by Leela Ash
“You see?” she asked Jordan, chin raised in defiance.
The Fang only shook his head. “All I see is shame. A meaningless bug where there should be a magnificent Dragon. A shiny pebble where a mountain of strength and power ought to stand.”
“Forget the ‘shoulds’ and ‘ought tos’.” She placed a soft hand on his clenched fists. “The only thing that matters is what is. And that ‘meaningless bug’? It exists. It’s hope. It’s the promise that things can still get better.”
“You believe that.” It was a statement, not a question. For the first time, a crack appeared in his stern, confident façade. Only a hairline fracture, but his face betrayed him. In the way his emerald eyes widened, and how his lips, full and strong, parted. He leaned in, as if her faith was a magnet reeling him closer.
“I do.” This near, she felt the heat of his body. Every delectable detail on full display. Hair black as night, sweeping past those high, aristocratic cheekbones. The faint shadow of a beard that gave a rakish cast to his chin. Piercing green eyes, as proud and fierce as a hawk’s.
Jordan Beaumont was the most delicious man she’d ever seen. Or, well, dreamed about.
He also wasn’t a man who doubted himself. Sensing her arousal, he leaned down and kissed her; his lips claiming hers. No permission need be asked.
That touch, so enticing, so unexpected, sent a charge tingling down her spine. Everything faded away except the moment. Those lips, warm, open, pressed against hers. The strength of his arm drawing her near, declaring her his own. The faint, male musk of his body. Her body came alive. Heat flashed through her and a fire, a hunger, woke within her.
Not until that kiss broke could she think again. Then, the first nagging doubt clawed at her bliss.
Todd. She had a boyfriend – and he wasn’t Jordan Beaumont.
“I shouldn’t…,” she whispered, and her heart ached at that refusal.
Jordan simply chuckled. “I will not be denied by my own dream. If I am going to torment myself with vain hopes, then I deserve to enjoy vain pleasures.”
What was he babbling about? His dream? It was hers!
Though… her imaginary boss raised a good point: this wasn’t real. You couldn’t blame a woman for her dreams, could you? It wasn’t unfaithful to have a nocturnal fantasy about her hot (if villainous) ‘master.’ In fact, if she were honest, Savannah knew exactly why this was happening.
Todd is so distracted. Sex seems like a chore to him, not an act of love. It’s been that way for a year and a half now.
A scary thought, given that they’d only been together for two years.
I’m depressed. I don’t feel sexy, I don’t feel like a woman. Is it really a shock that I’m having erotic dreams?
No, it wasn’t. And if this released her pent-up frustrations… Why, it might actually help her real relationship.
So, screw it. I’m doing this.
Around them, bones and darkness vanished. In their place, a bed appeared. Broad and welcoming, draped by lace curtains. A room faded in too. Thick Persian rugs underfoot, tapestries lining stone walls. Glass doors ran along one wall. Open now, they offered breath-taking views of snow-covered Alps.
Jordan nodded. “Much better.”
Without warning, muscled arms scooped her into the air. Savannah gave a startled gasp… then flushed with pleasure as he strode toward the bed. Nestled in his embrace, she felt a scandalous, decadent pleasure. She was his captive, his prize.
She couldn’t have denied him, even if she wished.
With ease, he carried her to the bed, laying her down gently among its soft cotton pillows. The white robe she wore offered little resistance to his advances. One tug released the loose knot of its woven belt. Jordan settled on the bed next to her. Gently, he stroked her chin. Then, his hand glided lower, along the curve of her throat. A shiver of longing trembled through her at that touch. His fingers caught the edge of her robe. Yet, instead of tearing it off, they caressed. Sliding the robe open just enough to reveal the swell between her breasts. Lower still. One fold of cloth slipped over her hip, revealing the curves of her buttocks and thigh. Its twin, however, demurely covered her sex. Leaving the last of her mysteries still hidden from his view.
Emerald eyes gleamed, the shadow of a smile crossed his lips and Jordan drank in the sight of her.
Now, his mask of self-control fell away to reveal the hunger that lay beneath. He did not touch her, not with his hands. Only his eyes devoured her. Tasting the curls of her long brown hair and tan skin. His breath deepened as his gaze lingered on her breasts, half hidden.
Some small, silly voice urged her to do something to please him.
But she didn’t need to do anything. The sight of her pleased him.
How long had it been since a man watched her with such open, naked hunger? The mere sight of her intoxicated him, and Savannah let her lover drink his fill, reveling in the sense of feminine power that his adoration awoke in her. His was the need of a starving man, and she was the feast he desired. The yearning within her blazed under the fire of his eyes.
Jordan trailed a finger down the crevice between her breasts. His touch stirred her robe and her nipples stiffened as rough cotton whispered across them. Slowly, he bent, black hair hiding his face, and kissed that same spot. Hot breath warmed her skin and added a sweet savor to the robe’s teasing.
Savannah twined her fingers through his silken locks, urging him on. Beneath her fingers, she felt him tremble. Desire – fierce, tidal – raged within him. And yet, he roused her with slow, deliberate leisure. As if he feared the passions that were devouring him.
Brushing the robe aside, his mouth found her nipple and closed around it. Sucking, kissing. She moaned and shivered, arching her back to offer herself to his teasing mouth.
That sound, that soft cry of need, whetted his own desires. His kisses grew fiercer, circling her nipples, sliding across the skin of her breasts. A hand slipped beneath her robe and stroked the other globe, thumb circling, arousing the nub of her nipple.
With a sigh, she slid her legs apart, and he accepted that invitation, slipping between her thighs. The robe now hid nothing. Silken shirt and pants rubbed against her. The stark contrast – bare skin teased by his fully clothed body – added a delicious spice to his kisses. Vulnerable yet trusting, she was his.
Under the loving assaults of his mouth and hands, her breasts ached with a yearning, a need that sharpened as he abandoned them. Lower he moved, kissing a path across her stomach. His hands slid beneath her. Raising her, cupping her buttocks, stroking them. The silk-wrapped weight of his body slid lower too, gliding across her sex with a languorous stroke that set her panting.
Now, his mouth played across her belly, dipping low to brush against the fuzz above her sex. Fingers teased thighs and buttocks and stole furtive touches of what lay between. ‘Assaulted’ from both sides, her sex grew slick and wet, eager for its own conquest.
A whimper of sheer delight escaped her. Her body slipped free from her control. It twisted, wracked by her need, by her longing. Her hips bucked, pressing urgently against his chest. Begging him to finish this.
Todd was a distant, sad memory. A man whose pleasures peaked before hers even began. Jordan Beaumont was woven of a different cloth. Tossed by desire, she writhed beneath him, and only his ragged breathing betrayed the passion that burned within him too. She was his delight, his world. Pleasure was his gift to her, and the heat of her body set him on fire.
There was a pause, a tantalizing moment of stillness, then his mouth slid between her legs. Savannah cried out as those lips pressed a kiss against her most secret place. Her fingers curled the sheet, clawing at its soft cotton folds as desire took her.
Then, his tongue darted out. With hot, wet lashes, it whipped the eager nub of her sex. Sharp animal cries of pleasure were wrenched from her as his mouth pressed close. Hungry, devouring.
Too much, too great! Her passion rose, cresting like a wave that threatened to smash
her against the shore. “Jordan! I can’t… I can’t…”
The same swell of desire seized him, shattering the last shred of his mastery. With a soft moan, he rose, rocking back on his heels. Hands that had caressed her so gently seized his shirt and ripped it open. With no thought, he cast it aside and scrambled to his feet, kicking off shoes and pants.
At last, he stood above her, freed from the prison of his clothes. His cock, hard and proud, jutted up. The moonlight that filtered in from the balcony transformed him. Sketched in shadow and moonlight, he seemed more statue than man. A picture of masculine perfection, like some old Greek god.
Only for a moment did he hold that pose before desire’s tidal pull brought them back together. With the last shreds of his control, he lowered himself gently between her legs.
That was all he could manage. Her welcome, open thighs proved a lure he could not resist and with a soft cry, he drove into her.
Thick and hard, his cock slid in, filling her. Joined at last, their moans merged, woven together to form one song of animal need.
His hips worked, slipping his manhood in and out, between her hungry thighs. Each thrust stoked the blaze within her, and Savannah sobbed, consumed by a desire she had never imagined. Her cries urged Jordan on, driving his desire to a fever pitch.
Thought melted away, and there was only pleasure. A moment of pure ecstasy that caught her in its throes. She moaned, transfixed, consumed.
Once more, the ecstasy he brought her was his undoing. With a rush and a cry of release, he came in her, his seed spilling deep within.
All she could do was lay there, panting, caught in the vortex of that river of passion. Jordan withdrew and collapsed beside her. Strange though it was, she felt like a girl losing her virginity. The sex of her past was only a pale shadow of this bliss.
Savannah glanced over at the exhausted man by her side. “Thank you. Thank you for showing me what love can be.” She would never again be satisfied by the lukewarm ‘pleasures’ she’d known.
Black hair damp with sweat, Jordan smiled back at her. No sign of his usual cool demeanor; this was a man exhausted and fulfilled. “You are the oddest dream I have ever had,” he whispered.
And then, the dream faded.
Chapter 4.
How strange it felt to wake alone. To shower by herself, no male hands to caress the suds from her bare skin. To dress in private, with no one to mourn as the clothes stole her body from his view. Then to step out into the real world once more. Loud and noisy, full of traffic and crowds and meaningless bustle. The cold, sterile halls of Ormaz seemed more like a dream than last night’s wonders.
A dull, hostile dream – full of jealous secretaries and leering executives. It was a relief to escape to the top floor and close the door of her office behind her.
Mr. Beaumont was already at work. Emerald eyes fixed on a computer screen, exactly where she’d left him last night. As the door clicked shut, he turned to her.
Some foolish corner of her heart searched his face eagerly, longing for a sign, a clue that something had changed. Some hint that the night of passion had been more than a dream.
Neither desire nor affection warmed those cold eyes. “Good morning, Miss Doucette.”
“Good morning, master.”
Disappointment welled within her – quickly followed by disgust.
Of course, nothing’s changed, because nothing happened last night. I had a stupid dream about my boss.
Stupid… and hot.
And treacherous. I have a boyfriend, remember?
Yes, Todd. Todd, who never had time for her. Who always rushed through their trysts as if sex was a tedious chore. Who left her aching with unfulfilled need half the time.
Okay, so he’s not perfect in bed.
Maybe ‘not good’ was more accurate.
So what? Todd is real – unlike my fantasy lover. Todd’s real and he cares for me and he tries. I ought to be ashamed of myself for daydreaming about my boss like this.
“Miss Doucette? Is there something you wish to say?”
“What?” Oh, good heavens, she was still standing there. Lost in her thoughts like some ridiculous schoolgirl! “Uh, no, no master. I’m, uh…”
“Then I suggest you get to work. We have a lot to do.” A touch of frost cooled his words, the lightest touch of a threat.
No Fang of Apophis tolerated a lazy minion.
And that’s what I am, no matter what my dreams say.
It was a good reminder, one that helped dispel the last shreds of the night’s delusions. Jordan Beaumont was, at best, a depraved and murderous Shifter. At worst, he was a Worm, one of the foulest creatures on the planet.
That’s why I dreamed about that pile of bones.
And the tiny dragonfly.
The thought summoned its image to her mind. So fragile yet brimming with hope. The magical aura its wings spread through that dark realm.
Mr. Beaumont still watched her, his irritation growing more pointed. With a blush, Savannah hurried to her desk and buried herself in her work.
Hours passed in silence. When Savannah returned from lunch, she found him waiting for her. Her stomach knotted. Had she taken too long at lunch? Or… her mouth grew suddenly dry… had her master developed another ‘hunger’ he expected her to satisfy? One she would fight to avoid, even if it cost her life.
Unkind thoughts about Todd were bad enough. Betraying him was unthinkable.
There was nothing ominous in her master’s demeanor, however. Hands folded in front of him, he kept his distance. His eyes didn’t roam her body like it was some delicious treat he longed to devour. No, they remained fastened firmly – even decorously – on hers.
“Did you sleep well last night, Miss Doucette?”
Why would he ask that? “Um, yes?” she stammered.
At that waver, his eyes narrowed. “Truly? No dreams?”
Her heart leaped for one moment – and then dread dragged it to the ground.
Was it real? Some broken, warped version of the Rite of Claiming, the most sacred ritual of Dragons?
No, the logical half of her mind insisted that was impossible. Jordan Beaumont wasn’t a Dragon and no other Shifters Claimed True Mates like them.
Do they? I mean, I’ve heard stories. People say that shared dreams are becoming a thing now that magic’s returning to the world.
Rumors. Hearsay. She drove that thought away. If Jordan Beaumont had Claimed a Mate, he wouldn’t let a full morning pass before he bothered to mention that fact!
And if your dream was right, then he’s a Worm.
The idea of a Worm Claiming a Mate was too ludicrous for words.
Despite that dragonfly. Despite the hope it seemed to offer.
“Miss Doucette?”
“No. No dreams. I, um, usually don’t remember them anyway.”
What else could she say? The truth had to remain secret. If she told him she’d dreamt he took her, ravished her, brought her to heights of ecstasy she hadn’t believed possible…
Why, that was practically a demand to be taken to the ‘lounge’ at once. Jordan Beaumont might be physically stunning, as gorgeous in real life as in her fantasies. But she did not want to sleep with him, no matter how attractive he was.
“Are you certain? Because you seem immensely distracted today.”
There it was: the plain, ugly truth. Her master wasn’t testing her, trying to subtly discover if they’d shared a dream. He was annoyed at her poor performance.
“I’m sorry. This promotion caught me flat-footed. It’s, um, a lot to get used to. I’ll do better tomorrow, I promise.”
“See that you do.” He scowled at the clock on the wall. “Mr. Adams wishes to discuss some nonsense with me. I fear my entire afternoon may be wasted – so, it’s critical that at least one of us is productive. I’ve left a stack of scholarly articles on my desk. Follow up on them. I need to know how trustworthy they are.”
“Yes, master.” That pile was tall. To thi
nk that yesterday her worst fear was getting molested.
No time for that. I need to worry about being worked to death!
Head bowed, Savannah waited until he left before she slipped into his office. Few old journals were available online, which meant tomorrow would be spent trudging through the stacks of dusty libraries. As she scooped the papers up, she stole a quick look at Mr. Beaumont’s computer screen.
It was on. And logged into Ormaz’s network; logged into the private section, where minions like her were never permitted.
An email lay open. A polite welcome to the LA branch, mostly empty words. Except for the list of attached files.
Darkbornsurvey. Taossitecleanup. Hostages.
The air rushed out of her lungs in a gasp. Blackmail remained the strongest tool in the Fangs’ arsenal. By taking families hostage they turned decent Shifters into reluctant traitors. If she could find out who was compromised, where their families were being kept…
To do that, all she needed to do was click on that link.
Riiiight.
It couldn’t be that easy. Her new boss ‘just happened’ to walk off and leave her alone with critical information? No, this was a trap. An obvious test of her loyalty.
But the bait…
How many lives could she save?
Wasn’t that worth the risk?
The best trap is one you can’t resist stepping into, even after you see it.
If so, this was a fine trap. How could she pass up a chance to learn everything the Fangs knew about Nemagorix? Quickly, she locked the door to the office suite. It wouldn’t stop security or slow down a dedicated attack, but it might buy her a moment if Mr. Beaumont returned unexpectedly.
She pulled a thumb drive out of her purse and sat down, heart hammering. Ormaz used a secure network; no emails left the building. Getting to the information wasn’t enough. She needed to physically walk it out of the building.
She slid the cursor down to the first link. Hostages.