Last Dragon Standing

“Allow myself to be held captive, chained against my will, forced to live a life of lies.”

“Most of us just called that Claimed. Humans call it marriage.”

“And I can’t do that.”

“What can you do?”

“Besides be beautiful?”

“You’re much more than that, Keita.”

She smirked. “I never thought I’d hear you speak those words, warlord.”

“How could I not?” he asked, stepping to her, watching as she took an immediate step back. She never backed down if someone was complimenting her beauty or her latest gown or threatening her with deadly physical harm. But his simple words practically had her running off into the dark forest behind them. “Every day you play a dangerous game with your kin, your mother’s enemies, your mother’s court. Every day you do all you can to protect the throne of your people, and protect your siblings from themselves.” That made her giggle, even as she backed another step away from him. “And every day you show a caring for those around you without any of that unattractive weakness that annoys me beyond all reason.”

“Éibhear isn’t weak.”

“Even now you protect the weakest of your Horde.”

“We don’t have Hordes, and Éibhear is not the weakest. I mean, he’s not weak at all.” Her back slammed into the tree behind her, and she stamped her foot. “Honestly! You’re so mean to him.”

“Convince me to be nice.”

“Blackmail is so unbecoming to a dragon.”

“That’s not really blackmail. More like coercion,” he teased, pressing his hands against the tree behind her, blocking her in. “And we Northlanders pride ourselves on being bullying scum when it’s necessary.” He leaned in, kissed her. Such a soft mouth and such a talented tongue.

Her hands reached up, clutched his jaw. And Ragnar knew he’d no longer be able to fight this.

Keita didn’t know what to do with this dragon. He made no demands, except relatively logical ones. He promised her nothing, and gave nothing to her but himself. It wasn’t fair. How was she to fight this? How was she to stay true to herself when he insisted on seeing her as no one else did?

He pulled out of their kiss and slowly dropped to his knees in front of her.

A move she didn’t feel was fair at all, considering.

He pushed her gown up until he had it at her waist. “You’re always naked under your clothes,” he observed.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” she asked.

Grinning, he pressed his mouth to her stomach, her hips, her mound, the inside of her thighs. Once he had her squirming, he placed his mouth on her pu**y and slid his tongue inside.

Keita’s groan was long and louder than she intended. She didn’t care.

It felt too good.

He thrust his tongue in and out, getting her wet, making her tremble like the virgin she had been a really long time ago. Then he dragged his tongue out, skimming up until he could swirl it around her clit.

When Keita felt her knees give, she gripped the back of Ragnar’s head and pulled him away, yanking him off. Desperate, panting, she pushed him to the ground and climbed on top of him, dropping her pu**y over his mouth while she heaved his c**k out of his leggings and wrapped her mouth around it. She felt his growl against her skin, enjoyed the way his hands gripped her hips. He held her tight while he sucked her clit between his lips and whipped it with his tongue.

That’s when Keita called up the lightest of heat to warm his cock, and felt his fingers digging even deeper into her skin. She smiled around the thick flesh in her mouth, pushing the warlord to give her everything he had.

Ragnar knew this game. The who-can-get-the-other-off-faster game. It was a matter of pride with her, wasn’t it? Didn’t she yet realize he had no intention of giving in that easy?

He suckled on her clit, relentlessly tugging at it until he heard her grunt each time. Then he released one hip and slapped his hand across her ass. Keita’s head snapped up, his c**k tragically slipping from her mouth, her voice crying out, her body convulsing on top of his.

He drew out her orgasm by slipping two fingers inside her pu**y and keeping his lips working her clit. When he knew he’d wrung her dry, at least for the moment, he lifted her off him and got to his knees.

She was panting, gazing up at him. He caught hold of her gown and lifted it off her head, tossing it over her shoulder, the fine silk landing in the dirt. When she didn’t even notice, he had to fight hard not to smile. He practically tore his leggings off the rest of the way, stripping as fast as he could. Then he turned her away from him, both of them still on their knees, and sunk into her pu**y from behind.

Her head fell back against his chest, and he kissed her, letting her taste herself on his lips and tongue, inside his mouth. He stroked his c**k inside her, his eyes nearly crossing at the way she clenched her muscles each time he pulled out, taking all of him with a smile and a groan when he slammed back in.

She caught hold of one of the hands he had gripping her waist, lowering it until his fingers were on her pu**y, his forefinger teasing her clit.

He loved how she showed him what she wanted, took what she needed.

His thrusts became more brutal, his teeth nipping at the side of her neck. He matched the tempo of his c**k with that of the finger on her clit.

Her hands clutched his, the nails digging into his skin.

He gave her what she wanted. He gave her everything, pounding into her until she screamed his name and he whispered hers. He emptied his seed inside her, and nothing had ever felt more amazing to him before—and he’d moved a mountain once.