Page 3 of Dragons' Mate
Feeling Kit’s channel clamp around him, Quinton gripped her hips tighter, adding extra support to the thighs she’d wrapped around his waist. Kit undulated with every thrust of his hips, her whimpering betraying how close to release she was coming. The pressure inside Quinton rose with each heartbeat. His thrusts intensified mercilessly until he was pounding so hard that Kit jolted with each assault. Again. Again. The wet sound of their connection mixed with their breaths.
Kit opened her mouth, a primal moan escaping her throat.
Quinton gritted his teeth and pulled back. Held.
“Asshole,” Kit growled.
Quinton bared his canines.
Kit bit him.
Quinton jerked as her teeth sank into the tender spot on his neck, right over his pulse. The sting of the bite was distant, and yet it set off a domino effect, the explosions of sensation intensifying until all of Quinton’s nerves were on fire at once. Quinton’s next stroke was angled to hit all the sensitive bundles of nerves inside Kit’s sex. He thrusts, the scales along his shaft opening just as the spasms of pleasure raked through Kit’s body.
Kit shattered in Quinton’s hold and he shattered alongside her, the dizzying wave of molten pleasure coursing through him so intense it bordered on pain.
It was all he could do to hold on and keep them both from collapsing to the floor. Kit’s responsive body spasmed in his arms, coming a second time with just the slightest shift to press against her sensitive nub. It felt good to be able to give her that, and better still to feel Kit falling limp against him, trusting Quinton to keep her safe as strength and magic drained away.
And then it was over.
Quinton carried the still dazed Kit to the bed and set her on the lumpy mattress. Her naked body was covered with sweat, and some of the blood that had slickened his skin had rubbed off on her. He adjusted his britches back into place and closed the window, drawing the curtains over the glass planes.
Kit watched him wearily. Satisfied but not relaxed. Not by a long shot.
He couldn’t fault her for that. What they’d just done, it wasn’t coupling—it was rutting. The fact that Kit’s body had craved it as much as his own didn't change that fact. Nor did it diminish how drained Kit had to be or how sore he’d no doubt left her. Both from the pounding inside, and the slamming about that had come earlier. But what else could one expect when they were mated to him? If Quinton had ever been capable of being kind and gentle—the sort of male that Kit deserved—he wasn’t now. Hadn’t been for a long long time.
He at least had enough decency left to acknowledge that he’d made a literal bloody mess of Kit and should probably do something about that. Fetching the washbasin and a pitcher, Quinton set both beside Kit’s hip. He didn’t bother with explaining the obvious as he ripped a swath from the sheet to use as a washcloth and surveyed the damage. In addition to the others’ rubbed off blood, fresh marks now covered Kit’s smooth skin. Scrapes from the wall, floor andhim.
The hour Quinton had spent away from Kit, tracking, interrogating and ending the two drunken guards who’d tried to kill her, had driven him mad—though dealing out their final blows had been a consolation prize. Quinton killed often. He never enjoyed it. But this night, he had. He’d have taken longer with the pair if he’d not been so desperate to get back and ensure his mate was alright.
Mate. Rutting hell.
And now that said mate was securely beside him, Quinton still didn’t know the answer to that. Was Kit alright? Could she ever be now?
Holding the washcloth like a dagger, Quinton attacked the grime, sweat and blood covering Kit’s collarbones. That she let him do it without argument was a mark of how spent she was. For a few minutes, the sound of cloth dipping into water and sliding along skin was the only one in the room aside from their quiet breathing. Finishing with Kit’s shoulders, Quinton wiped down her arms, lingering on the slave mark her former masters had branded into her skin. Two overlapping circles, forming a small diamond at their intersections. The mark was red now, from where Kit had been scratching at it.
One day, Quinton intended to find whoever put that mark on her and remove their heart.
Tonight was for other things though. “Do you still intend to compete in the Equinox Trials?” he asked.
Kit took a moment to focus on him, the haze in her eyes disappearing. “Why wouldn’t I?” She huffed in annoyance. “It was a good time, Quinton, but you didn’t actually rut my brains out.”
Quinton clenched his jaw. The notion of bringing his mate into a cesspool of people intent on killing her—for reasons that ranged from personal preference to collateral damage—sat with him about as well as a handful of explosives.
“Has something changed in the past hour that I’m unaware of?” Kit asked, sitting upright. “Is King Ettienne no longer the last line of defense keeping the immortals on this side of the world from using humans as their own personal stable of domesticated beasts?”
“No one’s politics have changed,” Quinton ground out.
“Maybe it’s no longer vital that Ettienne’s sons win the Equinox Trials and obtain the fertility elixir then?” she asked. “Has the threat to his rule disappeared while we were busy with other things?”
“Maybe you’ve forgotten that King Ettienne was the one who ordered me to kill you,” Quinton tossed the washcloth into the basin and threw up his hands. “Or that his trusted guards attempted as much all on their own.”
“And yet here I am.”
“Oh for stars’ sake.” Quinton shook his head, starting to move away until his attention snagged on the mating bite mark he’d left on Kit’s breast. Blood still trickled from the puncture wounds and stars, he liked the sight of it there, on Kit’s flesh.
With the mating bond snapped into place, Quinton couldn’t understand how he’d ever been able to breathe without the life-tether that now connected them. The bite mark was living proof that what Quinton felt now was both real and permanent. Which was good for him, but not so much for her. On second thought, it probably wasn’t good for him either, if how the evening was progressing was any indication.
Either way, he could do nothing about the bond—that was permanent. But he could probably erase the bite mark, so at least she wouldn’t have to see it in the mirror each time she changed.
