Page 23 of Don't Fae With Dragons

I don’t really know how to heal, except how my dragon self would. I need to start licking her wounds. The only problem is if she wakes up to me licking her, she might never trust me again.Well, maybe that’s not the only problem. I have to shift to heal her and I don’t want to think what will happen if she wakes up to a giant dragon who’s on top of her and ... who’s vigorously licking her up and down.

Then I look down at Mili’s still body, lying entirely helpless before me, and I realize (decorum be damned) that there’s no other choice.

I stroke her hand with my thumb for a minute more, then I start gently pulling her ripped clothes up. I don’t entirely remove them, Realm knows what she’d think if I did, but I expose the greatest of her injuries. She winces softly in her sleep and I grimace at the sight of it.

Then I start to heal her. She moans softly as I first touch my tongue to her body. I start with her cheek, where a small scrape has marred her beautiful caramel skin, tanned from all her time in the sun, and lift her chin tenderly to stroke all the way up it to her brow. Pulling back a bit reveals my saliva already making quick work of the injury; the flesh pulls together as if compelled by magick.

Spurred on by the sight of it already working, I move to her arms, circling her battered elbow and moving smoothly down to her wrist. Her beautiful summer smell up close is so exquisite. The taste of her skin, even through sweat and blood, is so satisfying. I hold her hand in mine and lift her arm as I go, and there’s a sudden image of the two of us dancing a waltz somewhere far, far from here; Mili and I, and perhaps Max and Port, too, at peace and in tender embrace.

I shake the thought off and keep working. An hour passes like that, with me licking her wounds and watching her for anysign of movement. I worry horribly that she won’t wake up at all, just as she starts to stir.

Before she makes any movement, I hear her moaning. A soft, guttural groan emanates from the depth of her throat, and my cock leaps viciously at the sound of it. I grunt in irritation with myself, my inability to control myself around her. Then she moans again, louder this time, and I inhale shakily from the effort of repressing my groin’s movement.

After a few minutes of her quiet expressions of arousal, I see her eyes flutter open. I imagine, for a split second, her smiling softly at me in gratitude.

What other reaction can she possibly have?!

CHAPTER 16: MILI

Alive.

Sore, but alive.

I don’t know how long I’ve been out, and where I am, but as I am slowly regaining consciousness, I feel the most exquisite touch. It’s a heated, hungry, slick touch.It’s difficult to fully open my eyes right away. I can hear wood crackling in a fireplace and I turn my head towards it. I glimpse filaments of fire that arc through the air, spreading light and warmth, and I feel myself pulsing in time with them. The depth of my stomach rises and falls with the pleasure I am receiving from the touch.

Maybe this is a dream but I can feel him, I can even smell him. It must be him, the dragon,the one and only dragon I need. He is touching me, and his scent of mulled spices and leatherworking is even more intense up close. The smell is calming me, taking my pain away even while setting my senses on fire.

I reach my hands out and my fingers brush up against diamond scales and it feels like touching the surface of polished gemstones, cool and hard at first but with a subtle warmth that hums beneath the surface. I can feel the skin between the scales, so soft, like supple leather, so warm to the touch. I open my eyesmore while I arch my back and pull my head back, and I see a thousand glimmers refracted on the ceiling.

I again start to feel something hot and wet brushing my thighs, all the way down to my feet. It feels like my scrapes and gashes are stitching together with his divine tongue. I feel my body spread, ravenous for the burning caresses and licks. I wince as he hits a tender spot, feeling the burn that only comes with a deep cut.

In a split second, thoughts of home, of Chrysthinia, Aurora, and all of Ethelinda’s suffering crash into my mind. Then it becomes more real, this slick touching and licking, and I begin to stir. The heat, the danger, reaches fever pitch, and I awake fully.

Without another moment’s thought, I put my defensive walls up again. I throw myself backwards and kick my leg out as hard as I can. My foot shoots forward, and my eyes jerk open to see it collide with a man. Not a dragon, but a man I’ve never seen before. I hit him straight in his face and bolts of pure pain shoot from my leg all the way into my chest. I didn’t feel any pain earlier, but it’s coming back now. I scream in pain, as I make eye contact with the stranger.

He’s actually quite handsome but I’ve had enough of handsome strangers complicating my life. I let my eyes fleetingly pass over his broad shoulders, and his brutishly strong arms that resemble carved marble. He possesses a sort of weathered handsomeness, with his rough hands and shadowy eyes. His complexion is fair, lighter than mine. His face is marked with a distinctive scar across his left cheek and his hazel eyes are set so deeply into his brow that they almost appear to be hiding. He’sin fitted black clothes, simple yet striking, hugging every toned line ... and bulge, in all the right places. The dark fabric clings to his body, making it impossible not to notice just how well-built he is. He is beautiful and charismatic ... and angry.

He cries out as he grabs his nose with both hands like it’s his most prized possession. Surely, I didn’t hit him that hard. I try to jump up from the bed I’m lying on but my legs give out when I hit the floor, and I cry out in frustration. Now that I’m committed to getting away, I start to drag myself across the cold floor that’s so polished I can almost see my reflection in it. My motion looks so frantic and jagged.

“Milica,” a low voice rumbles towards me as I finally reach the corner of the room.

I start crying. The pain, exhaustion and even the humiliation have all pushed me off the edge. I’m tangled in my ripped pants and shirt (which I suppose got that way when I fell on my way to the volcano); I’m cold; and I’m covered in this man‘s saliva. If this isn’t rock bottom, then I don’t know what is. And I’m not talking about the cold stone floor beneath me.

“No, no, no,” I gasp out as the man’s footsteps grow louder and closer. I see his shadow –a fractured image on the jagged rocky walls – and start to heave out sobs as I curl myself into a ball on the floor.

“Oh, gods,” he murmurs. “Don’t be afraid. I’m not going to hurt you.” His words are gentle, but I sense a hint of irritation in them. It angers me in turn – how dare he blame me for my state? Doesn’t he know what Ethelinda has been going through? What I’ve been going through?

I feel his hand brush my hair gently behind my ear, and I crack a single eye open to peer out of my pitiful position. He pulls his hand away, then, and stretches out those toned sun-tanned arms to scoop me up into his chest. The feel of our skin touching is like a drug. My pain is again gone, and I actually have to fight the urge not to bury my nose into his neck and take a deep breath of that heavenly spice. His scent is overwhelming, spicy and leathery ... and whimsical.

“I’m sorry you got hurt,” he says as he sets me down again on the bed as if I weigh nothing but a feather, “but youneedto rest here,now.”

I gaze up at him in wonder. “How do you do that?” He raises an eyebrow and I continue. “That scent; that soothing scent that takes my pain away; that intoxicating scent that makes me feel calm even after hearing you order me around, telling me what I need to do and when, as if you would know better than me.”

“None of that,” he interrupts me. “You areinjured, and you are torest. This much should be clear to both of us. And why in the Realm did you come here, anyway? You’re Milica, healer of Ethelinda, are you not?”

“I am that very healer,” damn it, he’s an expert at changing the subject. I should remember that for the future. “Who are you?”

“I’m Corinthian, as you must know. I’m the guardian of this volcano,” he says. “If you behave, you can call me Cory. But you’ll need to stop kicking me please.” He scrunches up his nose to clearly exaggerate the fake nose injury I gave him.

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