Playing with Fire (24 page)

I stood up, wondering what on earth was keeping him from all the pouncing I could have sworn he was going to do the second we were alone, and decided to give him a little encouragement. I unhooked the front of my bra and let it fall to the floor.

Gabriel swore in what I assumed was his native language, his eyes huge.

I watched him closely for a moment. He was as stiff as a board, only the liquid silver of his gaze as it leaped from my breasts to my legs and back again offering a sign he was still actually alive. He’d even stopped breathing.

I shucked my underwear and stood in what I hoped was an attractive pose that wouldn’t let him see quite how large my backside was.

A strange gurgling noise emerged from him, but nothing else.

‘‘Am I doing something wrong here?’’ I finally asked, raising my hands and letting them fall in frustration. ‘‘You don’t want me naked?’’

A little whimper escaped his lips. He swallowed again, his hands tightening to fists at his side. ‘‘I can’t think of anything I want more at this moment, including the phylactery, Kostya’s head on a platter, and peace in the weyr.’’

‘‘Then why are you standing over there, making odd little noises of unhappiness, while I’m standing here feeling extremely insecure, exposed, and like I need to go on an immediate diet to lose at least ten pounds?’’

He closed his eyes for a moment, his face twisted in pain. ‘‘I may be a dragon, but I am not an animal, Mayling. You clearly wish to arouse me by performing this . . . incredible . . . striptease, and I will stand here and allow you to proceed if it kills me. Which it very likely may do.’’

‘‘Gabriel,’’ I said, smiling at the fact that he thought I was performing for him.

‘‘Don’t,’’ he said, his eyes still closed. His body trembled.

‘‘Don’t what?’’

‘‘Don’t say my name. I don’t think I can bear it.’’

I shook my head, laughed a little, then walked over and unbuttoned his shirt so I could put my hand on his bare chest. ‘‘I don’t understand you at all. You’re acting like you want to make love to me, but I can’t say your name?’’

‘‘No,’’ he answered, piercing me with a look so hot it made my toenails steam. He swallowed again, his voice rough around the edges. ‘‘When you say my name, all I can think about is joining with you. You are my mate, Mayling. I don’t just wish to make love to you; I need to join with you. I hunger for you the way a mortal hungers for food.’’

‘‘Then why . . . ?’’ I asked, sliding my hand down his chest to his belly. He gasped, his muscles contracting underneath my fingers. ‘‘Why are we standing here talking when we could be on the bed indulging in wild, steamy dragon lovin’?’’

‘‘I am not an animal,’’ he repeated. ‘‘But I
am
a dragon, and our matings tend to be intense. You are a woman, and thus you need time to become aroused to the point where our mating will not hurt you.’’

‘‘Are you talking about foreplay?’’ I asked, finally seeing the light.

‘‘Yes. You deserve foreplay, but if I touch one tiny centimeter of that deliciously satin skin of yours, I will lose the little control I have. I cannot give you foreplay at this time, Mayling. I’m sorry, but I just can’t.’’

‘‘But you can stand here and discuss the issue,’’ I pointed out.

‘‘Only because I am determined to prove to you that I value you more than anything else in my life. I would greatly appreciate it if you didn’t explore any more of my stomach, because that too will send me over the edge. In fact, I’d be eternally grateful if you would arouse yourself, and tell me when you are ready.’’

His eyes were closed again, as if looking at me hurt too much.

‘‘You want
me
to arouse myself,’’ I said, trying hard not to laugh.

‘‘Yes. Normally I would enjoy performing that function, or at worst, watching you do it, but I cannot at this time.’’

I smiled, amused and touched at the same time. He was trying so hard to reassure me that he was more a man than a beast, but I had needs as well, and they weren’t being met with us standing there talking. I grabbed his shirt with both hands and literally ripped the rest of it open, yanking it off him. ‘‘Take me!’’ I demanded as his eyes popped open in surprise.
‘‘Now!’’

I didn’t have to ask twice. Before I could so much as blink, I was on the bed, splayed out on my side, a suddenly naked Gabriel half covering me.

‘‘I will give you foreplay when this is over,’’ he said, his breath hot on the back of my neck as he slid one arm underneath my waist, pulling my upper leg back over his thigh. ‘‘I will arouse you then, but first, I must join with you.’’

I wanted to point out that any such activity would technically be afterplay, not foreplay, but my brain was too overloaded with the sensations he was generating to form words. The position was a little awkward, leaving me to clutch the sheets as he searched for entrance, and then found it, his body hard behind and in me, muscle and tissue parting to allow him access to areas that went beyond a mere physical body. Gabriel had used the word ‘‘joining,’’ and as his hips flexed, making long, slow strokes into me, his mouth hot on my neck while his hands found my breasts, I understood just what he meant by it. I arched backward, tilting my hips back to take in more of him in a wordless demand. He growled against my neck, the long, tanned fingers tightening on my breasts.

I sucked in my breath not only at the sensation of his hands, but at the feeling of fullness deep within me. Gone were the long, slow movements meant to arouse—his body pistoned into me in an act of possession, my body welcoming each blow with a thousand little jolts of pleasure. I gasped again, a tight ball forming that seemed to draw in every nerve in my body.

Gabriel’s breath was harsh, coming in primitive little groans as he sucked the skin of my neck, his tongue leaving long, wet streaks.

One hand slid off my breast, down to my belly, probing and parting delicate flesh to find the center of my pleasure.

‘‘Mayling, I cannot wait,’’ he moaned.

I tightened every muscle I had around him, arching my back, my hands clawing at the sheets as the ball of passion deep inside me threatened to explode. ‘‘Fire,’’ I gasped, barely able to form a coherent sentence. ‘‘I want your fire. I
need
your fire.’’

He gave it to me then, fed me his dragon fire until it washed over us in a blaze of ecstasy. He was the dragon fire, surrounding me, on me, inside me, every inch of my being bound so tightly with his, we were the flames, dancing higher and higher until we burst into a million little sparks, separate, but whole.

Pain, sharp and hot, lit the back of my shoulder, but it faded almost instantly as I let myself go, drifting slowly back down into my body as an ember from a bonfire lazily wafts it way back to earth.

The bed was not on fire, I was pleased to note. Neither were the curtains, chair, or wardrobe.

Flames licked down the length of Gabriel’s body as he collapsed onto his back, the fine sheen of sweat that covered him instantly vaporizing.

My body felt heavy and dull as compared to the bright phoenix we had been together, even as little tremors of pleasure, orgasmic aftershocks, made me cognizant of the truth of Gabriel’s warnings of rough lovemaking.

‘‘You’re on fire,’’ I said, rolling onto my other side in order to face him.

His eyes were closed, his chest heaving as he sucked in huge quantities of air. He cracked one eye open to look at me, his dimples popping into life as he closed it again. ‘‘Thank you. I endeavor to please you, little bird, although you are a demanding woman. It takes my full energy to sate your many desires.’’

I rolled my eyes at that gross exaggeration, stroking my hand down his still-burning chest. ‘‘I meant literally.’’

He opened an eye again, this time to glance down at himself. ‘‘Am I? How very curious. It must have something to do with you.’’

I patted out the flames on his chest and belly, the rest of the fire dying out. ‘‘Me? I don’t see how. You’re the dragon—you’re the one who has dragon fire.’’

He wrapped an arm around me and pulled me up close to his body, arranging me so that I lay draped over him before closing his eyes again, sighing in happiness. ‘‘This has never happened to me with another woman. It must be because you are my mate. When you give the fire back to me, it’s more than what it started out as.’’

‘‘More?’’ I drew a lazy circle around the pert brown nipple that lay next to my mouth, considering whether or not I had the energy to taste it.

‘‘More.’’ One hand lifted and made a vague gesture. ‘‘It’s . . . purer. More powerful. Something more than what it starts out as. I can’t really explain it. It’s just . . . more.’’

‘‘Ah.’’ I smiled at his nipple, oddly proud.

‘‘What are you doing?’’ he asked suspiciously, lifting his head to peer down at me.

‘‘Smiling at your nipple. I was wondering what you taste like.’’

His eyes, a sleepy, slumbering silver, sparked with interest. ‘‘Foreplay?’’

‘‘This, my dragon, is afterplay,’’ I said, moving so that I straddled his thighs. I leaned down to lick his nipple, but before I could capture it, a familiar tingling started up my back. Dread swept over me as I swore, threw myself over the edge of the bed, blindly grabbing for the blankets we’d pushed off the bed during our lovemaking.

‘‘May? What’s the—’’

The tingling increased to a painful pitch as the world seemed to give a shudder, then twisted into a gut-wrenching parody of reality. I was jerked out of the room at Drake’s house, and deposited naked, clutching a blanket, onto a cool tile floor.

‘‘I see you’ve changed your mind about me. I’m delighted, although I would have preferred a little warning of your intentions,’’ a smooth, suave voice spoke.

The chill from it caused my skin to prickle as I twisted the blanket around me toga-style. My dignity was shredded, but I managed to get off the floor with the blanket intact. I glared at the man who stood in front of me, his hair slicked back from his forehead, his dark, deep-lidded eyes promising all sorts of carnal pleasures.

I said the first thing that came to mind. ‘‘I never liked you in that movie about the Arab chieftain, you know. You were bearable in the sequel, but the first one? The word ‘ham’ comes to mind.’’

Magoth bristled, the air cooling at least ten degrees. ‘‘That was my greatest picture!’’ he said in a near hiss. ‘‘It
made
my career!’’

‘‘I thought your depiction was clumsy, brutal, and extremely heavy-handed.’’

He did hiss this time, his face hard. ‘‘Women the world over swooned whenever I was on the screen.
Swooned!
Several committed suicide because of me!’’

‘‘That was just the Hollywood hype,’’ I said nonchalantly, aware that I was playing with fire (so to speak), but unable to express my fury in any other way at the untimely summons. ‘‘You had a very good manager, as I recall. I always did think he was smart to have you pretend to die just when you did. I doubt if you’d have kept your precious mystique if you’d been around much longer.’’

Magoth’s face worked for a moment before he regained control. I knew I was perilously close to being punished for my flip comments, but they served their purposes: they distracted him from thoughts of seduction of my nearly naked self, and they gave vent to my much-aggrieved spleen.

He strolled over to a bar, pouring himself a glass of sangria. I took the wicker seat across from him, ignoring the fact that two demons were also present in the pretty courtyard of what I assumed was his villa in Spain. ‘‘I find myself wondering if there is a purpose in your slanderous comments about my brief movie career,’’ he said with perfect suavity.

‘‘Just an idle thought. You haven’t worn your hair slicked back like that for a number of decades—it reminded me of when I first saw you.’’

He smiled. It wasn’t a pleasant thing to behold. ‘‘I have toyed with the thought of returning to the screen, but alas, my schedule allows me little free time. Which brings me to an interesting bit of gossip I have heard.’’ His gaze dropped to the top of the blanket, the edge of which was tucked securely under my arm. ‘‘The word on the street is that you have mated with a dragon. A wyvern, to be exact.’’

‘‘Yes,’’ I said, fighting to control the fear that rose inside me. I knew this moment would come, and counted on Gabriel’s strength to see me through it.

One sleek black eyebrow rose. He sat, crossing one leg over the other, the glass of sangria dangling from his fingers. ‘‘That is all I am to expect from you on the subject?’’

‘‘There’s nothing to say. I met a wyvern, agreed that I was his mate, end of story.’’

‘‘Oh, I think not,’’ he said with amusement. My stomach contracted. Gabriel would probably be furious and worried about my sudden disappearance from his bed. What if he came after me? What would Magoth do to Gabriel if he managed to track me down in order to rescue me? ‘‘There is another rumor that I have heard, one that I find even more intriguing.’’

I frowned, running my mind back over the last couple of days. With the quintessence returned to Kostich, there was nothing I’d done in the last few days that would be of any interest to Magoth. ‘‘What rumor?’’

‘‘It is said that a thief taker finally caught you.’’ He leaned back along the rattan chaise, patting the cushion next to him. ‘‘Let us not be so formal. Come sit with me.’’

‘‘I’m fine where I am,’’ I said, oddly relieved that he didn’t seem to be trying to enthrall me.

‘‘This is not an invitation,’’ he answered, the force in his voice compelling me to move from the sanctuary of my chair. Reluctantly, I clutched the blanket tight around myself and perched on the edge of the chaise, as far away from him as I could manage.

‘‘There, now, isn’t that more comfortable?’’ He dropped a hand on my blanket-covered knee, lolling back. In an instant, the demons moving silently around in the background were gone . . . as were Magoth’s clothes.