“Gods, Dagmar. You’re so tight.” He bit her shoulder, nipped her neck before returning to her ear, his whispers feverish. “I tried to give you time alone, but I can’t. Not now. This night you’ll spend with me.” His thumb pressed against her clit, moving in slow circles. “You’ll spend it with my c**k deep inside you, making you come again and again.”
Her body jerked in his arms, the climax wrenching through her. He turned them so she was now facing the wall, trying to use his big body to block out the cries. It was unnecessary, though, as the queen’s own choked cries of pleasure overrode Dagmar’s.
Her body shook in his arms, her knees weakening from the power of her climax. Yet Dagmar had no fear of falling, because Gwenvael held her. He held her until her last shudder passed and she slumped, boneless, against his body.
Gwenvael placed her on the bed, tossing the shirt he’d removed from her across the room. Her eyes fluttered open and, smiling, he carefully removed her spectacles, placing them on the side table. He leaned over and waved his hands in her face. “Can you still see me?” he teased loudly.
She lightly slapped at his hands. “Stop doing that.”
“What would you like me to do instead?”
Soft hands reached for him, grabbing hold of his shoulders, pulling him down on top of her. “I want you inside me.”
Nothing had sounded more perfect before.
He pushed inside her, his way eased by her recent climax. She gasped as his c**k stretched her open, her neck arching as she gripped his biceps.
When her lips parted, Gwenvael kissed her, spearing his tongue inside her moist mouth as his c**k speared inside her warm pu**y. Her fingers dug into his skin, her thighs opening wide beneath him.
For more than an hour he’d sat in that freezing cold lake as human. Even with chattering teeth and shaking body, he was still hard. And hard only for her.
It never even occurred to him to find another. To track down a bar wench or two and do what he normally did when in this part of Dark Plains for a night. It never occurred to him that anyone but Dagmar would be in his bed ever again.
Eventually he had headed back inside with the intent of trying to get some sleep in one of the alcoves. He was a dragon; sleeping on jewels and treasure was par for the course. But as soon as he’d entered the cavern, he’d immediately known Dagmar was gone. Locking on her scent, he was relieved to discover she’d only gone deeper into the cave rather than out of it. He followed her scent until it disappeared into a crevice no one among his kin would ever be able to creep through. But he had an idea of where it led and he took another path he knew.
When he saw her standing there, watching his brother and Annwyl, he’d been shocked at the warmth he’d felt for her. The tenderness. As well as the blinding lust. He’d been torn between the desire to simply hold her close or bend her stomach down over that ledge.
She drew her knees up, allowing him to go deeper inside her, and he braced his arms on either side of her and slowly began to thrust. She cried out, the sound muffled because of his mouth covering hers. He drank the sound down and used his body to make her cry out more. She clung to him, shaking beneath him as another climax raced through her. He felt it as her muscles clenched around his cock, squeezing his own climax from him. Now he cried out; now his body shook as he drained into her.
He pulled out of their kiss and looked down at her. Those grey eyes, always so cold and aloof or so plotting and curious, now only seemed soft and caring. She smiled, the grip on his arms loosening.
“I’m staying the night,” he said. It wasn’t a request.
“I know you are.” It seemed leaving wasn’t an option.
And that was quite all right. Because tonight he’d take her body, as often as they both needed it. But tomorrow … Tomorrow he’d make her his own.
Dagmar rose up a bit, her lips pressing against his neck, under his jaw. Her legs wrapped around his waist, holding him inside her. As was the way of his kind when human, his c**k began to harden again, and, as was the way of Dagmar Reinholdt, her body responded almost immediately, quite ready for what he could give her.
It had been a long time since Rhiannon had been summoned through the lines of Magick crisscrossing throughout the universe. Mostly because there were few who could break through the defenses she’d erected over the centuries. Those defenses had been built because she’d tired of the constant requests from lesser witches and mages for assistance or, even more dangerous, those who’d hoped to quietly steal her power for their own uses.
Yet the handsome Lightning standing before her had surprised her. First he’d sent that useless note through Dagmar, the human having handed it to Rhiannon as they’d plotted the handling of Elder Eanruig. But then he’d contacted her directly by bypassing all the defenses she’d built. Only the most powerful and experienced could manage that.
He was much younger than she’d assumed and nothing like the Lightnings she’d always known. Not only was he beautiful—a rarity among the Northland males—but he was quite … dare she say … elegant? An outsider from birth, she’d guess.
A confused, elegant outsider at the moment. Rhiannon did love confused males, although it wasn’t as hard to do as they’d like to believe.
“You knew my father had your daughter?”
She couldn’t help but smile. “I’ve always known.” Although she’d thought Keita would have gotten herself out of there long before now.