Light My Fire (Dragon Kin #7)(66)

And, much to his eternal surprise, Elina was one of those partners. She snarled, she screamed, she threatened, she said things in her own language that he was positive he never wanted to know the meaning of. She, in short, put up one hell of a fight . . . but she never said no. Or stop.

So he f*cked her, hard, while she fought. And he kept his own orgasm at bay—as bloody hard as that was—until he ripped that climax from her.

Her screams didn’t scare off the birds, but he sensed they now had an audience of animals, watching the superior beings do what they mostly did during mating season.

Celyn continued to f*ck her through that orgasm and when he could tell she was fighting off another one, her body too sensitive to go through it again, he pulled back his hand and slapped her ass. Her * clenched his cock like a vise and they both exploded, his head back, flames bursting from his throat, a few of the viewing birds singed before they managed to take to the air.

Wrung dry, the pair landed hard on the ground, Celyn now spooning Elina from behind.

Trying to catch their breath, they lay there for so long that Celyn lost track of time. That is, until Elina noted, “You are still hard inside me.”

Celyn nodded, then realized she couldn’t see that. “Aye,” he finally answered.

“How is that possible?”

“I am dragon,” he answered honestly. “Anything is possible. We’re that amazing.”

“Are you?” she asked, seconds before her elbow came back and rammed into his face.

“Ow! You mad cow!”

Suddenly Celyn was flat on his back and Elina was on top of him, his cock inside her again, her small hand trying to wrap itself around his throat.

“Then show me,” she ordered him. “Show me how amazing the dragon is.”

It was the way she rolled her tongue when she said “dragon” that had Celyn gripping Elina by her shoulders and throwing her to her back. He held her down by pinning her arms above her head and unceremoniously shoved his cock inside her.

“I can show you whatever you want,” he told her as he f*cked her hard. “I’m just not sure you can take it all.”

“I am Daughter of Steppes,” she reminded him, seconds before she managed to pull one of her hands away and dragged her nails across his chest, leaving bloody claw marks. “I can take anything.”

Celyn really hoped that was true. Because they had hours before the suns would rise and he wasn’t the least bit tired . . .

Chapter Twenty-One

“Get up, lazy dragon. We must ride.”

“No,” Celyn told her flatly, turning onto his side. “Take a turn with your hand and leave me be.”

“I mean ride our horses . . . out of here.”

Celyn opened his eyes, then quickly closed them again when the rays of the two suns nearly blinded him.

Gods, he felt like he’d been drinking all night. But he hadn’t. Although he almost wished he’d been doing that instead. He’d feel less pain . . . and probably less used.

Something hit him in the head, and he opened his eyes again—more carefully this time—to see a pigskin of water and several strips of meat lying near him.

“Thanks,” Celyn croaked out, shocked at how rough his voice sounded.

What had this female done to him? She was human. Human! Not a She-dragon. Definitely not a centaur, whose skills in bed were legendary. But a mere, weak-skinned human. And yet she hadn’t faltered once. She hadn’t told him to stop or told him that was enough. Not once! Even when he was praying she would.

It seemed that riding all day on the Steppes created females that could sustain all sorts of things.

Celyn sat up, wincing as parts of his body snapped and popped back into place. His horse made a little judgmental clucking sound with his teeth, but when Celyn glared at him, he quickly turned his head away and went back to eating the grass by the creek.

Picking up one of the slices of meat, Celyn ate and tried desperately to remember what he’d done with his leggings. He glanced over at Elina and saw her pouring herself something hot from the pit fire.

“What’s that?” he asked. Gods, his voice still sounded like a road made of crushed glass.

“Tea.”

That sounded perfect right now. “Can I have a bit?”

“It is not for you.”

Celyn bit off another piece of meat. “Why not?”

“You cannot have little dragon babies.”

Celyn choked, that piece of meat stuck somewhere in his throat.

Elina walked over to him and, while holding her cup of tea in one hand, she pounded his back with the other until the meat dislodged.

“Thanks,” he squeaked.

She stepped back, with both hands now around the battered metal teacup. She gently blew on the tea to cool it. “You might forget that things have changed, Dolt, between our kinds. But I have not. And I am much too young for anyone’s babies. Especially my own.”

Celyn felt a sharp bolt of panic. He’d never asked Elina her age; he’d merely assumed she was of age. At least thirty winters. Right?

He tried to sound nonchalant. Tried desperately. “So how old are you?”

“Such a rude question,” she teased. “Southlanders and their rude questions.”

“Just . . . answer.”

“Fine. I am one hundred and forty-five passing summers.”