Dakota gasps and rocks against my hand. She wraps her arms around my neck and pulls me in, angling my mouth toward her throat in a silent invitation. She wants my bite, and she wants it now.
I stroke her slick folds with utmost care, making sure to use the pads of my fingers as I touch her. My lips brush over her cool neck and I pick out the perfect spot to bite her. Not too high up, somewhere lower, where my bite will be constantly exposed. I graze her skin with my fangs and she holds me tighter. “You’re sure no one’s going to come out and see us?”
If they did, I would growl at them until they retreated. I understand her anxiety, however. “No scent,” I promise. “No scent but Dakota.”
“Then give me your bite,” she pants. “I want this. I want you.”
With that, I sink my teeth into her neck.
She stiffens under me, gasping. I’m dimly aware of her body clenching against my hand, everything tightening. It’s too late for me to draw back. My mouth floods with venom, and I push my teeth deeper, her blood adding to the heated copper tang. The sheer relief of claiming her boils over, and I erupt, spilling my seed against the leg of her clothing. Dakota gives another sharp intake of breath, but she never lets go of me. She continues to hold onto me as I inject the bond-creating venom into her bloodstream.
Because she trusts me. Because I assured her that the bite was good.
She will be a fierce, strong mate, even if we do not have a mental link, and I could not be more proud.
When the last droplet has been wrung from my fangs, my head is foggy with the aftermath. My teeth slide free from her damaged skin and I lick the bite to seal it so it can heal. As I lick her, she no longer feels as cool, and her scent is changing.
“Was…was that everything?” Dakota asks, dazed. Her hand continues to play with my mane.
I lift my head and touch her flushed cheek. My thoughts stab at hers anyhow, desperate to make the connection. Nothing. It’s not as disappointing as it could be, because her scent is all around me, morphing into something even more delightful than before.
“Wife,” I say, pleased. I smile at her…
…and then everything goes dark.
DAKOTA
The last thing I expected after getting a bite from a dragon was for him to topple over and pass out.
But he does. Murr goes down like a light, his eyes rolling back. He collapses onto the pavement, and I’m left with a wet, throbbing pussy, a wet, bloody neck, wet, spooged-on jeans…and a hundred questions.
Questions like: what the fuck just happened?
I get to my feet…and immediately stumble. My legs are weak, and my throat burns where he bit me. I feel feverish and dizzy. This isn’t good. I need to get to Rabbit, to tell her what happened?—
I don’t make it a step. I collapse and pass out directly atop Murr’s unconscious body.
CHAPTER 63
DAKOTA
I’m notout for long, I think. I wake up a short time later with my head throbbing, my neck throbbing, and I’m still draped over Murr’s passed-out form. He’s still out cold. This time, when I get to my feet, I move slowly and while my brain feels a little woozy, I’m more or less fine. Mortified, but fine. I hastily find my shirt and tug it back over my head (after shoving my boobs back into my sports bra) and re-button my jeans. There’s nothing I can do about the big wet stain on the thigh of my jeans or the bite on my neck, but hopefully the rest of me isn’t too disheveled.
Leaning over Murr, I tap his cheek. “Wake up.”
No response.
Is this because of the wife bite? Or is he the type to faint when he comes? I mean, I’ve never heard of that, but anything is possible. I’m dealing with a dragon, and I’m not going to hold it against him. I tap his face for a full minute, trying to rouse him. Doesn’t work.
Okay then, I need a plan B. He can’t just lie out here, sprawled on the pavement with his junk out.
I fold his kilt into a square and place it over his genitals. Then I cross my arms and stare down at him, because that doesn’t seem like enough. I can’t leave him here. Grabbing both of his hands, I try to lift him up, but it’s like lifting the world’s largest bag of concrete. There’s no way I’m moving him.
Maybe he can just lie there after all. I sit down next to him on the broken asphalt, petting his arm. Did…did he mean what he said when he told me he wanted me to be his wife? It feels like we’re skipping a few steps of the courtship phases. We’re going straight from kissing and cuddling to…forever. Which is fine, really. It’s just a big leap.
I don’t want him to regret that leap or feel like he’s made a hasty decision.
Something wet splats on my face. A moment later, big, fat drops of rain pour down from the skies, each one feeling like it has a grudge against me. Yikes. I jump to my feet and try to rouse Murr again. “Come on! You can’t sleep through a storm. You’ll drown like a turkey!”
