Dragos Goes to Washington (Elder Races #8.5)(7)

He loved putting his mark on her. He loved that she fingered the places with evident enjoyment after they had made love. He knew her pleasure points, and he knew her limits, and the intimacy they had developed over the last eighteen months only enhanced their times together.

Moving farther down, he eased her long, slender legs over his shoulder so that she lay even more exposed to him. It was one of his favorite positions, and she shifted eagerly to accommodate him.

With the fingers from one hand, he parted the plump, pink petals of delicate flesh that surrounded her opening. Her earthy, rich scent filled his nostrils, and the sight of her was so exciting, his aching cock pulsed again.

Married. Twice mated.

Those human-inspired words were important, and immensely satisfying. They hinted at, but didn’t touch the deepest essence of the truth between them.

But one word did. Finally, he put his mouth on her and growled against her most intimate flesh, “Mine.”

*     *     *

Dragos’s growl vibrated through her lower body, and she started to shake in reaction. He was ferocity itself cloaked lightly in the guise of human flesh, but he had never once knowingly hurt her, and she knew he never would.

The sight of his dark head between her legs never failed to arouse her. Unerringly, his tongue found her clitoris, and he began to work her. The rhythm of his mouth pulsed throughout her body. It took over the beating of her heart and thudded in her veins.

Pleasure was a spiral, growing higher and tighter as he suckled her. When he worked two of his long, clever fingers into her tight passage, it blew through her like a supernova. He knew when the climax shook through her, and massaged her gently through it.

“My very first pow of the day,” she whispered, stroking his hair.

His quick, gold gaze flashed to her. Not your last one. The sexy growl had taken over his mental voice. Not by a long shot.

Pure, languorous delight had her stretching in a luxurious, undulating roll. Thank the gods for a thorough, detail-oriented husband who was competitive even with himself.

All coherent thought blew out of her mind, as he suckled harder at her hypersensitive little nubbin of flesh. Having already peaked once, the pleasure came back stronger in a fierce wave of sensation. It cascaded along her nerve endings until the intensity became almost unbearable.

She couldn’t keep her hips still. They rose up to meet his wise, relentless mouth. She tried to grab him by the hair, but he kept it too short, and the silken straight strands slipped through her fingers. The built-up tension was going to kill her if it didn’t break soon. Her heart pounded like she was running, always running.

Always running toward him.

Her second climax slammed her back into the mattress. Flinging out her arms, she grabbed handfuls of the bedspread so that she could have something to hold on to in the maelstrom and coughed out a hoarse, breathless scream.

“Okay, okay,” she panted, when she could formulate words. “Ease up now—Dragos, please . . .”

Not on your life, Mephistopheles purred in her head.

This time the peak of pleasure was immediate and savage, as if the dragon had taken her in his teeth and bodily shaken her.

Her legs clenched along his back, and another hoarse scream broke from her shaking lips. She swore at him, and her wicked lover laughed at her. Oh gods, everything inside of her was lit with fire, and he just wasn’t . . . going . . . to . . . stop.

She tried to laugh too, but she had no breath. In desperation, she reached above her head for one of the pillows. She hit him over the head with it. “This isn’t going to get me pregnant!”

At that, he rose up on his hands and knees and crawled up her body, at once so massive and liquid with power and grace, she lost what little breath she had.

From that angle, his chest looked immense, and his erection hung heavy and thick above his tight, round testicles. His gold eyes blazed with light and heat, and his expression had lost what little humanity it had.

“Oh, I’ll get you pregnant,” said the dragon in her face. “I’ll f*ck you until you can’t walk.”

“Promises,” she tried to sneer. It came out more like a wheezing giggle. She hit him with the pillow again.

With a lightning fast move, he snatched it from her. Hooking an arm around her waist, he slid the pillow underneath her hips. She wiggled into place, tilting her pelvis up for him even as she reached for his cock with both greedy hands.

Together they positioned the broad, thick tip of his erection at her opening, and with one brutally efficient move, he thrust into her. He had lost his gentleness, and neither of them missed it. She was so slick and swollen, so sensitized, she came again as he ground himself against her. This time, she was past making any sound. She shook all over, and tears spilled out the corners of her eyes.

He destroyed her, completely. He tore away every barrier she had against the world, until he had conquered her at the core. Stripped and vulnerable, she did the only thing she could—she wound her arms around his neck and clung to him with everything she had.

He f*cked her savagely, in short hard jabs, staring into her face with feral eyes. She was surrounded and filled with heat and pressure. He came in complete silence, thrust flush against her, his powerful body hard like iron. Her heavy eyelids drooped down as she felt him pulse inside of her.

As the pulsing slowed, she managed to unglue one of her shaking arms so that she could stroke his face, his hair. Gods, the love she felt for him was so intense sometimes it took her outside her own body.