Too good.
Clove's knuckles turned white and his body seized.Whimpering into the dragon's tongue, he climaxed hard and helplessly.
He did not stop for a long time.
He spilled into the flower, drowning it until it was soaking, seed spilling between its petals that then dripped onto his body.All the while, the dragon's cocks continued to love him, deep and earnest, and the dragon continued to kiss him, mouth him, lick him.
“Everything for you,” the dragon promised.“Everything.”
Its voice was full of lust.Obsession.A devotion which bordered on the bloody.
It hooked a clawed hand around Clove’s back and held him close as it came, hissing great gouts of steam, groaning in sheer ecstasy.It pumped Clove full of seed—so full that when it finally withdrew, Clove’s stomach still bulged slightly, his skin stretched and taut.
Everything.
Clove closed his eyes, eyelids too heavy to keep up any longer, and the dragon laid him carefully upon the bed.Even after the vines crept away, dragging their flowers up overhead, the dragon watched on for some time, chin resting upon the bed.Waiting.Unreadable.
Finally, there came a change.
The dragon reared its head and looked down at Clove’s belly, where the sigils let out a blinding flash of light before vanishing entirely.
It was done.
Sobell showed all of his teeth in one huge smile.
He gazed down at his lover, now so deeply and peacefully asleep that he could have been mistaken for dead, and a sense of euphoria flooded his entire massive being.Victory.Rapture.Finality.
“Never again,” he murmured, his voice little more than a wisp, like the sigh of a dark wind.“Never, love.Never.”
ChapterFive
A dream?A hallucination?A delirium brought on by evil magics?
Clove lay on his back and gazed, foggy-eyed from sleep, at the canopy overhead, and he wondered.
The crossbeams were absent their flowering vines.There was nothing but the gentle light of day striping the canopy; not a single leaf remained.
Not a single sigil, either.
The bedposts, while ornate, bore no markings.
The memory of the night still rocked vividly through him, drawing shivers as he remembered the touch of the beast.Thetongueof the beast.The whole dark, serpentine mass of the dragon that had ravished him.
If hehadbeen ravished at all.
For there was no clear evidence that the night’s passion had been anything more than a dream.
Hesitant to believe it could be true, he lay where he was for a long moment, attuning himself with his body.He was sweat-sticky but not sore, and well-rested in such a way that the comfort went bone-deep.The only part of him that wasn’t relaxed to the point of bliss was his head, which felt oddly weightless and wandering, like a kite kept aloft by a gentle breeze.
Disoriented.
Clove breathed in deeply, filling his lungs, and held the breath until it burned, but his efforts did nothing to ground his dizzy head.
Perhaps he had been drugged, he finally thought.
It would not have been the first time.
Most of the concoctions given to slaves were bitter and noxious, leaving a lasting aftertaste that was as humiliating as it was repulsive, but it was possible that the beast who “owned” him had access to a traceless substance typically too expensive and rare to waste on chattel.
