Dragon Bound (Elder Races #1)(18)

He bit her, a savage and archaic gesture that sent an earthquake through her body. She shrieked and raked her nails down the immense musculature of his back while she wrapped her legs around those taut pumping hips and pulled him even closer.

They were almost there, almost there. He rolled with her until she lay sprawled on top of him. She adjusted to the new position with an eager wiggle, mouth turned to him, seeking his. Hard hands sank into her hair and held her head imprisoned against his hairy chest. She needed him to push inside her like she’d never needed anything before. She plunged one hand between them to grip the velvety, broad head of his penis. It was damp at the tip.

Then, his lungs working hard, he pulled her head back until their lips were just touching. Still pushing his hips against her pelvis in that slow, hard sexual rhythm, rubbing his thick c**k against her palm, he whispered into her open mouth, “Tell me what your Name is.”

Okay, wait. She had to remember something about that. She struggled to think past the burning need for him.

“Tell me,” he whispered, the words winding around her, snaring her tighter.

Wait a minute. Her breath shook. Names have Power. Power, like that in his voice.

She cast around in her desire-fuddled mind for a good lie but heard herself say, “P-Pia Giovanni.”

She panted in real pain and rubbed herself along the length of his body, trying to rediscover the rhythm he had begun. She needed to come so bad she could have screamed.

“Pia.” He didn’t so much say the name as breathe it. His hot breath coiled around her like tendrils of smoke from an infernal fire. “Pretty.”

God, it felt unbelievable, as he stroked her all over with nothing but the Power in his voice. He licked her hot skin and murmured, again with that caressing, dark, seductive voice, “But that’s your human name, isn’t it, darling? You’re some kind of Wyr. I need to know your real Name.”

Then as if he couldn’t help himself, he cupped the back of her ass and pushed up against her so hard his hips left the bed.

But just wait.

Giving him her real Name would give him Power over her.

“May all the gods have mercy, tell me.” The agonized groan came up from his core and blasted her swollen, moistened lips.

The ghost of her mother’s voice touched her desire-crazed thoughts with cool lucidity.

Don’t ever tell your real Name to anyone, my love, she had said to Pia. Over and over her mother had repeated this lesson. She spoke it with Power of her own in her voice, so that the lesson would be fixed in Pia’s mind because she had been a bit of a flighty child at times. If you tell someone your real Name, you have forever given that person Power over you. It is your most precious, private treasure. Keep it safe as you guard your life, for your Name is the key to your soul.

The dream spell shattered. “No,” she whispered.

Was she denying him or her mother? She tried to clamp down with her legs on his torso to hold on to him, clutching at that black spiky hair with greedy fingers.

He roared. He sounded like he was in as much pain as she was. He wrapped hard arms tight around her, but she was already growing insubstantial. The raw silk of his hair melted through her grip.

She threw out her hands, reaching for him. For a moment she felt his questing fingers brush along hers. Then he was gone.

She hurtled to wakefulness and plunged upright in her bed with a soundless shout. Her heart hammered like she had just raced a marathon. Her dirty clothes were soaked in sweat, the motel bedspread tangled underneath her. The air conditioner rattled, blowing stale, deodorized air through the room. The remnant of magic lay flat in the air like soured champagne.

Her hungry body wept. With a moan, she plunged one hand between her legs and pressed. It only made her ache more.

She had never felt such a wretched, unconsummated lust. She curled into a miserable ball, starving for that dream lover and terrified of him at the same time. Something deep inside her started to whisper his name. Then panic shut it down. She couldn’t think it, couldn’t let what happened become too real because that would be beyond disastrous.

Then she jerked as she realized that she was still glowing. The low-level glamour that hid her skin’s pearl-like sheen was fed from her own life force. It was supposed to remain active at all times, even when she slept. Her mother had helped her put the spell in place. She hadn’t lost control over it in years.

She renewed the spell and dampened herself to look human again.

She was so screwed.

Grimacing, she curled into a tighter ball.

Dragos exploded out of his bed, face contorted, one hand holding his painful erection. His balls ached so badly he stumbled forward to grip at the edges of a nearby mahogany dresser. He bowed over it, shuddering.

What the hell?

The beguilement he sent was supposed to seduce his thief with her deepest fantasy, her most heartfelt desire. He had expected anything but this, a dream of riches or power, success or even fame, but sex? The ultimate opportunist, he had laughed to himself and had been quick to oblige, as he beguiled her deeper into his dream trap.

Then she stepped into his bedroom and his world stopped.

She was lovelier than he could have imagined, her body glowing with its own internal moonlight. His mind seized. What was she? His knowledge of the Elder Races was near encyclopedic, compiled as it had been over the long ages. He cast back, searching for any memory of this type of creature, and slammed into a blank wall. All that came to mind was that distant tantalizing memory of the time he had caught the hint of a scent on the breeze that had driven him wild.