I can almost hear his snide smile. “Does that scare you?”
“Yes.”
“Good.” He smirks. “If you had this fear before, we would not be in this situation.” He flings me around and shoves me forward. “Go.”
I catch my footing and scowl. “I was afraid before. I didn’t know a dragon was beneath my raft!”
Another push. “I do not believe that.”
I keep to myself that I was looking for one of his kind to touch… but not necessarily him specifically. Maybe one like the gold and brown sleeping dragon Aida told me about. The moment I touched him, I’d been reaching for atree.
We continue on for a time, keeping the river to the left of us. We can’t get lost if we follow it, right? It will eventually lead to the gulf and to the beaches I know so well. Which poses another issue: what will my tribe do if I bring this dragon man into their midst? Nothing of the sort has ever happened before, and hierarchies and responsibilities are discussed at great detail—and a new male, joining us, one so very different from them is an unknown.
Would they accept him?
Would they accept me? If the male holding onto me like I’ll run from him at any moment felt like I felt inside at his nearness, and if the bond was truly to be believed… that we were bound together.If my tribe shuns him, they shun me.
Unless this bond fades?He says it’s irreversible. But how many human and dragon bonds has he heard of or come across?Heavy sorrow clouds my heart. I don’t want this connection to go away, selfishly so. My mind keeps drawing to his hand on my flesh, and the comfort it gives, even though it should do the exact opposite.
But could I leave my tribe for this, this feeling? Could I spend my whole life with a being that hates me?
My foot snags on a root and I fall forward. The male catches me and pulls me against his chest. I stiffen; he stiffens. His shaft moves against me, and a soundless gasp escapes my throat. I don’t even know his name. Does he have a name?
Then my stomach growls and my brow furrows in humiliation.
“A day, in the light? Perhaps two.” His voice is so deep, so low, it takes me a moment to realize he even said anything. Let alone what he means.
“To my territory?” I lick my lips. “Yes.”
“We will stop here and resume tomorrow,” he murmurs.
I wait for him to let me go, but he doesn’t. We stand there together, my backside against his front. His grasp on my arm loosens but his nails linger, trailing little caresses back and forth across my bicep. His prick stabs my back.
If he were given to me, we’d spend our first night together rutting. And the next night, and the next. Until I was heavy with his child.
My mouth dries up.
Images of our bodies coming together bloom in my mind—of him entering me, and me taking him in—of kisses, licks, and strokes. My knowledge of sex is well versed, being the youngest woman of my tribe, the only salvation Shell Rock has of continuing. I learned what sex was because Leith had to learn what sex was. And our tribeswomen and men who are mated are not shy with affection and their love. Mermaids are especially not shy.
His other hand comes up to reach between us and adjusts his cock. Every muscle in me goes rigid. His claws continue to do that torturous caress that tickles me to the core.
“I smell your pheromones,” he says.
I feel myself wilt a little, chagrined. “I haven’t properly bathed in two days.” River water doesn’t count, not without salts and flower butter. It’s enough to clean dirt and sweat but…
He rubs his shaft from side-to-side upon me. Clenching, I fumble, desire rising with my embarrassment.
“I do not mind,” he grumbles. “I mind that my new body responds to them. How weak I have become.” His voice is angry but… almost hesitant, like he’s considering something.
Does he even know what mating is like between humans?
“You hate me…”
He hisses. “Yes.”
Please let me go, and I’ll curl up under a plant to perish and await the crocodiles and jungle cats to return to take my body.
His hands let me go and I quickly move away, turning to face him, wrenching my hands shut against the jumble of feelings plaguing me. His hand remains on his shaft, and I don’t know if he’s relieving its hardness—hardness I know firsthand by now—or trying to put it away. I almost feel bad for him. It can’t feel good.
