Free. The word tastes like ash in my mouth.
"You're still recovering, I see. But we can't waste time. We need to start working on those babies."
"No," I rasp. "I don't—"
"It's not a choice, Adelaide." His voice hardens. "You're my wife now. Or you will be, once the ceremony happens in a few days. And wives obey their husbands."
He climbs on top of me, and I want to fight, want to scream, but I can't. My body won't respond. My head is too foggy, my limbs too heavy.
I nod slowly, demurely, and begin calculating how long it will take to kill him. Not tonight… I need information first. I need to understand the layout of this castle, the guard rotations. Decide where I’ll go once I leave. The arrows… I saw them pierce his scales, saw him fall to the ground. But dragons don't die easily do they? He's alive. Hehasto be alive, because the alternative is a chasm I cannot look into without losing myself entirely.
"Shall we?" He puts his hands on my breasts. His palm is soft, uncallused. He's never held a sword for longer than ceremony requires, never worked for anything in his pampered life. He’s probably had everything handed to him. He thinks he's rescued me. He thinks he's a hero from the songs.
I will enjoy watching him bleed.
But not yet. Not yet.
"You're not as beautiful as I would have liked, but your body…" the prince says while he gently paws at my breast. “Your breasts are so heavy. So full. Mother says breasts like this are perfect for nursing our children.” He sucks one of my nipples into his mouth and suckles on it. I am instantly repulsed. His mouth feels nothing like my dragons.
"I've dreamed of this moment since I first heard the tale of the captive princess when I was a boy." He says the words against my breast.
I say nothing. I look down and notice my body is the same as it was a century ago, unchanged by time in ways that should be impossible. Another gift from my dragon, though no one here understands that. They think it's a curse, that I've been frozen, preserved like a butterfly in amber.
They don't understand that I've beencherished.
The prince's eyes roam over me with an expression I recognize. Hunger mixed with possession. He sees an object. A prize. A womb he has conquered and will now fill with his legacy.
I let him look. I've learned patience.
He kisses me, and it's wet and graceless, his tongue pushing into my mouth like he's trying to prove something. I endure it. I've endured worse.
I suppose this isn’t much different than the first few years I spent with the dragon if I’m honest with myself. The conflicting thoughts war in my head as I lie here silently.
Benedict is already breathing hard, already fumbling around with where to touch me. I feel something hard being ground on my stomach. His cock. I look down to see what it looks like. I was a virgin when the dragon took me, so I’ve never seen what a cock looks like. Small. Painfully, almost comically small compared to what I remember feeling from my dragon. My dragon's smallest finger has more girth.
But I need to survive this. I need to play the part.
After he kisses me for a minute, he straightens on top of me. There's no preamble, no preparation. He simply grabs his dick and pushes it inside, and I'm not ready. Not wet, not open, not anything. It hurts in a way that's purely mechanical, purely unpleasant. Nothing like the burn of being stretched around dragon cock, that exquisite edge between pain and pleasure that makes my whole body sing.
He thrusts, graceless and quick, grunting with each movement. His eyes are closed tight. He's not even looking at me.
"Talk to me," I say, trying to salvage something from this disaster. "Tell me what you want to do to me."
He opens his eyes, looking confused. "What?"
"Dirty talk. Tell me—"
"That's inappropriate," he says, actually sounding offended. He doesn't stop thrusting, though. "Ladies don't... you shouldn't want that." He sounds a little out of breath, even though he’s only just started.
A century of my dragon's filthy mouth, his detailed descriptions of exactly how he was going to take me, where he was going to put his tongue, how many times he was going to make me come before he allowed himself release… all of that, and now this. Thisidiottelling me what I should want.
"Then choke me," I say, desperate for something, anything to make this bearable. "Put your hand on my throat." I go to grab his arm to place his hand where I need it.
He recoils like I've suggested he murder his mother. "Absolutely not! What kind of depraved—" He's still inside me, still moving, but now he's looking at me with disgust. "That dragon corrupted you. I should have known."
"Then spank me. Grab my hair. Do…something."
"You're sick," he says as his thrusting picks up tempo. There's genuine revulsion in his voice. "We'll need to have a priest bless you. Clearly that beast twisted your mind." His thrusting is even quicker now. The sounds of bodies slapping together filling the room. “Disgusting… depraved… vile…”
