“I have waited long enough. I want you now,” she demanded.
“No!” he shouted and walked to the door afraid he would lose control and take her like he would a common wench who wanted nothing more than a fast rutting. He stopped by the door. “We are leaving here. Now cover yourself.”
Heather jumped off the chest, ignoring his command and leaving her breasts free. “You may be, but I am not.”
“You will do as I say,” he ordered sharply.
“Make me,” she challenged her unrequited passion urging her on.
Rhys glared at her and seeing the flush to her face, her lips plump with passion, her nipples hard and her eyes hungry, he said, “Are you sure you want it this way?”
“Must the Dragon truly ask permission?’
Rhys felt the darkness awaken inside him and felt dangerous memories he fought to keep locked away begin to surface and inflame his loins. He walked toward her and when he reached her, he ripped her blouse and skirt off her, saying, “I will have you naked when I take you.”
He lifted her and once again sat her on the dusty chest, then tore at the ties at his waist and freed himself, his manhood bursting free. Hegrabbed her about the waist and brought her forward to balance at the edge of the chest, but it was not his manhood that entered her, but his finger.
She protested while trying to squirm away. “I want you.”
“Challenge the Dragon, wife, and you pay the price.”
Heather gasped as he held her firm, and his finger continued to tease her. But it was when his mouth descended between her legs to torment the sensitive bud with his tongue that her head fell back and she moaned so loudly it echoed off the stone walls.
She was going to come; she could feel the climax growing ever stronger. She shoved at his shoulders. “Please, Rhys, please, I want you inside me,” she begged.
He stopped, though his finger lingered inside her, teasing her ever so lightly, keeping her on the edge of climax. “You think to challenge me?”
Heather saw darkness like no other in his eyes. It swirled and gathered like a raging storm about to unleash its fury, and she knew she had foolishly stirred the Dragon from his dark nest.
She reached out, resting her hand gently against his cheek. “I do not wish to challenge you, husband. I wish for you to make love to me and finally make me your wife.”
Husband. The word sunk deep into Rhys and he shut his eyes for a moment, forcing the Dragonback down into the darkness, anger and passion—a dangerous combination—having awakened him. Only when he had safely returned the beast to his slumber, did Rhys open his eyes. “Never stir the Dragon again, for the beast has no soul and when fully unleashed he will not care what he does.”
Rhys lifted her off the chest and after arranging his own garments, retrieved his shirt from the floor and slipped it over Heather’s head to cover her. He then took her hand and tugged her along behind him as he descended the stairs to their bedchamber.
“This time stay where I put you,” he ordered curtly and left her there alone.
Heather sunk down on the floor, tears clouding her eyes. What had she done? She had been desperate to make love with Quinn, never realizing she would have to battle the Dragon to do so. A tear slipped down her cheek. Now what did she do?
She hugged herself, closed her eyes and took a deep breath. The scent of the Dragon drifted up off his shirt and wrapped around her possessively. It intoxicated her senses, just like his touch had, turning her vulnerable in his hands. Or was it her love for Quinn that had turned her vulnerable?
She stood and hugged the shirt to her, favoring the feel of it against her soft skin, for it felt like he was caressing her. She shook her head and stripped the shirt off and as she tossed it aside, the door opened, and her husband walked in.
Rhys stared at her for a moment, then turned his head to peer past the partially open door andsaid, “I will kill any man who disturbs me.” He shut the door and dropped the latch, then shed his garments, and walked over to her.
His arms shot out, scooping her up so fast that she let out a gasp.
“Now, Heather, I make you my wife—my way.”
He laid her on the bed, going down alongside her, and reaching out he let his fingers play across her soft skin ever so lightly, skimming her nipples that turned harder with each faint touch.
Gooseflesh ran over her when he grazed her nipples and she shivered when his fingers swept across the sensitive nub hidden in the triangle of blond hair between her legs. He was laying claim to every inch of her, and she did not mind, for she had surrendered her heart to him many years ago.
“Turn over,” he said, and she did.
His fingers continued to explore her, though this time his lips followed suit, kissing and nipping at the back of her neck, and along her shoulders as his fingers found their way down over her buttocks to squeeze it gently.
He did not ask her to turn over again, his arm went around her waist and with one swift turn he had her on her back.
