Page 45 of Water Dragon
Chapter 12 - Iona
Malcolm’s finger slipped between her folds as if searching for her wetness and she closed her eyes, her hold on the tent canvas tightening. She pushed back against his touch, resting her forehead against the taut fabric. She was practically hanging on it, one cheek about to rest on her stretched arms. Then his tip teased her opening, and a shiver of anticipation went through her legs, making her tilt her head back. She was shaking with need.
Now, she thought.Take me.
And he did, pushing into her with one hard thrust that made her shout.
“Shh,” he hushed her, though she could tell he was smiling.
She reached for his hand, bringing it to her breast, his other soon following as he cupped both before sliding his thumbs over her stiff nipples. She let go of the tent canvas and leaned back against him, reaching her arms over her head, bending her neck to beg for his mouth against hers. She didn’t need to beg; in the following moment, it was hers to claim.
She kept her moans low, but the feeling of him filling her was already making her entire body quake in fervent expectation of the pleasure that would soon be flowing through her every limb. They were moving together, him buried hilt-deep and her grinding her ass against him in a way that soon began to draw groans from deep in his throat. His hands were sliding over her breasts with every new movement; his tongue on hers making her weak in the knees until he couldn’t hold himself back anymore. His thrusts became more eager and then he had her lean forward again, his hands clasped on her hips as he picked up his pace until she was nearly crying, clinging to the canvas for all that she was worth.
This time her orgasm made her sink to the floor and him with her, splaying himself on top of her as he came seconds later.
They lay still again, his breath against her neck, and then he rolled to the side. She lifted her head, gaze meeting his, both of them smiling.
They really should have done this sooner.
Then the sound of fireworks made them both tense.
Another whizzling noise followed by something not far from an explosion had them both sit up.
“What was that?” she asked, knowing well that he had no more answer than she did.
There was shouting outside the tent, the sound of running footsteps. Fear began to permeate the air, and Iona quickly got to her feet, scrambling for her dress as they both realized they wouldn’t be alone for much longer. Malcolm tucked himself away, still fully dressed. It meant that he was ready when the tent flap was pushed aside and one of his honor guards walked in.
“My prince,” the knight said, going down on one knee.
Luckily, his focus on Malcolm had meant that he had barely even paid Iona as much as a glance of acknowledgment. Now that his gaze was downcast, he couldn’t see her fiddling with the lacing of her dress, getting it done back up and tied with a bow even though her fingers were trembling with adrenaline. Both from whatever this new turn of events could be, and from the scent of Malcolm still all over her skin.
“What is it?” Malcolm demanded.
“They’re attacking,” the knight said.
“Who is?”
But before the knight could answer the tent flap was pushed aside again, this time it was Prince Ewan who entered.
Iona reached for Malcolm’s arm, alarmed at the suddenness of the intrusion, looking for any form of weapon in the other prince’s hands. There was none. Merely a contrite expression on his handsome face.
“I’m sorry,” Ewan said, looking from Malcolm to Iona and back again.
“For what?” Malcolm asked.
“I didn’t know,” Ewan said. “I swear it.”
Malcolm looked like he wanted more of an explanation than that, but by the expression on Ewan’s face, the revelation was better served if they exited the tent with him. Once they did, stepping into the fading sunlight, it became painfully apparent what Ewan was talking about. The tiltyard was in shambles, the lecterns had all been turned into splinters of wood, and in the midst of it all stood Leon,
Prince Ewan’s closest aide.
The dragon who had been with his family since before Ewan was born.
“What is this madness?” Malcolm asked.
“I wish I could tell you,” Ewan said.
Iona wanted to ask how they could be certain that it wasn’t all a ruse? One that Ewan had staged. Was she being unfair? Malcolm had told her that she was the most reasonable person that he knew. Was she being reasonable? She didn’t trust the other prince. She didn’t trust anyone, not when everyone had the potential of wearing a mask that hid the most sinister of intentions.
