Page 58 of Storm of Blood and Shadow

I know one thing that will occupy his full attention.

“Prince of dragons.” I slide my dress off my shoulders, and his eyes follow the garment as it drops to the floor. “Come here.”

The lightning recedes, fading from his eyes, replaced by heated interest and desire. He prowls toward me, a low rumble burring in his chest, like the purr of a pleased cat.

“That’s it,” I say, reaching out both hands and taking his slender, scaly muzzle between them. “Good boy. Good dragon. Show me your pretty cock.”

He whines a little and shifts his haunches, showing his belly scales to me. The tip of his cock is barely protruding from the protective slit within his body. I move closer and caress the blunt end, coaxing his length out. It’s a strange delight to watch it emerge, huge and thick, burning hot and helplessly hard for me.

“I’ve seen you flatten your spikes,” I say. “Fold them down as far as you can and spread out your wings. I want you on your back.”

Obediently he shifts his muscles, flattening the spikes. With my help he rolls onto his back, wings outspread so he won’t crush them. In this position, with his forelegs curled against his chest and his back legs spread out limply, he’s utterly at my mercy.

“Cruel darling,” he seethes, writhing a little as if the pinned position of his spikes makes him uncomfortable. So much the better. It will take his mind off whatever the storm might be whispering to him.

“Be still,” I say. “Let me thank you for bringing me here and keeping me under your protection.”

“I chose you over family,” he says significantly… a pointed comment that I choose to ignore.

I seat myself astride his belly, at the root of his cock, so my front is pressed to the underside of his length. Wrapping both arms around the sleek shaft, I begin rubbing up and down. Now and then I pause to kiss and lick him, or to drag my whole self along his cock. I slither up and down, wind my body around him, hook one leg and slide it up and down.

“It’s like making love to a tree trunk,” I murmur.

Varex groans. He’s panting, his stomach and chest heaving in the most gratifying way. When I cup both hands over the tip of his cock and slick the arousal down his shaft, a shrill whine emerges from his throat. I smile, pleased by the helpless, wordless confession of his need.

Leaving his cock unattended for a moment, I walk up his belly, onto his breast. His neck lies limp, his head turned aside and his jaws parted. His tongue quivers between his teeth, and his lashes flutter.

Stepping off his chest, I walk to his head and drape myself across his face, my legs astride his muzzle and my ass near the end of his nose. His nostrils spasm at the scent of me, and a corresponding shudder traces through his whole body.

“Whimper for me, dragon,” I say.

“Your fragrance,” he moans. “It is torture.” His tongue glides out and swipes across my rear, then slithers through the crevice between my ass cheeks.

“That wasn’t a whimper.” I rub my pussy against the surface of his muzzle, wetting the smooth scales with my arousal.

A whimper trembles through his throat, the loveliest, most wretched sound.

“Beautiful.” I kiss him between the eyes, then swing off his face and return to his cock, massaging the especially sensitive area just beneath the tip. “For that, you will have a reward.”

17

She lets me come all over her skin. She yields herself to it, welcomes the creamy fountain of my release. The sight of her lovely body glistening with my cum is the most exquisitely intimate thing I have ever seen.

I lie on my back, shuddering with the overwhelming force of the pleasure, until the discomfort of my position prompts me to move. When I start to turn over, Jessiva lets go of my softening cock and slides off my belly.

She glances down at her cum-slicked breasts, stomach, and thighs. “I’ll need to wash up.”

I’d rather have her walk around naked, scented with my seed, for an indefinite number of hours, but I understand her preference for cleanliness. Dragons are generally a tidy race, despite the fact that we eat most of our meals raw and shit in the forest.

There is no water source in my cave, but I have a large, shallow clay bowl made by Grimmaw, which I borrowed from Kyreagan, and I push it near the cave entrance to collect the slanting rainwater. Once the bowl is mostly full, Jessiva washes herself, and that process is also an exquisite sight.

With my help, Jessiva empties the basin of the remaining water and we put it out to refill. When the hard rain stings her skin, she hisses sharply and retreats back into the cave. I’m about to follow her when I hear the voices again, breathless and mystic, twined with the shrieking wind and the shattering rain.

Son of shadows, wielder of lightning, kin to us, come to us.

The void inside me is less hollow and hungry after my sensual release with Jessiva, but I still feel a remnant of longing, of urgency. Some dark part of me wants to leap from the ledge into the howling night, into the deadly gale, and become one with it, even if it means I am torn apart.

“Varex.” Jessiva’s voice is so different from the voice of the Mordvorren—so much warmer and more alive. I take a few steps toward her—and then my dragon form quakes, head to tail, magic hammering against my bones. I disappear for a bare second, and then I exist again, only this time I’m in human shape, on my hands and knees against the stone floor.

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