Page 14 of Destined By Dragonblood
Addictive nectar. A wet, clutching pussy to ease our ache.
My balls drew up, my shaft throbbing over my beast’s whispered suggestions, and I rolled once more, unable to help myself. Giving in to my body’s need, I wrapped my hand around my swollen length, knowing any release I found wouldn’t be nearly as satisfying as my last beneath Vanni’s cane.
Brow furrowing, I focused on what my inner dragon whispered about our female rather than how my backside’s desire to be filled wakened.
Imagine the clutch of her inner walls around us, drawing us deeper against her womb, the contractions of her body begging for our seed.
Erotic imaginations of sinking into her, again and again, flooded my mind, enticing pre-cum to well at my slit.
Flood her. Breed her.
A tight grip while working myself ensured a climax within a few strokes. Growls rumbled in my chest, and I bit my tongue to keep from roaring as disappointing shots of white laced over my lower abs. Grunts accompanied every pitiful spurt, and my body contorted, muscles flexing with my unsatisfying release.
Soon, my human half?
I gasped a ragged breath as the last of my hot seed dribbled over my knuckles instead of against the opening of Ashley’s womb where it belonged.
“Yes,” I managed while struggling to fill my lungs. “Soon.”
Chapter 4
Ashley
For over a week, every time I left my condo, I swore someone watched me. The feeling remained throughout the walk then subway ride into Manhattan. But no matter how often I scanned my surroundings or checked from my periphery, I never saw a hint of suspicious intent from anyone around me.
Considering the trauma I’d endured as a child, fear over having captured someone’s undivided attention should have kept me on edge each and every moment out among the masses of the city. Instead, I found myself intrigued, worriedly wishing for…more.
I stood beside my office window hoping for a hint of warmth to kindle between my thighs. Coolness remained in my blood as it always did once I entered Tolzman Industries.
Sighing, I pressed my forehead to the glass, watching tiny people far below hurrying to get home after a long day of work. Only a few minutes remained before I was off the clock and join the masses where my watcher’s eyes would send delicious shivers down my spine.
It had been years since I’d experienced arousal on its own and for good reason.
Was my body responding to mere fantasy because I’d been seeking healing for my distaste for physical touch? Or had the sexual nature within me finally begun to bloom how it ought to had I not been ruined as a teenager?
I’d made a wrong decision when physical desire had first roused in my body, and no amount of meetings with my sex therapist, Doctor Hasslet, had healed the resulted brokenness from messing with fire back then. No attempts at self-pleasure had coaxed arousal to life let alone allowed me to climax. No vibrator, dildo, or solo finger-fuckings encouraged wetness to dampen my thighs or send me tumbling headlong into relief I barely remembered enjoying prior to the assault.
But this sense of being stalked while outdoors stirred something up inside me that I couldn’t wait to share with my therapist next week.
While readying my things to head home a short time later, I shivered in anticipation of feeling my follower’s full focus, his desire for me. That sense of power I’d experienced as a teenager upon drawing the attention of an older, well-respected man had returned but grew more potent with every passing day.
At first, tingles of awareness had raised the hairs on my arms and sent a pleasant shiver down my spine.
The second through fifth mornings I had left my condo for work, my nipples had grown tight, and warmth settled low in my belly.
The last two days, my body had become fully stimulated, the feeling intense and consuming. Slickness coated my panties, and my nipples tightened to aching buds from my stalker’s want that I swore I could taste on my tongue.
But once in the privacy of my home, fear of failure to get myself off kept me from reaching between my legs to seek out relief from the new stirrings inside. I’d been celibate for close to a dozen years, and I swore a lifetime of the same lay in my future unless some magical dick healed my trauma.
As if.
I enjoyed reading stories and watching movies that suggested happiness and healing could be found beneath or riding a man’s cock, but those escapes I allowed myself inside the pages of a book or on screen weren’t reality.
Healing wouldn’t come overnight, Doctor Hasslet had said when I’d first started meeting with him a few years ago, but he assured me it would eventually. I needed to keep pushing myself and taking strides toward the future I desired, one that included a sensitive, patient man who had the ability to love me regardless of my brokenness. In the meantime, Doctor Hasslet recommended meeting monthly with a Dominant to help me on my walk toward wholeness.
He had suggested his friend, Master Vanni. A hotter-than-hell Dominant with a sexy, short beard and unbearably beautiful green eyes, he owned the sex club I’d been gifted a membership to through my doctor. I’d learned in the hours I’d spent with Master Vanni that he was trustworthy and respectful.
Our first sit-down to go over the intake forms and my experience, of which I had none in the BDSM lifestyle, had been disagreeable to say the least. During the scene that followed, I’d been too self-conscious to let go and enjoy any aspect of the training for submission. The second Friday night we’d met, I was comfortable enough to accept a bit of pain. I’d also experienced hints of real arousal stir between my thighs over the crop he’d taken to my backside.
