Authors: G. A. Aiken
Tags: #Science Fiction & Fantasy, #Romance, #dragons
It probably took her all of five minutes to dress every day, but Dagmar knew her brothers’ wives spent hours attempting to look as effortlessly beautiful as this woman.
“Well…” Morfyd gave a small shrug. “If you’re talking about dragons, it’s a little game hatchlings play with their parents. You know, before their wings can actually carry them, when the family’s out flying. The hatchlings will run and jump from one parent to the next. I did it with mine. It was fun, but it also helps the hatchlings learn how to fly because very often you’ll catch the wind and you learn to coast.”
“Right,” the woman said, her smile not fooling Dagmar at all, “fun and a learning experience.” That’s when she leaned down and screamed into poor Morfyd’s face,
“And that’s why my daughter is doing it with your family!”
Morfyd’s eyes grew wide. “Oh.”
“Yeah! ‘Oh’!” She turned toward Annwyl. “And I blame your fat ass for this, you pregnant sow!”
“Me?” Rolling back to her other side, Annwyl faced them. “How is this
my
bloody fault?”
“She’s out of control and it is your fault.” The woman threw herself into a chair and said in a mocking, childlike voice, “‘They say I can go to war. They say I’m really good. I want to be the Queen’s Champion one day.’
Your
fault!” she finished in her own healthy yell.
“I haven’t watched training in three months, how is this my fault?”
“Brastias speaks for you now, does he not?”
Annwyl pursed her lips before slowly stating, “He is in complete charge of my armies until I can mount my war horse without him whinnying in terror, yes.”
“Then it’s your fault! Because he says she’s ready to go to war and so she wants to go.”
Morfyd leaned forward a bit, her hands clasped in front of her. “Perhaps—”
“Shut up, scaly!”
Morfyd leaned back in her chair. “All right then.”
Finally, the woman caught sight of Dagmar, her dark eyes raking over her before she said, “Talaith.”
Dagmar had no idea what that meant until Morfyd cut in, “Sorry. Talaith, Daughter of Haldane. This is Dagmar Reinholdt. Of the Northland Reinholdts.”
Ahh. Talaith was her name.
Talaith focused her lethal gaze back on Morfyd. “Are there Reinholdts in the south?”
Morfyd’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “Not that I’m aware of.”
“Then don’t embellish!” she screamed.
“I’m not!” Morfyd screamed back.
Suddenly Annwyl sat up, one hand on her belly, a cry exploding from her lips. Immediately the women stopped bickering.
“Gods, Annwyl. What’s wrong?” Morfyd demanded.
Green eyes turned to them and Annwyl sneered, “Nothing. I just wanted the two of you to shut up. You’re going to make us look bad in front of the barbarian!”
The silence that followed was awkward, to say the least. And lasted a good thirty seconds. Until Morfyd spit out that first laugh, and then all of them followed suit. They couldn’t seem to stop either. Even when Gwenvael walked in, stared at them all for a bit, and then walked back out, slamming the door behind him, they kept right on going.
Gwenvael returned to Dagmar’s room several hours later when he was sure his sister and brothers’ mates were gone. She was stretched out facedown on a bed she was way too small for, her long hair, now clean and smelling delightfully of flowers, hanging over the side and nearly touching the floor. Her freshly washed body was covered only in a robe, and one small hand was balled into a fist, resting by her mouth. The other hand rested by her hip, palm up, and her spectacles were on the side table across the room.
She also snored, but only a little.
He walked around the bed and crouched down by her head. Reaching out, he gently brushed her hair off her face, smiling at how innocent she looked. Not at all like the manipulative little barbarian he’d been traveling with for days.
“Dagmar.” He said her name softly, gently, his fingers petting her cheek. He liked how her skin felt under his fingertips. “Dagmar,” he said softly again.
And, when she didn’t answer,
“Dagmar!”
She snapped awake, head and chest off the bed, her eyes immediately open and alert.
“It is not a lie!”
“Sorry, love,” he said softly again. “Did I wake you?”
Rolling her eyes, Dagmar dropped back to the bed. “Go away.”
“No. You were mean to me, and I want reparations.”
“You want—what are you doing?”
“Getting comfortable,” he explained while crawling onto the bed and over her until he’d draped himself across her back. Once in position, he sort of dropped on top of her, and he enjoyed the sound of air abruptly shoved out of her lungs.
“Get off me!”
“Not until you apologize and make me feel better.
Much
better.”
She tried to drag herself out from under him, but he wouldn’t budge, making sure all his weight stayed on her back.
“Apologize for what?”
“For being mean to me in front of my much-loved kin.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Gwenvael bounced his lower body up and down, causing his groin to slam against her ass.
“Stop! Stop!”
“Take it back.”
There was a long pause, and then what suspiciously sounded like a giggle. “No.”
She squealed when he started slamming into her again.
When Gwenvael finally lifted himself up, Dagmar scrambled off the bed and stumbled across the floor.
Turning around, she gripped her loosening robe closed. “Stay away from me, you mad bastard.”
Gwenvael went up on all fours and began to crawl across the bed. “Apologize.”
“Never.”
“Beast.”
“Defiler.”
With his knees resting on the edge of the bed, Gwenvael reached out to grab Dagmar. She squealed again and made another run for it. Charging off the bed, Gwenvael reached for her again. He lost her…but he got the robe.
He held it up. “Look what I have here.”
Dagmar stopped in mid-run and spun around to face him. She had her right arm over her chest and her left hand over her sex. “Give that back!”
“I don’t think so.”
“Gwenvael, give it back.”
He tossed it over his arm and planted his feet firmly. “No, my lady, what I think I’m going to do is…”
“Gwenvael,” she pushed when he stopped talking. “What’s wrong with you?”
He let out a hard breath, his gaze locked onto her body. Her hands and arms blocked much of it, but still…
“Gods, woman, what have you been hiding?”
Dagmar looked around and down at herself. “Nothing, I don’t think. I mean, I told what I knew to Morfyd and Annwyl—”
Gwenvael shook his head. “Not that. This.” He walked toward her and she quickly stepped back. “We really must find you clothes that do you justice.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Don’t move,” he snapped, and Dagmar immediately stopped moving away from him.
Gwenvael walked slowly around her, his gaze feasting on her.
“What, in the name of reason, are you doing?”
Behind her, Gwenvael slowly went to his knees. “Enjoying myself.”
When Dagmar felt something brush against her ass, her entire body jolted. “Did you just—” She cleared her throat. “Did you just kiss my…uh…backside?”
Gwenvael didn’t respond, but when she felt a warm tongue lazily wind its way up to her hip, she jumped away.
“What are you doing?” she asked again, quickly facing him.
“If you turn back around”—he purred—“you’ll eventually find out.”
“I can’t…We can’t…I know we’ve danced around it, but…uh…”
She took a step back when Gwenvael stood. “It’s all right.”
Dagmar realized she was panting, as if she were running down that main road toward Spikenhammer again.
“I didn’t mean to panic. I just…I’m not used to…”
“Sssh.” He walked toward her and she took another step back.
“Stop moving,” he ordered.
And she did.
Gwenvael put her robe over her shoulders, took one arm and put it through the sleeve and did the same with the other. He closed the robe tightly and belted it.
“Feel better?”
She let out a shaky breath. “Yes.”
“Do I make you uncomfortable?”
“No.”
“Do you want me to leave?”
She swallowed. “No.”
Gripping her hand, he walked her over to the bed and knelt on top of it, tugging at her until she joined him.
Kneeling across from each other, he said, “You know, Dagmar, not everything has to be so serious. Every moment involving a life or death issue that needs to be analyzed and sussed out.”
She winced. “I try not to be stuffy.”
“And you’re not, thankfully. But the games played that involve whole kingdoms don’t need to be played here. Here it’s just us—and we can do whatever we want.”
It dawned on Dagmar that he was right. She wasn’t at her father’s fortress, one of her brothers liable to walk in unannounced at any time. Nor did she have to worry about her sisters-in-law listening at the door or bribing the servants for information. She was thousands of miles from her kinsmen and in a place that knew nothing of her.
Dagmar felt a delicious, wicked thrill lash through her and carefully stated, “I don’t have your freedom, my lord. I have my…
honor
to think of. To protect.”
“Your honor?” Confused, Gwenvael stared at her for a long moment, and then his expression cleared and slowly, carefully, he began to play the game with her. “Ahh, yes. Your precious honor. There will be no protecting that tonight. Not with me.”
Gwenvael lowered his head, his mouth heading toward hers. Dagmar turned her face away, her hands firmly pressed against his chest, trying to push him back even while her hands begged to explore.
But he wouldn’t let her turn away, grabbing a handful of her hair and forcing her head back until she had to look at him, his mouth again lowering toward hers.
His tongue slid inside, taking full ownership as it stroked and teased her and Dagmar whimpered desperately, her fingers digging into his shirt-covered chest. There was no rush to this kiss, no desperate invasion. He simply took what he wanted in his own time—and she let him.
So lost in his kiss, she didn’t know he’d opened her robe again until he palmed her breast. Startled by the contact, Dagmar instinctively tried to pull back, but his grip on her hair kept her firmly in place. Unable to escape.
In this moment, on this bed, the dragon had complete control of her. And the violence of the shudder that went through her told its own tale. She needed this moment, this break from responsibilities. A longed-for break that had nothing to do with getting what she wanted or protecting those she cared for, and everything to do with her pleasure.
His lips nibbled their way down her chin to her neck and kept going. His warm mouth closed over her nipple and began to suck as a finger slid inside her.
Dagmar’s hips jerked, attempting to move away from the finger so easily sliding in and out of her. But the fingers still gripping her hair tugged hard, and he gave a low warning growl.
Without a word, he made it clear he wouldn’t let her go until he was done, and she rewarded him with fresh wetness between her legs that allowed him to add a second finger to the first.
She winced a bit, sucking air between her teeth, remembering that her few relations had been extremely short, years apart, and mostly unpleasant.
Her whimper this time had nothing to do with unpleasantness, however. She couldn’t explain the difference, but it was there. His gentleness, his control without ever being vicious. It had her melting into him, giving herself over as she’d never done before. His mouth moved to her other breast, sucking until the nipple was hard and begging.
He had her bent back now, over his forearm, her body completely open to him and whatever he wanted to do. Her hands moved across his shoulders, holding onto him as her hips began to rock back and forth, riding the fingers inside her. She tried to stop herself, but her body had long left her behind. It had a mind of its own, and it seemed to know exactly what it wanted.
The pace of the fingers inside her increased, taking her roughly, the tips curling and rubbing against some nameless spot that had her legs shaking. She could no longer hold herself up, but the dragon took care of that. He took care of everything as his mouth returned to hers, his tongue forcing its way back in while he held her tightly with his arm. And when he had full control of her mouth and her whimpers had turned to short, desperate cries, Gwenvael placed his thumb against her clitoris and began to swirl it in circles, pressing down hard.
It was the last thing she needed, and she was grateful for the mouth covering hers as she screamed out the first release she’d had without use of her own hand.
She held on to Gwenvael as her body shuddered and shook, and when she felt the wave ebb and thought she was done, he turned his fingers a bit and readjusted where he’d placed his thumb. Then the wave was back again, twisting and turning her body, wringing it out like a rag. She tried to beg him to stop, to release her, but his mouth on hers seemed a permanent thing as he readjusted yet again, and again her body was dragged up and over.
When she could no longer breathe and sobs clogged her throat, he finally pulled back. His thumb slowed its pace before finally stopping, his fingers slid out of her with a gentleness she found startling, and the brutal assault on her mouth turned to tender kisses along her jaw.
He held her until her panting turned to slow, deep breaths and her fingers unclenched from his shoulder.
He’d just begun to lower her to the bed when she heard a brisk knock against the door.
“My lady?” Fannie’s voice said from the other side.
Gwenvael pulled her back up and whispered harshly against her ear, “Answer her. Answer her now.”
“Yes?” Dagmar stated clearly.
“Evening meal will be in another hour. I have a gown for you. Do you need help dressing?”
Still unable to organize her always organized thoughts, Dagmar was grateful when Gwenvael prompted, “Tell her yes, but you need another ten minutes to yourself.”
Dagmar swallowed and said, “Yes, but I’m still napping. Another ten minutes, please.”
“Of course, my lady.”
“Thank you.”
She never heard the woman leave, but the shadow under the door vanished.
The dragon finally released her, and Dagmar immediately pulled her robe over her body as he climbed off the bed and headed toward the door. She remained where he’d left her, unable to move.
“I’ll be back later tonight,” he told her as he walked away.
“Who says I’ll be here?”
He stopped before opening the door and faced her. “You’ll leave the window open for me and you’ll be naked. When I come back, I’ll take what I want from you, as many times as I want to.” He grinned; it was pure and raw and astonishingly beautiful. “Understand me, Lady Dagmar?”
She shook her head. “No. You’ll have to explain it to me.”
“I will. Even if I have to tie you to the bed and explain it to you again and again and again.” He looked her over one more time. “And don’t play with yourself after I’m gone. Don’t want you wearing my pussy out before I’ve had a chance to use it.” With his hand on the door handle, Gwenvael rewarded her with the warmest smile she’d seen from anyone. “Besides, you look so beautiful when you come, I don’t want to miss a second of it.”
Then he was gone, the door shutting quietly behind him. A few minutes later when Fannie returned with the gown, she found Dagmar in the same position Gwenvael had left her in—kneeling on the bed, clutching her robe closed…and panting.
“She should have warned me, Jack.”
“Aye, my Lord Gwenvael. She should have.”
“She should have told me the truth about herself.”
“Very true, my lord.”
“Spinster? Spinster, my perfect ass! That woman is a volcano, Jack. Self-contained, waiting-to-go-off-and-melt-my-scales volcano. And, if I might add, a wee bit of a tease.”