What a Dragon Should Know (Dragon Kin #3)(145)

“Yes!” she lied.

“Liar.”

His tongue began to trace the lines of his Claiming mark. Dagmar’s eyes crossed and she lowered the extra spectacles before she dropped them.

“You make the worst spy,” she accused.

They’d come up there to watch Baron Lord Craddock’s wife entertain herself with one of Annwyl’s soldiers. Yet Dagmar had been overwhelmingly delighted when it turned out her liaison was with a local pig farmer who, she’d heard from Morfyd, had a strange affection for his merchandise and rarely bathed.

Unfortunately when things began to turn interesting between the farmer and her ladyship and strange snorting sounds began to be used—by both—Gwenvael had completely distracted her … several times.

How was she to get anything done when he kept doing that to her?

“Don’t blame me because you can’t keep quiet.” He kissed and licked his way up her back. “I think it was that last scream that frightened them off. Now aren’t you sorry I didn’t gag you as I suggested?”

“If you gag me, I won’t be able to scream for help.”

He nipped her shoulder and dug his hand into her hair, turning her head so he could take her mouth. His kiss was long and lingering, and she relaxed into it, letting him take what he wanted from her.

Pleasure and happiness—at one time she’d never dared to hope for these. Now she had more than she knew what to do with.

He rolled her to her back, his hands sliding up her sides and to her arms. As if time didn’t matter, his kiss went on and on while his fingers gently stroked her skin. It wasn’t until her arms were pinned over her head that he pulled from their kiss and softly asked, “So what were you and Fearghus talking about earlier?”

Quickly forgetting about the Craddocks and their bitter, unhappy lives, Dagmar sighed. “Nothing much.”

He entered her slowly, Dagmar’s body arching into his while he planted tiny kisses against her jaw and throat.

“My lovely Dagmar,” he murmured. “Such an excellent little liar.”

Dagmar’s squeal of protest rang out and she kicked and tried to pull her arms away, but Gwenvael refused to release her as he mercilessly tickled her.

“Stop! Stop!”

He did. “What were you talking about?”

“Baron Lord Craddock.” She squealed again, kicked harder. “Let me go! You can’t do this to me!”

“But I am!” he gasped out. “And I have to say I do enjoy it this way. Every time I tickle you, like right … here!”

“Stop!”

“Your pu**y squeezes me so hard.” He groaned. “Gods that feels good.”

“Stop! Stop!”

He took his time, but he stopped. “Tell me.”

“I’m not lying, you rude bastard. We were talking about Craddock. Rumor is he’s raising an army near the Southland coast.”

“And?”

“And what?” She squealed when he tickled her again and spit out the rest when he stopped, “All right! All right! Fearghus wants us to go and find out what really is happening on Craddock’s territory. Arrange a truce if we can, plan for war if we can’t. But with the wife’s obvious indiscretions in play, I hope a war with Craddock will be unnecessary.”

Gwenvael frowned. “Fearghus wants me to go as well?”

“He thinks we’re an excellent team. Figures I can handle the court and you can handle the merchants and get information from the working girls—which had better be all you get from them.”

Using his free hand, he touched his cheek. “And risk this pretty face by upsetting the love of my life? Never.” He chuckled when she only smirked at him. “Now … Is this the first time you two have discussed this little trip of goodwill?”

“Yes.” His fingers went at her again and she screamed, “No! No!”

“Well?”

“We talked about it two weeks ago.”

“That was around the time I was certain you and Annwyl were up to something. I’d wondered how you’d talked Fearghus into sending that little gift to your father.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

At this point she was quite aware she was goading him, but when he took her with those long powerful strokes, making her come again and again while tickling her beyond reason, she didn’t really care.

Letting out one last shudder, Gwenvael rolled off Dagmar and smiled. “Conniving cow.”

She laughed. “I was wondering why you hadn’t said anything.”

“Why would I? I love watching you work. My brothers don’t know what to make of you. And that’s just high entertainment for me.”

They looked at each other, both breathing hard, exhausted to their bones, and Gwenvael studied her. Dagmar’s hair, saturated with sweat, stuck to her forehead and her eyes blinked hard as she tried to focus on his face without her spectacles. He understood now that her mind would never stop turning, never stop planning—and she’d never be happy with a simple life at court.

“I love you, Dagmar. Every plotting, conniving inch of you.”

Her cheeks turned a lovely shade of red, but her expression didn’t change. She’d never show that he’d embarrassed her with his direct words. Words he would never speak to any other.