There was no kiss; a kiss was not possible.There were too many teeth, too great a difference in their size, their forms aberrant and incompatible.
Yet Clove felt the heat upon his tongue, upon hislips, and he tasted the sheer, carnal hunger of that mouth, and he cried out from under it.It should have been a sound made in terror, but it came out like a moan.
The dragon crooned against his lips, against his throat, as though pleased.It slithered partially up onto the bed, engaging Clove’s mouth with its own, then left his lips to nuzzle down Clove’s chest, his torso…
“Stop,” breathed Clove.“Wait.Don’t?—”
The dragon’s mouth stopped to huff a scalding breath upon his stomach, then dipped just slightly lower, where it traced the sharps of its teeth along Clove’s sigils with surprising delicacy.The runes lit up under its touch, andpleasurestreaked through Clove’s body, violent enough to make him scream.
But the dragon did not stop.It caressed, and nosed, and purred against those marks, sending vibrations through the sigils.
Clove’s whole body pulsed with each one.
He cried out, clutching the dragon’s horns, tears racing down his cheeks in a sudden and uncontrolled rush, barely felt.
“No,” he pleaded, except he wasn’t pleading.
He was moaning.
“No, no, no?—”
Moaning, back arching.Toes curling.Head falling back.Mouth open.Panting.The dragon’s muzzle pushing and mouthing against the evil magic, each new touch driving Clove further into overstimulation until something cracked inside of him.
Something filthy.
Something that wanted more.
When the dragon pulled its head away, Clove lay panting and shaking, face wet with tears and drool.
The dragon paused to look down at the mess it had made of the spirited little street rat, then knocked Clove’s knees apart with its nose.
“I’ve been waiting for this,” it rumbled almost absently, quietly content.
It then nuzzled between Clove’s thighs and drove its tongue between Clove’s legs in firm, hungry strokes.
Clove closed his eyes, but it only made the sensation more vivid and inescapable—hot, wet muscle teasing him.Slicking his skin.Pushing where it shouldn’t.
Slipping into him.
Deeper.
Deeper.
Clove let out a soft gasp as it slithered inside of him, then whined with reluctant pleasure when that thick, warm muscle eagerly thrust as far as it could go.
Pleasure coursed through Clove, and before he could stop himself, he rolled his hips, driving down onto the tongue that had stolen his virginity.
Out of his mind with the depravity of it, body acting of its own accord, Clove rode the dragon’s tongue as though he would die if he didn’t.He’d spent his whole life with his legs jealously closed, refusing to share this part of himself even though doing so would have filled his empty pockets with coin, yet now he could not stop.Every flex of the dragon’s tongue, every time it squirmed, and each punishing thump only made him want it more.
It was as though he’d been possessed.
Dazed and winded from his continued efforts, he opened his eyes and looked down, summoned unknowingly by the dragon’s gaze.Those fearsome eyes fixed upon him,heldhim, and ordered him without a single word spoken to watch as he was pleasured.
Breathlessly, Clove obeyed.
His gaze dipped, traveling beyond his shameful erection to fall between his legs, where the dragon’s tongue disappeared.It was obscene.It waswrong.Yet Clove couldn’t stop watching, panting, hips rocking and wiggling, as the tongue invading him steadily moved in and out.
The crude treatment continued until the dragon thrust its tongue and spread it, filling Clove so suddenly, he squeaked.
