Authors: Annette Blair

Tags: #Fiction, #Romance, #Paranormal, #General

Vampire Dragon (12 page)

BOOK: Vampire Dragon

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“I did not
hit
the bed, Bronte. When first we got on the bed, before we got off, you pulled me down. If I hit it, you made me.”

“Yes,” she said, wrapping her hand around his arrow-tipped beast. “This is hard and ready. I see we will have to give it the old ‘fast and furious’ before we can do a slow burn, because you are so far ahead of me, you might finish on your way to the mattress.”

He groaned as she pushed him, and he let himself fall backward. “This means you will have your wicked way with me, does it not? Thank you.”

Before she got wicked, she got curious, for which he thanked the universe. “This beastly thing of yours is more than a battering ram or even a trick dick. It’s shaped like a dragon tail. You said something about a dragon that I took as a comparative description; what was that? Never mind,” she added. “This is fascinating and exotically beautiful, not to mention stimulating times infinity.”

Bronte’s excitement seemed to double with his size, and Darkwyn rose so fast toward rapture, with her hands all over his cock that way, he didn’t know which of them would reach completion first. He tried to wait for her, but this close to the edge, any hope for his staying power became laughable.

“Is this a result of plastic surgery?” she asked, stroking every facet of his dragon-tail.

“Magick,” Darkwyn hissed, still holding his breath.

“Ah,” she said, “someone else’s magick backfires.”

“Clashing spells,” he said, jaw rigid, “white magick versus black.”

“Note to me: add clashing spells to future discussion. Right now, Darkwyn,
shh
, I’m exploring new territory. Enjoy. Let yourself go and come if you want to. Your first ejaculation will not be your last. We’ll both come, alone and together, over and over again, all night, I swear. I’m that horny.”

With little thought beyond the permission granted him, Darkwyn clutched the back of Bronte’s nightie and tore it away, laces flying, breasts in his face for his delectation, more stimulation than he could take, and take, and take, and he came, cresting so hard and high, he couldn’t have done it with anyone
but
his heart mate.

As he came, he claimed her with his gaze, eye to eye, heart to heart, in a way she couldn’t deny, then he rolled against her, nestled his temporarily sated sex between her knees and placed an arm around her to pull her forward to claim a breast.

Starving for her, he suckled her hard, enough to make her writhe and whimper, and gasp her release, a sight that revamped his sex, so he insinuated it between her knees like a heat-seeking missile.

She clamped those knees tight.

He pulled on her nipple and let it pop from his mouth.

She gasped and shuddered again, as a result. “Darkwyn, you do know how to rev my womanly engine.”

“Yes, but I do not understand the meaning of closed knees.”

“Find me a man who does. I simply cannot get enough of your superior and unusual self, and find I want to explore the amazing thing one last time before my body swallows it whole.”

His heart palpitating, Darkwyn rolled to his back, deep joy rising in him, a foreign sensation, nearly comfortable, and wholly attributable to Bronte McBride, heart mate.

“May I have it to play with for another short while?” she asked.

Truth to tell, he could easily sleep, which wouldn’t last long with his cock in her hand.

“Come anytime you want,” she said. “In between, I’ll make its acquaintance.”

“Get to know each other. I will just close my eyes for a bit.”

“I admit that I let your presence rush me the first time, so now I am ready to explore. Because I noticed that this tricky thing has what might be called scales beneath the skin. As I slide my hand along your length, the hidden scales appear to move in the direction my hand does. The scales stand for a minute beneath your skin, then flip to the opposite side. That must feel amazing from the inside—when you’re the overcoat.”

He opened his eyes, his contentment unbound. “You are confused, my masked lady. You would be the overcoat,” he said, his breath coming in short gasps as she intentionally manhandled him. “I would be in”—he caught his breath—“inside you.”

“There, I would be wet, Darkwyn, and warm, and pulsing. I would pull you deep, and deeper, kneading your finest asset, its scales, its arrowed tip, your ability to—is this prehensile? This sucker has a mind of its own!”

“This is bad,” he said, once again on the edge of completion. “I can barely hold back while you talk like that, while you—with both word and action—toy with me.”

“You
can
come again so soon?”

“Since I began to practice, while thinking of you, I have noticed no time gap in my ability for pleasure.”

Bronte’s eyes twinkled with delighted mischief. “I am so keeping you.”

FIFTEEN

“You are keeping
me
?” he asked, his delight rising and
infecting her. “Keeping me happy is what you mean, right? Or,” he added, looking disappointed, “keeping me for the sake of employment?”

“Guess again,” she said, enjoying her seductive torture.

“I prefer to hope that you would keep me as your plaything. Please say yes.”

She laughed.
Laughed!
And amazed herself for the first time in longer than since the last time she had sex.

As if by mutual agreement, they settled into her bed facing each other, their lips meeting, their no-touching rule dissolved the minute she stroked his chest.

His tongue mated with hers in such a way as to make her think him experienced. At nearly the same height, even their feet stroked each other. And she’d thought she was too tall.

His arousal created action, traction, and a reaction of its own, as his sex appeared to knock at her warm, willing center. He craved entry so well, she answered by moving her hips his way, and together they mixed one hell of a chemical cocktail.

He attempted to memorize her shape with his hands, but they were experts at finding certain spots—unknown to her—that drew pleasure with a skim or a stir of warm air. His mouth couldn’t possibly be in the same place as his hands, and yet, warm breezes, everywhere, raised her nipples and warmed her top to toe as he removed each slip of fabric between them.

She caught his hand. “Not the mask, remember?”

“I forgot. It is beyond cruel to see every place but your face. It is cold and human.”

“Are you not human?” she asked.

“I am now.”

“Shelve that for further observation,” she said, thinking she should worry but she couldn’t, not when there was such rich pleasure to be found.

So human of her. She didn’t take offense. Humans could be cruel, especially when planned. “Forget my face and feast on the rest.” She understood his need to see her, because she loved looking at his face, but not to be a cliché, her mask was a matter of life and death.

“Take me, Darkwyn. Hard and fast, and hard, again. Forgive me for the mask and accept me as I am? You practically promised.”

“As you are. The one need I held for centuries was to be accepted as I was, and now I am me, instead. This we can do for each other. It is sensual in its own way being accepted by one person more than any other. I accept. Yes, as you are, mask and all.” He kissed the mask, while her overflowing heart prevented her from responding with anything but a wholehearted surrender to tactile pleasure.

She learned his body like there’d be a quiz, and she loved the process, long, tight, sinewy, muscular back and chest, thighs and arms.

A phoenix rising from the ashes. His tat spoke of her sex life, the two of them rising to blessed, orgasmic oblivion.

He learned her body the way she learned his, pooling moisture at her center as he closed his lips over a nipple, raising her to ecstasy by using her slick fluids to ease his way.

His groan became a growl, almost feral, both of them wild with excitement. He came before he entered her, a nod to what they did for each other, and she came again just watching his stream. At this rate they’d never consummate.

After that, his third or fourth preview of bliss, he crushed her to him, a habit she already liked. This time, though, he opened his mouth over hers, eating her up with his embrace, his lips hungry and getting hungrier.

Devoured—she was being devoured by her man.

Before she knew it, he had memorized her center, his concentration more on her pleasure than his.

“You are my first on this plane,” he said against her lips. “I will make this good.”

She ignored the tiny inner voice that said she wanted to be his first and last. “This has been good many times, already,” she admitted. “But I’m up for more. Ah, and so are you.”

“This will be as nothing before, since my dragon tail knows a few special tricks.”

Like splitting me in half, she thought, a bit fearful of his size. “Yes,” she said, anticipating him working inside her. Silky soft on the outside, those small movable disks beneath the silk skin of his penis sliding up and back, back and down, abrading her G-spot, stroking her everywhere, to her deepest recesses—deeper than any man had gone before—like the finest five-battery vibrator bunny, all its twirly whirlies and bunny ears running on high.

Her imagination, as it turned out, paled in comparison to the experience, because when he rose above her and barely slipped inside, she soared to the edge of culmination, again.

“Now we will do that ‘hide the mattress’ mumbo jumbo you were talking about.”

She laughed at his mixed metaphor, but not for long, his determination to bring her lethal pleasure nearly her undoing. He found her clit, without using his hands.
Huh?
Aah, prehensile bullet with a brain. That’s what he meant by tricks.

Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, universe!

No, no thinking.
Too good to waste
, she thought.
Ride me, ride me higher.

Bronte clung to Darkwyn as he worked his magick, like he was playing a fiddle and dancing to it at the same time. She’d found herself one of those rare
male
multitaskers.

Each time she came, she fell farther and rose higher, and he growled louder, the muscles in his back and arms became taut, rigid, and . . .
lumpy
along his spine? No time to figure that out. Her whole body stretched, and rose in every way possible.

She’d never had a climax as lethal as death, but she did now, ending up so weak, she could barely keep her legs around him, but he raised himself and her, too, and though she practically stood on her head, nothing, but nothing, had ever brought her to this plane of pleasured existence.

He did split her in half, splintered her to shards, and she’d never be whole again, but who the bloody frickin’ heck cared? She could die fulfilled.

He raised her off the bed with each multiple multiple, took her outside herself. Crazy out of her mind with ecstasy.

Wrung out from it, she rotated her hips and pulled him to a place so deep, she didn’t know it existed.

They climaxed together, muffling their orgasmic shouts with kisses and hands and lips everywhere, and as she fell over the precipice to perfect bliss, the room glowed, literally, with a streak of light that sizzled to nothingness.

SIXTEEN