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Their scents hit me at the same time, mixed with steam, surprise, and desire. I have no doubt Rarity is wet and Cailian is hard.
“It worked,” Cailian says, patting his dry chest.
“That’s an impressive trick,” Rarity agrees, touching every part of her dress, including sliding her hands down her breasts.
I know she doesn’t mean for it to be sexual, but I’m hanging by a fucking thread. I want to burn that dress from her body, sit her on my lap, and watch as she rides my cock.
The rut is way too close. I can’t imagine how it will feel when it hits if my want for them is already like this.
“Prince Cailian?” An older, broken voice sounds from behind us and we turn around in unison.
I stand in front of my firebonds, covering them with my wings just in case this creature is a threat. Cailian gently lowers my right wing, taking a step forward.
“Anleer,” Cailian greets. “It has been too long, my friend.”
Anleer bows the best he can, holding the hand-carved cane in his hand. He leans most of his weight on it, but Cailian stops him by grabbing his wrist.
“Please, do not bow to me when it is me who should be bowing to you.”
“I might be old, Prince Cailian, but I still have a few bows left in me,” the old elf argues in a huff. “But my back hurts today, so you win, for now.” He arches a bushy silver eyebrow as he looks at me, then Rarity.
If Cailian is over eight hundred years old, how old is Anleer? His hair is no longer white, but streaked with silver and black. His skin lacks the shine Cailian’s does, and he has hundreds of wrinkles on his face, neck, and arms. Even the tips of his ears droop from age.
“You’re staring, dragon. You’re wondering how old I am.” He hits me in the knee with his walking stick.
“Ow, fuck.” I hold my knee and hop for a second, snarling at the crazy elf. “You have lost your fucking mind.”
“My age is none of your business.”
“You could have just said that.” I glare at him, debating if I want to set his body on fire. It would be quick. “Hitting me in the knee wasn’t necessary.”
“Ah, yes,” he shakes his finger. “But I wanted to. I’m too old not to do what I want.”
The ache in my knee pulses for a few seconds before going away. “That’s fair,” I grumble just as Rarity snickers. “You get hit by a wooden cane and see how it feels.” I begin to tickle her ribs, and a loud squeal echoes before turning into fits of laughter that is music to my ears. The joyful notes remind me of the stories myfather told me when I was just a little dragon still trying to find my wings.
Every night before going to bed, he’d tell the stories of the magmayas, similar to sirens in the sense that they have human-like upper bodies and a fishtail. Where one swims in water, magmayas swim in magma, living inside the volcano itself.
He would say,“They have fire for hair and long black tails similar to our scales. They are beautiful— the deadly kind of beautiful. They would lure men with their laughter, a unique song that only a man with a broken heart can hear. The men would wander through the forests for miles until they finally got to the magmayas, who would be lounging on the volcanic rocks, waiting for them. The dragons and magmayas lived peacefully together since we come from the same place, so the dragons never interfered. See, all magmayas are female, and in order to have young, they have to seduce human men with their songs. After the men were used, magmayas would throw them into the volcano so their bodies would become one with the magma and rock. It is the magmaya’s belief that killing the men seals the mating. They are dangerous and breathtaking but be careful when you hear laughter. You never know where you’ll go.”
Rarity’s laughter reminds me of all of my father’s warnings because I would follow her to the doomed depths. I would burn if it meant being with her, even once. Rarity might not physically be magmaya but she has me under her spell regardless.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” she whispers, side-eyeing the elder elf.
“Like what, My Darling Jewel?”
“Like—” she can’t find the words.
“—Like I can’t get enough of you?” I grip her chin with my fingers before staring into her eyes and leaning in for a kiss. Just as our lips are about to touch, I whisper, “Because I can’t.” AndI press my lips against hers, forgetting where we are and who we are with. I need to feel her.
I need…
Fuck, I don’t know what I need.
I deepen the kiss, raking my hands down her body, my claws tugging on the material of her dress. Settling at her hips, I grab them, twisting the fabric in my palms.
A throat clears.
“We keep getting distracted,” Cailian says as an explanation.
