Last Dragon Standing

“What kind of deal?”

“I promise not to shoo you away like a…what was it? An irritating fly? And you promise not to force a Claiming.” She pressed her hand hard against his thigh. “Seduce me, if you like. Charm me, if you can. But no more than that. If that’s amenable to you.”

Ragnar turned toward her, stepped in close. Her hand automatically moved up until it pressed against the sizable c**k he had hidden behind his leggings. His big hands slid into her hair, fingers massaging her scalp while he tilted her head back.

“That’s a deal I can agree to,” he murmured, his gaze searching her face.

“Then kiss me, warlord. I think we’ve both waited long enough.” He knew he’d made a dangerous decision as soon as he took her mouth with his own. Nothing had ever tasted sweeter to him, nothing had ever felt so perfect. And what kind of deal had he agreed to? A deal that, at the moment, felt impossible to abide by when all he wanted to do was toss her over his shoulder and fly her back to his Northland home. Yet he knew that the one way to lose Keita forever was to break his word to her. And not the everyday things that males promise their females—“I know I said I’d clean up the ox carcass from the dining hall, but I’ve been busy!”—but this deal in particular. It was a test, and they both knew it. Because what Keita wanted above all else was her freedom. The freedom to go where she liked, when she liked, with whomever she liked. That meant everything to her. Of all the commitments they’d made to each other over the last few days, some that risked life and death and the future of their territories, this was the one that could make Keita his or push her away forever.

For that reason alone, he should stop this now, get this situation that might or might not involve the Sovereigns out of the way. Then, when the time was right, Ragnar would return and court this dragoness of royal blood properly.

That’s what he should do.

But as soon as he ripped her bodice open to get at her br**sts, any hope of doing what he should rather than what he wanted ended.

He sucked her nipple into his mouth and she moaned, her hands digging into his hair, her small fingers quickly undoing the braid that fell past his shoulders, and he knew they were both beyond the point of stopping and thinking rationally.

Rationally? He would have laughed if he wasn’t busy falling on his back and bringing Keita with him.

Rational thought was for when one courted someone one was interested in, but who didn’t heat the blood. Someone safe and pretty and not remotely challenging. Keita was dangerous and stunning and more challenging than that nest of ice snakes he fell into once. Ice snakes, which could grow so big and long that they could wrap around a dragon his size seven or eight times, and crush every bone he possessed in less than a minute. And that five-hour fight Ragnar only managed to survive because of Vigholf and Meinhard—not nearly as challenging as Keita.

Then again, nothing ever would be, and he understood that now.

He’d torn the bodice of one of her favorite dresses and she didn’t care.

He’d dragged her to the lakeside dirt rather than easing her there slowly, seductively—she didn’t care. And his grip on her was like steel as he held her close, locking her in place while his warm mouth sucked one nipple, then the other, teeth scraping, hands digging into her hips—and she loved it.

She hadn’t dared to hope that someone as methodical as Ragnar the Cunning could ever be so passionate. Then again, maybe she should have known. The way he looked at her, watched her.

He released one arm so that he could reach between them and get at his leggings. She knew then there’d be no foreplay this first time, no soft caresses, no sucking his c**k to make him hard, no licking her to get her off, before they got to the finale of it all.

And, for once, it didn’t matter. As soon as he’d kissed her, she’d grown wet, nearly desperate. A desperation she hadn’t felt in a very long time for any male, no matter how handsome or powerful he might be. At the moment, Keita needed none of those extras, yanking herself from Ragnar’s grip so she could unleash human-sized talons and shred the leggings from him until his c**k reared up free. She caught hold of it and rose up on her knees, moving her body until she was over it. She spread her thighs, took a breath, and dropped her weight down.

Her pu**y engulfed all that male hardness in one shot, both Keita and Ragnar groaning, writhing. He filled her, expanded inside her even more.

Ragnar caught hold of her hips, pulling her in tight while he drove up.

Keita’s head fell back; she laughed even as she moaned.

Gods! That felt so good.

She couldn’t explain why, didn’t care. She just knew she loved it.

Every inch of his c**k driving into her—nothing had ever felt quite this good.

His hands moved up her sides and pulled her down, closer. Ragnar sat up a bit until he could reach her breast. His mouth surrounded it, and then, she felt it. Little lightning strikes against her breast. Little lightning strikes that had her entire body clenching, her eyes opening wide in surprise.

She panted, twisting hard against him, her hands pressing against his shoulders. Not to get away—at this moment, she was sure she’d never want to get away—but because she’d lost control. A control she prided herself on having when it came to males. He moved to her other breast, released more little shocks against her flesh, and Keita screamed out, the first orgasm ripping through her, followed closely by a second.

Shaking, covered in sweat, she held on to him as he continued to f**k her, using his mouth and tongue on her ni**les until he did it again. Until he sent those tiny lightning strikes into her body and Keita cried out once more, her entire body clenching. But this time his cry joined hers, his hands squeezing her so tight she wondered if he’d crush her ribs. He came inside her, his hips rocking into her as each new ejaculation shot into her hard and hot.