The Dragon Who Loved Me (Dragon Kin #5)(58)

And truly, it was the best feeling ever.

Vigholf never expected her to kiss him. And her kiss was desperate, demanding, which was exactly how Vigholf felt. How he’d been feeling since a tumble of brown wings, hair, and talons had slammed into the castle wal beside his room, damaging the brick and stone and his equilibrium.

Her tongue invaded his mouth and her hands pul ed at his clothes. This wasn’t what Vigholf had expected when he’d stood there staring at her ten minutes ago. Maybe another kiss he’d hoped for. A kiss that perhaps she’d return this time. One that she actual y responded to. But this . . . this was even better. And completely surprising. Especial y since this was not how things were done in the north. In the north it was kissing first, f**king later. Sometimes much later. The females of their Hordes were so protected that for them to have more than one or two lovers before their Claiming was rare. For many of the males it meant finding human pets to entertain them until they found the She-dragon they would mate with for life. But the courting process was relatively simple with actual physical contact not made until commitments had been sworn to. Even then, if there was more than one male interested—and often there was—then an event referred to as The Honour would take place. A battle until the death—or at least til a single dragon had beaten al the others into unconsciousness—so that the final dragon could claim the prize. Although since the death of Vigholf’s father, The Honour rarely took place these days among the Olgeirsson Horde.

Stil , al these were long and complex steps that one must take to secure themselves a dragoness. An average, everyday, run-of-the-mil dragoness.

Then the Cadwaladr females had come along and that al seemed to change. Since taking their place beside the Northlanders to fight the Irons, the Clan females had been known to f**k whom they liked, when they liked. After a particularly rousing battle, a Cadwaladr female might simply grab the tail of some unsuspecting Northland male and drag him off to a quiet alcove somewhere. None of this the Northland males minded in the least. But it was what happened afterward that they did not favor.

For once done with males, the She-dragons wanted nothing more to do with them. Although, if the male made a good impression, she may tel her kin and the male may find himself busy nearly every night between battles. Which would be fine . . . if the Horde males didn’t have a tendency to get attached to females. Nothing was worse for them than to get lost in the scales of a female, only to find out the next morning the She-dragon wouldn’t even talk to him. Sometimes wouldn’t even acknowledge him. And gods forbid a male got a little pushy. A little demanding. The She-dragons, Vigholf had quickly learned, watched out for each other. A dragon became a little too pushy or demanding and he’d find himself on the wrong side of a Cadwaladr She-dragon attack. A “Tea and Kick Party” they al affectionately cal ed it. It was never pretty and it was hard for the male to ever get his reputation back among his own kin.

Vigholf had seen Rhona dish out quite a few of those attacks in the name of one of her cousins or sisters. She didn’t like pushy males, which was why Vigholf had never been pushy. Or at least not very pushy. Not extremely pushy, anyway. Just . . . sort of pushy. But only to keep Rhona safe.

The question for Vigholf, though, was what did he do now, with Rhona in his arms, her human body pressed into his? Did he hold off, wait to see if what she was feeling went beyond the mere physical?

Or perhaps he should shut up and let her grip his c**k the way she was doing now.

Vigholf closed his eyes, let out a breath while Rhona kissed a line across his jaw until she stopped and pressed her forehead against it.

Yes, al good intentions would have to wait. At least for a little while.

His eyes closed, his breathing shal ow, Vigholf’s whole body tensed when she gripped his cock. Al those muscles going rigid. Taut, as if just one thing, one touch, one move would have him snapping like a tightly coiled line.

Rhona squeezed and air rushed out of him. Then his hands were on her, lifting her up, turning, and shoving her back into the closest tree. He pinned her there with his body, his mouth searching out hers and finding it.

Rhona returned his kiss, enjoying that desperation she’d never seen from him before. Because he was a Northland warrior dragon, desperation was the last thing one ever saw from Vigholf the Abhorrent. Unless, of course, it was the desperation to kil you. Never a good situation to be in.

And yet, even with his desperation, she could tel he was holding back. Afraid of what? Scaring her off? She had no desire to stop him from what he was doing, to push him away as she’d been doing for the last five years when she’d just thought he was being a pest. An annoying pest who had an unhealthy obsession with her spear. But that was yesterday, last week, last month. And this was now.

Knowing and understanding Vigholf’s strength of wil , Rhona knew she had to make what she wanted clear to the dragon. Yet she’d never been one for a lot of words. Especial y during f**king. So she gripped his hand—marveling at the size of the fingers tangling with her own—and led that hand under her leggings and between her thighs. She pressed his fingers against her and released him, leaving the rest to him. Praying he wasn’t as oblivious as some of his kin could be. As sometimes he could be—especial y when it came to horses.

His hand relaxed and for a moment she thought he was going to pul away. But his fingers curled, teasing, gently scraping, and then he pressed his middle finger against her clit, making smal circles against it.