I feel his hardness, prominent, swelling against me, and I know what it is. Not only that, but I know how it can be used, the pleasure it can give. Wrong or right, I’ve had plenty of time to observe how that bulging shaft could be used to satisfy someone.
Wrapped up in his giant body, the thick band of his arm so strong and comforting, I imagine he knows how to wieldthatparticular weapon very well.
My heart twinges as I recollect Linnea and Isak and how desperate and hungry they had been for each other—how I’d envied them that. Their closeness, their shared desire, their intimacy, the act of...coupling.
Even before them, before I was cursed, I’d heard Meya and Henrik through our thin walls. I had longed to someday experience the same kind of passion for myself.
My face burns and I’m glad for the dimness of the den, and the fact that I’m still buried in his chest, so I don’t have to look athim, so he can’t see me. I release a small hiccup of laughter at this irony...that I would even wish to be invisible again.
His hand continues its descent, cupping the swell of my ass, one cheek, holding it in his large grip.
I gasp, but don’t speak, afraid to discourage him, afraid he might wake and stop. Not a word passes my lips as he massages flesh that suddenly becomes exceedingly sensitive. Indeed, it feels as though a thread hums between the weight of his hand and my sex. Every squeeze and flex and pump of his fingers on me twists something tighter inside me, coiling within me like a turning, grinding screw. His movements start to feel deliberate...directed...a decidedchoice.
That can’t be right, though. He’s asleep. He can’t mean to break his vow...he can’t want to...
My bones turn to liquid and the core of me pulses and throbs in aggravating need, and I’m faced with the knowledge that I would not be opposed to joining with him.
At least I think so. I won’t know until I try, but trying with him doesn’t frighten me as it should. Everything about him mesmerizes me. Even his dragon. Frightening as he may be in that primitive form...in human form he’s mouthwatering with his body and hands and voice and too-beautiful face...and those lips. That wide mouth. Not that I have a great deal of experience with kissing. He’s it. But I can’t think of kissing anyone better.
I wiggle my hands between us, fingers walking up his chest, luxuriating in the breadth of him, in the power and strength, the muscle and sinew moving beneath the surface of his skin. I curl my fingers, kneading my nails into him like a kitten, my palms full of him yet wanting more.
I lift my face, exhaling, letting my breath mingle with his. Inhaling sharply, I sip the air from his lips, from that mouth that makes me dream of long, deep, impossible kisses. Ones that go on and on until you can’t feel your lips anymore.
I look up from his lips to his eyes. They’re open and locked on me.
Definitely awake.
Definitely staring at me, gleaming bright and cutting through the dimness of his den, fixating on me.
“What are you doing?” he whispers.
“What areyoudoing?” I counter, achingly aware of his hands flexing against my ass. My hands move higher, skimming over his collarbones.
“Touching you.”
“I thought you weren’t going to touch me again.”
“It appears I’m a liar,” he says without apology.
A diminutive whimper escapes me. I moisten my lips with a shaky breath. “And I’m just touching you back.” The tips of my fingers graze his shoulders. “This isn’t something I’ve been able to do.”
“You can touch me all you like,” he offers, and the invitation emboldens me.
I arch my spine enough so that my hands can move downward between us, exploring his chest and abdomen, reveling in the way his skin contracts and quivers at my touch.
“For someone who hasn’t touched anyone in years, you’re good at it,” he growls.
“I’m a keen observer,” I confess.
“Are you now?” he asks gruffly, his lips twitching as though tempted to smile.
I nod. “That was all I could do...watch others live.” And yearn for my turn.
My nails lightly scrape his skin and his breath catches. I put enough space between us to find him, for my hand to dip and circle my fingers around him, gasping at the girth of him, the length, the way he feels, like the softest silk on steel, jumping and pulsing in my grip.
He curses crudely, his throat arching, and I can’t help myself. I bring my lips to the column of his throat, loving that skin there, kissing and sucking as my hand fondles him.
He groans. “You’re very skilled at this...lack of experience does not afflict you.”
