing, weakening ecstasy.

  “Wolfe,” she cried out. Her heart was pounding, and her entire body quivered. It felt as though everything within her was on fire. She could feel Wolfe moving up her, dragging his lips over her sensitive breasts. Then up her neck until he reached her lips.

  His kiss parted her lips. How strange—her eyes opened at the salty taste.

  “What is that, Wolfe?” Her eyes widened, and she felt herself reddening. “Is that how I taste?” She ran the point of her tongue over his lips—a maddeningly arousing touch, if the fire that ignited in his eyes was any indicator.

  “That is how you taste. It is a taste and a scent that belongs to a woman and to nothing else in our world,” he said as he pulled her down into his arms and turned over onto her. “And you are a seductive witch!” he breathed.

  He took her hand and guided it down his flat, rippling stomach, to touch him again. He rolled over on his back and let her explore him now, and as she did, he realized he was losing this wonderful battle. Just as he reached for her, her warm, soft lips closed over the tip of him, and ever so gently, she drew back on him. His entire body went weak with pleasure. He almost could not bear to watch her red lips and tongue work their way up and down him. Finally, he sat up and grabbed her up to him. He didn’t want her to finish—he wanted to be within her, sharing the pleasure.

  Mayra gasped as he bore her to the bed, his leg slipping between her legs. She quickly parted her legs wider to accommodate her large man, and he settled between those legs. Mayra could sense that Wolfe was being as gentle as his rising passion would permit, for as he entered her, he paused after every gentle thrust, and she could see him grinding his teeth. But that was driving her mad! She wrapped her legs around him, a
rched her back up against him, and used her legs to encourage him to—

  Mayra gave a little cry which became a laugh and a loud gasp as he slid in completely. He held her to him.

  Oh, God, how could such a small part of her body take such complete control of the rest of it? It was almost painful to have Wolfe fill her so tightly, until he moved within her, and then her muscles turned to water.

  He won—“You won,” she gasped. “But I still—want to be on top.”

  Just not now. Not now—that timeless rhythm began, their silence filled with soft cries and moans, lips meeting lips as they moved together, faster—

  She felt him swell within her, just as her own passion reached its peak and her fingers dug into his back as wave after wave of ecstasy swept through her body. She cried out as she felt his climax, felt his seed fill her; that intimacy added a nearly unbearable thrill to her pleasure.

  * * *

  Mayra was exhausted. Wolfe held her to him, kissing her gently, speaking to her softly in his odd, musical language, rocking her slowly, until she was asleep. He untangled himself from her arms and legs to dim the lights, then pulled the sheets and quilts up over them. Still asleep, she returned to his arms, and slept soundly, until, near the middle of the night, she turned over; her silky skin brushed his, and he awakened.

  There certainly wasn’t a battle for who would be the master this time. Wolfe stayed within the heat beneath the quilts and sheets as he explored her, chuckling at her bleary response.

  She was wide awake as soon as he slid into her, her eyes widening to his fierce lovemaking, to an inundation of her senses: his hot lips upon her,. His thrusts became deeper, harder, as a hard, pounding passion spread through him. Mayra’s lips parted; her face showed she was elated with his tempestuous, passionate lovemaking, for her cries, thought muted, were nearly breathless with her own passion. This time, when he collapsed in her arms, she brushed back his damp hair and whispered, “I fear I find it difficult to walk tomorrow, my love.”