What a Dragon Should Know
Page 58

“Stop it!” She pulled at his hands. “Have you lost your mind?”
Gwenvael dropped back to the bed, turned his face toward the wall. “You know what this means, don’t you?”
“Gwenvael—”
“I’ll have to live alone, at the top of a castle somewhere. I’ll hide from the daylight and only come out at night.”
“Please stop this.”
“I’ll be alone but not for long because you’ll all want me more. You’ll lust for the beautiful warrior I once was and pity the hideous creature I’ve become. Most importantly, you’ll want to soothe my pain.” He looked at her again. “Don’t you want to soothe my pain? Right now? Without that dress on?”
“No. I do not.”
Dagmar tried to stand, and Gwenvael caught her hand, pulling her back down. “You can’t leave me. I’m tortured and brooding. You need to show me how much you adore me so I can learn to love myself again.”
“You’ve never stopped loving yourself.”
“Because I’m amazing.”
She yanked her hand away, but Gwenvael simply caught it again and dragged her until she was on top of him.
“Let me go!”
“Not until you kiss away my torturous brooding.”
“I’m not kissing anything away.” Dagmar froze. “And move your hands, sir.”
“But they are warm and comfortable where they are.”
* * *
He was impossible! To think she was actually worried about him. Why? What was the point of worrying about someone who was insane?
“Get your hands off my rear.”
“Not until you kiss me.”
“I’m not kissing you.”
“It’s because I’m hideous!”
“You’re not …” Why was she arguing with him? Didn’t that make her more insane than he was? “Release me.”
“Kiss me, and I will.”
“Fine.” She leaned down and planted a quick, closed-mouth kiss on his lips. “There.”
“You can do better than that.”
“No. I can’t. So just—” Dagmar gasped when his hands squeezed her rear through all her layers of gown and undergarments. And with her mouth open, he swooped in, rising up and kissing her hard. In seconds his tongue had invaded her mouth and swirled insistently around hers.
That was all it took. She melted against him, her hands reaching up to frame his face. Her stomach tensed, and everything went wet and warm between her legs.
She wanted him. Beyond reason, she wanted him. No matter how strange, demanding, or annoying he seemed to be.
His grip on her rear tightened almost to the point of pain, but she didn’t mind. Nor did she mind when he pulled her so close she could feel the hardness he had for her between his legs. Taking his time, he rocked her sex against his groin, the hands on her ass not only moving her but squeezing her cheeks each time.
She began to groan, the power of a climax beginning to grow inside her.
“What are you doing?” Strong hands grabbed Dagmar’s arm and yanked her off Gwenvael.
Stunned, panting, and incredibly aroused, she could only stare at Esyld, unable to speak.
“He’s still healing!” the dragoness chastised. “He doesn’t have the energy for all that sort of thing.”
“She was all over me,” Gwenvael chimed in, causing Dagmar’s mouth to drop open in shock. “I couldn’t stop her.”
“Honestly!” Esyld dragged her toward the door, shoved a bucket in her hand. “Go get some water from the well. Perhaps that’ll help you cool off and get some control!”
The door slammed in her face and Dagmar could only stand there, staring at it, her mouth still open.
Gwenvael grinned at the dragoness peering at him.
“Do you enjoy torturing her?” she asked.
“Depends on the torture.”
She snickered. “I assume you’re hungry, Gwenvael.”
“I am.” He inclined his head. “You look awfully familiar. Have we … uh … met?”
She rested her hands on her knees and bent at the waist, leaning in close. “Look in my face and say that again. With the same inflection.”
Gwenvael did look into her face and he knew what he saw smirking back at him.
His mother.
“I’m feeling really uncomfortable.”
“Good. You should.” She went to the pit fire and spooned stew into a bowl. “I’m your aunt Esyld.”
Gwenvael only knew of one Aunt Esyld and to this day she was still hunted by his kin.
“Then I’m eternally grateful for your help.” Gwenvael pushed himself up, his back resting against the metal rails of the bed frame. Air hissed between his teeth, the pain reminding him he had a ways to go before he was back to his old self.
Tell that to his cock, though. He would have taken Dagmar right then and there if his aunt hadn’t returned. For his life, he didn’t understand that woman’s effect on him.
“Surprised I didn’t kill you in your sleep?” She handed him the bowl and a spoon.
“There’s no good answer for that. So I choose to eat instead.”
Esyld pulled a chair close to the bed and sat, crossing one leg over the other. “She said you were smart.”
“Do you mean the beautiful Dagmar?”
She frowned. “Beauti—forget it. I mean Keita.”