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I reach out and cup his jaw in my hand. “What is it?”
“I shouldn’t feel this way.” His breathing is heavy, his chest surging with emotion. “This is how I was supposed to feel for my Promised. She told me she loved me, and I couldn’t answer her. She deserved my love, and she received death instead.”
“You feel guilty.” I run my thumb across his lips.
“I feel other things, too. For you.”
There’s something soft and passionate in his eyes, something tender and intimate. A warning blares in my mind, like the dragon alarm from my home city. Abruptly I clamp my hand across his mouth. “Don’t say it.”
He pulls away. “You asked why I didn’t want the King of Vohrain to have you—”
“Kyreagan, stop!” I lunge for him and press both hands over his lips this time. “Hush, silly dragon. Or must I silence you with my pussy again?”
He imprisons my wrists in his big hands. “Is that what it’s called?”
“That, and other words.”
“Are you afraid of words?” He cocks an eyebrow at me. “You seem to be.”
I squirm, trying to tug free. “Some words, yes.”
“I was only trying to tell you—”
With a sharp curse, I jerk one hand free and wrap it around his erection.
His eyes go blank instantly, and he makes a strangled sound, half-gasp, half-moan. I allow myself a triumphant smile and circle my thumb over the head of his cock, glossing it with his arousal.
“Don’t talk,” I murmur. “Unless you want me to stop.”
With my hand still curled around his shaft, I scoot in closer to him, leaning into his space, his heat. My lips hover near his, our breath mingling as I begin to stroke him. I love how dazed he looks, as if his brain has been wiped clean of everything but the sensation of my fingers gliding along his length. His tanned cheeks glow rosy and his breath quickens as I trace the side of his cock, following the line of a thick vein.
Gently, with one fingertip, I coax the sensitive spot right beneath the head of his cock. His length bobs against my hand, leaking more arousal.
“Serylla,” he whispers.
“Do you want me to stop?”
“No.”
“Good.” I shift my position and bend over his lap. When my tongue caresses his cock head, he hisses, “Fuck,” and leans on his hands, throwing his head back, his dark hair spilling onto the ground.
The other two penises I’ve tasted were unwashed and smelled rather sour, but Kyreagan tastes salty like the ocean and fresh like wind-blown grass, so I take him fully into my mouth.
He comes immediately, with a harsh cry. I almost choke, but I manage to adjust the angle of my head and throat to swallow his cum. There’s so much of it that I nearly give up, but I keep drinking until every bit is safely in my belly. While I’m swallowing, I keep one hand on his thigh and caress his tensed stomach with my other hand. Through my palm I feel the strain of his muscles, the harshness of his breathing, the vibration of his groans, the surge of heat from the fire locked within him.
When he’s done coming in my mouth, I sit up and comfort his cock with my hand, guiding him through the end of the orgasm. I watch his face—eyes shut tight, black lashes painted against flushed cheeks, his sharp jaw flexed, his lips parted. He’s so powerfully built, even in this form, and yet he looks so vulnerable, and so lovely I want to kiss him again.
I haven’t felt this genuinely happy in a long time.
“You came for me,” I say softly. “Good dragon. Your first time.”
His eyes blink open, and he sits up straight, carefully removing my hand from his dick. I can’t read his expression now.
“Are you alright?” I ask. “Are you—do you feel bad about it, because of her?”
He reaches for me and trails his claws through my hair. “I have questions for myself. But I don’t regret it.”
19
