This was no quick release, however, made to simply unleash the tension in her body. As she began to settle down, his mouth readjusted, the flat of his tongue pushing and grinding against her clitoris again. Her back arched in response, her head thrown back as the air left her lungs in one surprised gasp. Almost immediately it started again—not the slow buildup, but right back into another climax. A stronger, more powerful one that, if he hadn’t been holding her down, would have rolled her right off the boulder onto the hard ground.
She didn’t know how long he had her pinned to that rock, laying one climax on top of another, on top of another. Each one new and different, crashing up against the one that had been fading until she begged him—weakly, her strength nearly gone—to stop.
“Once more,” he murmured, and she shook her head, her voice catching.
“I can’t.”
“You will. Once more.” Then he was inside her, his c**k pushing past still-pulsating tissue, her body still shuddering from the last few climaxes.
She had no idea when he took his clothes off, but nothing had ever felt more wicked or delicious than his naked body pressing into hers. His weight held her down as he roughly rocked into her, taking her, his arms braced on either side of her shoulders. His long hair fell around them, draping them like the finest silk while his groans worked into her system, taking her up again. And what she’d thought impossible happened once more. Her climax so brutally intense and harsh, her hands slapped against his sides, her fingers yanking down against the flesh. She felt skin tear under her nails, and his cry of pain led right into his gasp and moans of pleasure.
He came hard inside her, his body jerking against her during each release, her pu**y tightening around him over and over again, until she pulled the last bit of come from his balls.
Gwenvael dropped on top of her, his mind unable to care if she could breathe or not. At the moment, he simply couldn’t think straight … or at all. He had no idea how long he lay on top of her, but when he finally lifted himself off, she was asleep beneath him. Snoring.
Grinning, he shook her shoulder. “Oy!”
Her eyes snapped open. “That was not what I said!”
He laughed and said, “Stay awake, you lazy sow.”
She blinked, grey eyes able to focus on him since he was only mere inches from her face. “I’m tired,” she haughtily complained.
“Yes,” he said softly, a fingertip tracing along her cheek and jaw. “I guess you are.”
“But you’re not.”
“Not even a little.” He leaned down and kissed her, his tongue slowly tasting hers.
She moaned, her body automatically responding to him and his touch. But she pulled her mouth away, her head shaking.
“No. I can’t do that again. It was too much.”
“There’s no such thing.” He grabbed the hands pushing against his chest, feebly trying to shove him away. “And you will do it again,” he told her, pinning her hands against the boulder beneath them. “As many times as I want you to.”
He was still inside her and felt her pu**y pulse to life with the action of pinning her hands. It became warm again at his words.
Gods, she was delicious—the cunning, clever Lady Dagmar.
“And if I say no?” she asked softly, playing the shy virgin beautifully. “To protect my honor?”
He leaned into her, kissing her neck and then biting it until he heard her gasp, the walls of her pu**y clenching him so tightly he feared she’d snap his already-hard-again c**k in two.
“When I’m done, you’ll have no honor. I’ll take what I want, Lady Dagmar,” he whispered against her ear, his grip tightening on her wrists. “And no matter how much you struggle or fight, I’ll keep taking what I want. Again. And again. And again.”
It was small. A human male would miss it completely. A dragon not as in tune with her body would miss it as well.
But he didn’t.
At his words, Dagmar came again—and he almost came with her.
Chapter 22
Dagmar knew she was back in her bed and not alone when that horrifying sound jolted her awake.
Her eyes snapped open and she blinked, squinting, trying to figure out where she was and how she got there. Then the sound moved closer, and Dagmar couldn’t help but turn her nose up in disgust.
He snored. The great Gwenvael the Handsome snored. Good thing he’d brought her such pleasure or she’d have him removed from her room—perhaps from the castle!
But he had, truly had, brought her pleasure. From that boulder to this bed, he’d taken her again and again until she’d begged for sleep. Yet it hadn’t been simply that, had it? There were many in the world who knew how to give pleasure. No, it was something else when it came to Gwenvael. She argued to herself that many of his conquests probably had the same feelings about him when all was said and done, but she wasn’t foolish like the others. She’d had no grand illusions of a perfect love that would have Gwenvael dropping to his knees and begging for her hand in marriage. From the beginning, she’d been quite determined to keep a clear perspective on all of this.
She knew she’d be returning to her father’s fortress. She knew her future was meant to be spent behind the massive gates of that fortress. She also knew that with luck and skill, she’d be able to get her small house somewhere on her father’s lands, similar to Esyld’s, in another decade or so. These were the absolutes of her life and she refused to let a few nights bedding Gwenvael change any of that, because she couldn’t afford to hope for more.