What a Dragon Should Know (Dragon Kin #3)(138)

“Unleash me, woman!”

Her smile grew, much to his annoyance.

Gwenvael reached for her with his free hand, but she kept stepping back or moving to the side. Anything to keep out of his reach.

He scowled, staring at his hand. “Is that blood?”

She nodded happily.

“Crazy female,” he muttered. “Beast, you are!”

Dagmar shrugged, enjoying herself entirely too much. Who had time for this sort of violent silliness? There were plans to make, supplies to arrange for, messages to be sent. There were always important things to do, and this was not one of them. And yet, she was having so much fun. Did it really matter if every once in a while she had a little fun that didn’t involve the manipulation of others and the eventual peace or war of her people? Was it wrong to take a little time for herself and the dragon she adored? That she loved?

She did love him. She knew that now, with her teeth dug into his flesh and the taste of his blood filling her mouth. She loved Gwenvael the Defiler with all her hard, unsympathetic, uncaring heart. And the fact that she was causing him great discomfort but he had yet to punch her in the face, told her he loved her, too.

It would never be a normal union, not with them. He’d never think to bring her flowers or arrange a romantic dinner in their room. And he’d always flirt with others if it got them to smile or got him what he wanted.

Yet what Dagmar knew she could count on was that Gwenvael would always be loyal to her, would always protect her, would always make her laugh, would always treat her as if she mattered, and would never play the games on her that they would always play on others. And she felt confident about all this because she knew that mixed in with his love for her was a little bit of fear.

In the end, their loyalty and allegiance would be to their families and their people. But their devotion would be to each other.

Well … and, of course, her dogs. But he could find that out later.

A drop of blood splashed on the floor and Gwenvael cried out, “I bleed! Death comes for me!”

Dagmar didn’t release her grip on his hand, but she rolled her eyes in disgust. It was all the distraction he needed, his free hand reaching out and taking firm hold of her breast. His thumb and forefinger gripped the nipple, applying pressure and twisting lightly.

Gwenvael licked his lips, his teasing fingers making Dagmar groan and her body writhe.

“Bring those pretty tits over here, Lady Dagmar.”

She did, moving closer without him exerting any force at all.

“Good lass.” He slid his arm under her rear, lifting her up so he could wrap his mouth around her breast. He sucked hard while his tongue teased the tip, making it painfully hard.

She wrapped her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist, her body quaking as he continued to suck on her breast. The wonderful feel of his mouth against her had Dagmar nearing climax. Her body shook until she finally released her grip on his hand so her head could fall back against her shoulders and she could groan in desperate need.

“Ha, ha!” he cheered, her breast falling from his mouth and his wounded hand raised in the air. “So easy, Lady Dagmar.”

He carried her to the end of the bed. She put up a fight, but he kept his valuable bits away from her mouth this time. He spun her toward the bed and pushed her down on it.

“Now I can’t promise you this won’t hurt, but I will promise to make it worth it.”

Before she could even get back to her feet, he had the torn sheets tied to her wrists. If she pulled with one arm, she nearly tore the other from its socket.

“Ingenious,” she sneered.

“Isn’t it?” He rested back on his heels for a moment. “I won’t say that I don’t trust you, but I don’t trust these legs of yours. They’re sly.”

“What does that mean?”

He answered by tying the rest of the torn sheets around her ankles and then to the legs of the bed.

“Now that’s simply perfect.”

“Do you ever get tired of patting yourself on the back?”

“No!” He pushed her flat against the bed. “Don’t move. I need a few minutes to examine my canvas.”

The sound of that worried her. “Your what?”

“You’re moving.”

“With good reason.”

He leaned in and asked, “Do you want me inside you or not?”

“No,” she told him flatly.

“Forgot who I’m dealing with,” he muttered.

“Clearly.”

“Never ask the hard questions first,” he said, sliding two of his fingers inside her. She was already wet and ready, his fingers moving in and out of her only made her needy and a bit desperate.

He stroked her for what felt like ages, his other hand occasionally brushing against her clitoris as a reminder of what she really needed.

When her hips pushed back against each thrust and she moaned into the bedding, he stopped.

“Now, my Lady Dagmar … Do you want me inside you or not?”

“Yes,” she hissed between clenched teeth.

“Good. Then don’t move. This is very precise work.”

She rolled her eyes yet again and wondered what the hell he was doing back there.

She felt heat first and thought it was quite rude of him to burn her without permission. Were there not rules for this sort of thing among their kind?