“Perhaps you’ll allow me to broach a subject of great importance.” Grinning, he winks, but his expression flickers, asif he’s struggling with multiple emotions. “You saved my life, today.” His voice comes out on a deep whisper.
My heart flutters. I don’t respond, but his sincere thankfulness penetrates my heart, increasing my gratitude for him. Today, Zogar revealed vulnerabilities I never imagined, and I deeply appreciate his openness. He thinks he revealed weaknesses, but all these revelations have made him seem that much stronger. A man I not only admire, but one I very much need.
I’ve never wanted to rely on any man—not ever—and yet I’ve grown toneedZogar. Not just because I need him in dragon form to fly me back to the Light—and not just because of the intense pleasure I glean from his cock. I do need him for both of those things, but I’ve grown to need Zogar’s support, his wise counsel, his wry sense of humor and decisive nature. And I’ve also grown attached to the feelings I have when he shows his admiration and gratitude for me. Almost as if he needs me too.
Zogar sees traits in me I’ve never seen in myself. Zogar makes me feel as if I am capable of anything.
His huge arms lift and shift me until I’m straddling one of his extended legs. For a long moment, we gaze into each other’s eyes, then he cups my face and presses his lips against mine.
CHAPTER 23
Rosomon
Zogar’s kiss is like none we’ve shared before. One large hand gently holds my head in place as his lips explore mine like delicate treats he wants to savor. Perhaps it’s more like he wants to thank my lips, along with the rest of me, for saving his life.
In exchange, I want to thank him for sharing his story, for exposing such a deep, raw part of himself, and for letting me see more of the man whom I’ve come to admire and rely on so greatly.
As we kiss, I stroke the sides of his face and thread my fingers into his still damp hair. Our mouths continue to taste and explore, exchanging immense pleasure, and our tongues perform a slow dance, like a waltz, until I feel as if I am truly floating around a ballroom, but one where Zogar and I are the only occupants.
His rod shifts, landing firmly against my body. He groans, and I suck in a breath, absorbing the sound into our kiss. My desire has expanded beyond comprehension, and yet I want to relishevery moment of our kissing. I want to prolong this intense and intimate feeling forever.
His fingers trace over the necklace he gave me, following the trail of rubies down between my breasts. Once there, he circles and strokes, teasing my breasts and nipples with all the varying textures of his hand—the rough calluses, the hard knuckles, the soft hairs—and every movement sends sparks to my cleft. Zogar has touched me gently before, but never like this.
Somehow it feels different, now that we know each other more deeply, and the contrast between this level of tenderness coming from such a powerful man offers me everything I’ve ever wanted, things I didn’t know I needed. At this moment, I know I am valued, that I’m special, that I’m cherished and seen.
Drifting lower, his hands trace over my ribs, gently caressing me everywhere, and it wakes flights of butterflies, sparkles of fireflies, swarms of bees in my belly. I’m on fire, and as much as I’m enjoying his soft kisses, his tender caresses, I’m starting to crave more. I rub my damp sex against his hard thigh.
As if reading my mind, his hand slips down, teasing my pubic hair, and then lifting my parted legs off his thigh so his fingers can slide through my cleft. One of his hands still holds my head in place to continue our kiss, as the other fondles my very damp folds.
His fingers slip back and forth, continuously teasing my entrance, my button, softly touching me everywhere, and the delayed gratification, while not fully delivering what every part of me wants, combines to satisfy everything that I need.
My hips pulse against his touch, relishing all that he’s giving me—and everything he’s denying me—his actions both perfect and not enough.
Just as I am about to break our kiss to demand more, he presses two thick fingers inside me.
I drag in a ragged breath, creating suction around his still probing tongue.
His kiss grows more demanding—more ravenous, more possessive and crushing—but his fingers slide gently, and I love the contrast between these two actions—the fervor of his punishing kisses, while his thick fingers tenderly probe, stroke and twist.
Breaking from our kiss, he leaves me breathless, my lips stinging and bruised, and he pauses for a moment, gently sliding his fingers and looking deeply into my eyes. Then, without warning, he plunges his fingers more deeply, quickening their pace and force. But along with this fiercer penetration, his eyes and expression remain soft and adoring.
My eyes become trapped as I fall deeper into his, and I suck in shuddering breaths that fail to carry enough air.
At this moment, Zogar isn’t my king, he’s my humble servant, dedicated to giving me pleasure, to paying attention to everything that I need. But at the same time, every twisting plunge of his fingers has my body fully under his command.
His thumb brushes my button, and I buck in his arms. I long to tell him how good this feels, but I can’t speak. I can’t possibly do anything beyond accepting the gifts his fingers and thumb are delivering.
I grasp his neck, his shoulders. I grab on to whatever I can reach, so I won’t fly straight up to the top of this cave. But there’s no chance of escape. His other arm traps me as he continues to hammer his fingers deep inside.
Unable to bear the pleasure, I writhe in his arms, and his rod brushes my body. If I were capable of doing anything of my own free will at this moment, I’d want to offer his cock the kind of pleasure he’s giving me.
The necklace grows hot and heavy on my chest as each of his thrusts lifts me higher from his lap, and I cling to him as my body stretches closer and closer toward a climax I both long for and fear. I don’t want this to end, or even to change. I want this indescribable pleasure to go on and on for the rest of my life.
His fingers still ravaging me, Zogar looks deeply into my eyes, and his thumb strokes my unbelievably stimulated button.
“You’re so swollen. So hard. So wet,” he says deeply.
I cry out, but the sound erupts on shaking breaths, as I contract around the thick intrusion of his fingers. My body writhes, as if trying to escape, but that’s the last thing I actually want.
