“Promise?”
Elina looked out into the dark night of the thousands of leagues of Steppes lands and asked, “Where in all hells would I go?”
Celyn led his horse to the creek before stripping off his saddle and bridle. He carried the equipment over to where Elina had placed her extremely simple saddle and dumped the whole lot there.
Then he sort of . . . dove at her again.
It wasn’t pretty. Or elegant. Just kind of desperate.
When he’d woken up that morning, he honestly hadn’t thought he’d have the energy for anything after their long day of riding. But his body had different plans once she’d said the word “cock.”
No euphemisms for Elina of the Too Long Name. She was as straightforward and brutal about sex as she was about words. Something he was minding less and less these days. He liked her open honesty. Her strange turn of phrase that had nothing to do with the common language of the Southlander not being her first language.
But what he really liked was how, when he tackled her in his wild dive, she simply rolled with him until she had him on his back. They’d rolled away from their small campsite and their warm bedrolls, but neither seemed to care as they began to wrestle in the dirt and snow.
Nothing violent or angry. But their clothes did manage to go flying until they were both naked and Celyn was buried deep inside her. He had her pinned to the ground, his hands holding her arms over her head.
He leaned down and kissed her, but abruptly pulled back and accused, “You faithless cow, you have ale! And you’ve shared none with me!”
Elina hiked one leg up high on his hip and then lifted and turned until Celyn was flat on his back, but still buried deep inside her.
“You want my ale,” she told him, “you have to give me what I want.”
“And what’s that?”
“A good ride.” She pulled her hands from his grip and slapped them against his chest. She began to rock her hips against him, her pussy squeezing and releasing as she writhed on top of him, her head thrown back, her pale hair blowing wildly around her face from the harsh Steppes winds that she didn’t seem to notice one bit.
“Yes, dragon,” she growled, “just like that.”
Celyn gripped her hips with both hands. “Who’s riding who when you’re on top, female?”
In reply, she squeezed hard on his cock, using just those muscles of hers, and Celyn’s back arched as he fought his desire to come now. Right this moment. Damning her and her own enjoyment. But he knew that’s what she wanted. To prove him weaker. And he wasn’t about to let that happen. Not when it came to sex.
So first he fought for control of his own body . . . then he fought for control of hers.
It wasn’t easy. He might be bigger and, as a dragon, considerably stronger. Even when he was in this weaker human body. But the woman had a knowledge of balance that often gave her a surprising edge. If he wanted to win this round—winning being relative when it came to pleasure—he would have to take away her balance.
Once he had her on her back again, Celyn stood, his arms around her hips so that he brought her with him. She laughed when she had to press her hands against the ground so that her head didn’t accidentally slam into it. While she was busy with that, he moved his arms down so that he gripped Elina high on her legs. Once he had her secure, he began to fuck her hard, her laughter turning to moans, her toes curling against his back as he took her.
And, even better, with his long arms, he was able to press his thumb against her clit and rub. Gently at first until he felt her legs tighten around his waist, then a little harder, until her entire body was shuddering and she was screaming out into the night.
See? He’d won this round.
He pulled out of Elina, but only long enough to flip her around and set her down on her stomach. He lifted her ass high in the air and buried himself inside her again. He pounded into her from behind while reaching around and playing with her clit, knowing full well it was still sensitive from the last orgasm.
Elina screamed in rage and tried to push his hand away, but he refused. Then, her pussy tightened around him again as another orgasm—too soon after the last—rolled through her. His own climax exploded around him, and Celyn threw his head back, as flames yet again lit up the dark.
When he was done, when he’d squeezed the last from his body, he dropped them both to the ground, side by side. He on his back, Elina on her stomach. She reached over and slapped his arm.
“Bastard,” she complained.
“I know.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Elina awoke the next morning with the two suns rising in the distance and Celyn’s head between her thighs.
He took long, lingering licks of her, his tongue ending with a little lash against her clit.
She stretched, briefly thinking she could have someone wake her up like this every day.
“Good morn to you,” Celyn said between licks.
“And good morn to you,” was what Elina meant to say, but all that actually came out was, “Uh.”
Chuckling a bit, Celyn gripped her ankles and pushed them back so that her knees bent. Then he spread her thighs wide, and pinned her down with his shoulders. His languid, easy licks turned into harsher ones until he took her clit gently between his teeth and used his tongue to tease it into a pulsating climax that had Elina writhing beneath the big bastard.
Elina dug her hands into his hair and held on as he took her over once, then again. She was covered in sweat by the time he mounted her, his cock pushing its way past pulsating muscles. They both gasped when he was buried deep, Elina’s arms around his body as he rocked into her. He kissed her neck, then bit it, the tip of his tongue then soothing the sting. He did it again and again, her body writhing every time he did so.
Elina looked out into the dark night of the thousands of leagues of Steppes lands and asked, “Where in all hells would I go?”
Celyn led his horse to the creek before stripping off his saddle and bridle. He carried the equipment over to where Elina had placed her extremely simple saddle and dumped the whole lot there.
Then he sort of . . . dove at her again.
It wasn’t pretty. Or elegant. Just kind of desperate.
When he’d woken up that morning, he honestly hadn’t thought he’d have the energy for anything after their long day of riding. But his body had different plans once she’d said the word “cock.”
No euphemisms for Elina of the Too Long Name. She was as straightforward and brutal about sex as she was about words. Something he was minding less and less these days. He liked her open honesty. Her strange turn of phrase that had nothing to do with the common language of the Southlander not being her first language.
But what he really liked was how, when he tackled her in his wild dive, she simply rolled with him until she had him on his back. They’d rolled away from their small campsite and their warm bedrolls, but neither seemed to care as they began to wrestle in the dirt and snow.
Nothing violent or angry. But their clothes did manage to go flying until they were both naked and Celyn was buried deep inside her. He had her pinned to the ground, his hands holding her arms over her head.
He leaned down and kissed her, but abruptly pulled back and accused, “You faithless cow, you have ale! And you’ve shared none with me!”
Elina hiked one leg up high on his hip and then lifted and turned until Celyn was flat on his back, but still buried deep inside her.
“You want my ale,” she told him, “you have to give me what I want.”
“And what’s that?”
“A good ride.” She pulled her hands from his grip and slapped them against his chest. She began to rock her hips against him, her pussy squeezing and releasing as she writhed on top of him, her head thrown back, her pale hair blowing wildly around her face from the harsh Steppes winds that she didn’t seem to notice one bit.
“Yes, dragon,” she growled, “just like that.”
Celyn gripped her hips with both hands. “Who’s riding who when you’re on top, female?”
In reply, she squeezed hard on his cock, using just those muscles of hers, and Celyn’s back arched as he fought his desire to come now. Right this moment. Damning her and her own enjoyment. But he knew that’s what she wanted. To prove him weaker. And he wasn’t about to let that happen. Not when it came to sex.
So first he fought for control of his own body . . . then he fought for control of hers.
It wasn’t easy. He might be bigger and, as a dragon, considerably stronger. Even when he was in this weaker human body. But the woman had a knowledge of balance that often gave her a surprising edge. If he wanted to win this round—winning being relative when it came to pleasure—he would have to take away her balance.
Once he had her on her back again, Celyn stood, his arms around her hips so that he brought her with him. She laughed when she had to press her hands against the ground so that her head didn’t accidentally slam into it. While she was busy with that, he moved his arms down so that he gripped Elina high on her legs. Once he had her secure, he began to fuck her hard, her laughter turning to moans, her toes curling against his back as he took her.
And, even better, with his long arms, he was able to press his thumb against her clit and rub. Gently at first until he felt her legs tighten around his waist, then a little harder, until her entire body was shuddering and she was screaming out into the night.
See? He’d won this round.
He pulled out of Elina, but only long enough to flip her around and set her down on her stomach. He lifted her ass high in the air and buried himself inside her again. He pounded into her from behind while reaching around and playing with her clit, knowing full well it was still sensitive from the last orgasm.
Elina screamed in rage and tried to push his hand away, but he refused. Then, her pussy tightened around him again as another orgasm—too soon after the last—rolled through her. His own climax exploded around him, and Celyn threw his head back, as flames yet again lit up the dark.
When he was done, when he’d squeezed the last from his body, he dropped them both to the ground, side by side. He on his back, Elina on her stomach. She reached over and slapped his arm.
“Bastard,” she complained.
“I know.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Elina awoke the next morning with the two suns rising in the distance and Celyn’s head between her thighs.
He took long, lingering licks of her, his tongue ending with a little lash against her clit.
She stretched, briefly thinking she could have someone wake her up like this every day.
“Good morn to you,” Celyn said between licks.
“And good morn to you,” was what Elina meant to say, but all that actually came out was, “Uh.”
Chuckling a bit, Celyn gripped her ankles and pushed them back so that her knees bent. Then he spread her thighs wide, and pinned her down with his shoulders. His languid, easy licks turned into harsher ones until he took her clit gently between his teeth and used his tongue to tease it into a pulsating climax that had Elina writhing beneath the big bastard.
Elina dug her hands into his hair and held on as he took her over once, then again. She was covered in sweat by the time he mounted her, his cock pushing its way past pulsating muscles. They both gasped when he was buried deep, Elina’s arms around his body as he rocked into her. He kissed her neck, then bit it, the tip of his tongue then soothing the sting. He did it again and again, her body writhing every time he did so.
