Page 2 of Dragons' Mate
Quinton would know. Because he is the king’s trained assassin. A killer. The one dragon prince who hates himself so much that he does everything he can to bring all the darkness in the world atop himself. I want to shove him into a wall for the brutality that he carries like a badge of honor. But I want his cock inside me more.
Stars take me. I'm so hot now that, despite the chill, a bead of sweat is rolling down my temple and the need blazing low in my belly is so fierce that it hurts. I clutch my quilt, too aware of the moisture slipping along my thighs as my head grows more hazy with each passing heartbeat. I focus on Quinton’s pulsing bulge, unable to even look anywhere else.
"What's happening to me?" My voice cracks with the question. I force my glare up to Quinton’s face, warning him to not even try feigning misunderstanding. Dragons smell arousal. He knows I’m wet. Just as he knows that I don’t want to want him. "What did you do?"
"I bit you," Quinton says.
The bite on my breast flares. It seems to like being mentioned and acknowledged.
“This pull you feel is a side effect.” Quinton draws in a deep breath, the flaps of his britches straining beneath the force of the growing bulge. Cursing, he backs a step away from me—only to bump against the dresser. "It’s temporary. It will pass.”
“When?”
He winces. “I don’t know.”
“Seriously?”
“I... I'm sorry."
“Sorry? You are rutting sorry?” Fury flashes through me. I didn't sign up for this. Didn’t ask for my body to ignore my wishes while need so fierce that it hurts spills into my blood. Quinton did this. It’s his bloody fault. My hand curls into a fist and I launch myself at him, swinging into his jaw. The quilt I’d been clutching flutters to the floor.
Quinton lets me connect, but the impact hurts my hand more than it hurts him. My anger roars. I punch again, but this time Quinton grabs my wrist and spins me into the wall like a ragdoll.
I put out my hand, barely saving my face from connecting with the plaster.Asshole.
My heart hammers. I yank my wrist from Quinton’s grip. It works. I don’t know—or care—whether he released me or if this madness has given me a surge of some preternatural strength. My vision frays at the edges. I shove away from the wall and kick Quinton’s knee, the way the bastard himself taught me.
Quinton twists and takes the blow on his thigh, a snarl coming from deep inside his chest. His eyes swim with magic, the pupils more elongated than normal.
I shove his chest, aiming for his wound.
My palm barely touches him before he’s moved out of the way, but a roar that might be pain or fury or something else entirely echoes through the small room. The next thing I know, Quinton slams my back into the wall so hard that bits of flaked plaster and paint rain down on us both. Then his body is pressing into me, his bulging cock digging into my stomach.
I yank the laces on the front of his britches, freeing him.
Quinton’s shaft springs free. It’s large and velvety, with the columns of scales along it glistening with moisture and fat drops clinging to the tip.
My mouth waters. I remember exactly how he tastes. I try to move, but he holds me flush against the wall.
"You are a rutting asshole," I shout at him. I'm not sure if I'm more mad that he has me pinned or that he is taking so damn long.
Whatever it is, Quinton absorbs it all. His nostrils flare. Then he is grabbing my hips and lifting me until I’m in line with his pulsating shaft.
I wrap my hands around his shoulders and he sheathes himself inside me in a single hard stroke. There is an instant of pain as the great size of him stretches everything inside me, but then he pumps and the thick head of his cock finds all the erotically sensitive points inside my channel. He runs over them as if playing piano keys.
Primal pleasure so intense it makes me dizzy rolls through me. I don’t know where my body ends and the pulsing magic of our mating bond begins. Quinton pulls back and thrusts. Again. Again. Each of his strokes bangs me against the hard plaster. There is nothing kind or seductive about this taking. No, it’s brutal and punishing.
And it's exactly what I crave.
CHAPTER2
Quinton
Quinton roared as Kit’s nails raked along his biceps, leaving tracks of erotic heat in their wake. Her usually warm chocolate eyes flared, sparks of magic mixing with the violent, primal pleasure filling them. Quinton’s entire body pulsed with need as he thrust into her, eachstroke, stroke, strokeof his cock in her channel echoing in his bones. His soul. It was all one cadence. The thrusts, the hearts pounding in both their chests, the bond that pulsated between them.
Power flooded Quinton’s blood, as carnal and wild as anything he’d ever felt. And not just him. He felt the magic flow through the bond into the human’s veins, feeding her body with the strength and power needed to answer the mating’s frenzied demand. Flakes of plaster from the aged wall rained down on Kit’s head, an erratic symphony of groans from the old wooden floorboards harmonizing with the rutting they now hosted.
Kit threw back her head, exposing her neck to him. The implicit trust of the gesture nearly ended it for him. Quinton roared again as he gripped Kit tighter, driving himself in with each pounding stroke. Kit’s wide pupils were glazing with her coming release and the spiking scent of Kit’s arousal filled the space between them. It was a heady sweet aroma that overpowered the room’s dank musk and it flared more each time Quinton entered Kit’s channel, only to howl with frustration whenever he pulled back. Like a tug of war.
