Page 7 of Dragons' Bride
All the contenders at the Equinox Trials will be required to copulate with their respective dragon packs, and human anatomy doesn’t allow for that without some preparation. Tavias has taken the lead on preparing my backside, and the session last night left me thoroughly embarrassed and just as thoroughly exhilarated. And sore, too. Both from what he placed inside me, and the stinging spanking he delivered to ensure my cooperation. The heat from that woke me up more than once afterwards, my arousal so thick that even I could scent it.
On the backdrop of all that, the notion of getting out of bed now is positively appalling.
"Bugger off," I mutter to Quinton's mirage and burrow into the pillow.
The next second, the blanket is off me and the ship's cool air is nipping my naked skin. I search and fail to find something else to cover myself with.
"I said, get up," Quinton repeats. "Let's see if I can teach you to at least not kill yourself. You have two minutes to put on clothes before I drag you to the deck naked." He tosses a bundle at my head.
"He isn't kidding," Tavias says from behind me.
I rub my face and come to the same conclusion. Digging into the bundle, I pull out a pair of loose pants and a crop top that leaves my midriff bare. The set reminds me of Nora's choice of outfit and I like it immediately.
"One minute," Quinton tells me.
Clearly, he has no intention of giving me privacy to dress. Fine. Given what else I am sharing with the dragon princes, a bit of skin while I change is nothing. I am still blinking sleep from my eyes when Quinton leads me up to the deck, where the sun is just starting to mount the horizon line. An endless carpet of ocean stretches out on all sides of the ship, with no land to be seen. The wind carries a salty breeze to my face and the deck shifts oddly beneath my bare feet.
I shudder.
Quinton looks at me sharply. "We have not yet started. Save the flinching for when I actually hurt you."
When, not if. Glorious. I’m glad I’m still half asleep and don’t feel the full brunt of the warning. The crew, who’d been talking in quiet voices when we first came on deck, are silent now. Silent and watching Quinton and me as if we are hell's personal emissaries.
"Don't worry about them, worry about me," Quinton snaps, cutting off my view of the crew with his broad body. So he'd marked the change on deck, too.
"Why are they looking at us like that?" I ask.
"They aren’t looking at us, they are looking at me." Quinton points to the deck. "Fall."
"What?"
He hooks my ankle with his foot and sends me backwards onto the hard planking. I flail, trying and failing to break my fall before the wood whacks my back and head painfully. Air leaves my lungs. Not giving Quinton the satisfaction of hearing me whimper, I pull myself up to my knees and glare at him. "Does that have a point, or are you just being an asshole for personal amusement?"
"I'm being an asshole because that is my nature." He offers me his hand, pulling me to my feet with an ease that reminds me of just how strong he is. "But let's see if we can’t get you through the morning without cracking your own skull open."
I bite back the point that any cracked skulls would be more his fault than mine, and watch Quinton demonstrate the proper way of landing on hardwood. It seems no more pleasant than my previous experience.
"Fall," Quinton orders.
I tip myself backwards, controlling my descent until the ship lurches and I hit the back of my head anyway.
Quinton yanks me onto my feet and throws me, harder than last time. This time, in addition to hitting my head and back, the force of the impact rattles through all my bones. This is ridiculous. And dangerous. And rutting useless.
"I thought you were supposed to teach me to fight," I demand. "I already know how to land on my ass."
"Could have fooled me."
"If you are going to –"
Quinton moves faster than I can follow, a streak of darkness against the sunrise. I barely see his hand move before he hits me. The slap is open-handed, but it still cracks across my unprotected ribs with enough force to knock me off my feet. My balance gives and I crash backwards, the planking coming up to meet me with an echoing thud.
Before I can get up, the prince is on top of me. He straddles my midsection, his weight atop my chest, squeezing the air from my lungs. I try to knee his back, but he has my hips trapped and the more I move the heavier he seems to become. Fear and frustration bubble up inside me. I want him off. I want to get up. I want to knock that cold gaze off Quinton’s stony face.
I curl my hand into a fist and punch the dragon prince in the face.
Quinton catches my wrist before my fist connects and pins it cruelly to the deck. His free hand slaps the side of my head, sending stars dancing in my vision.
“Do I have your attention?” he demands.
