Vampire Dragon (26 page)

Read Vampire Dragon Online

Authors: Annette Blair

Tags: #Fiction, #Romance, #Paranormal, #General

BOOK: Vampire Dragon
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She opened her mouth to argue but he crossed her lips with a finger. “Food will bolster your strength, or no honeymoon.”
“In that case, I’ll eat a little something.” She stuck her tongue out at him.
He shook his head. “No foreplay until after dinner.”
“I hate to protest,” she said, “but it’s three in the morning.”
“You missed dinner, you were so busy dying. God, that makes my knees weak,” he admitted, setting her in the warm water.
“Why is the water not hotter?”
“I’m trying to take it easy on your system. Too hot and it’ll raise your blood pressure.”
“With all you have to learn, you’ve taken up studying medicine?”
“Zachary warned me not to make your bathwater too hot after your—”
“Stabbing? Anyway,” she said. “I thought
you
would raise my blood pressure.”
“We’ll see, if you’re up to it, but I don’t want any competition.” He knelt beside the tub and gently swished a soapy washcloth around her scar. “It looks like it happened last year,” he said, the tension in his shoulders easing.
“
Mmm
. Feels that way.” Loving her husband’s ministrations, Bronte leaned against the back of the tub and closed her eyes to savor his touch and fantasize about the night to come.
Darkwyn cleared his throat. “Watching you makes me think you’re too exhausted for a honeymoon.”
She opened her eyes. “
Not
. I’m imagining it. And whether you want this to be foreplay or not, it’s workin’ for me.”
“It’s working for me, too.”
She reached over and shoved his shoulder. “Go get us a snack, then get in here with me so we can soak and nibble vitamin-rich food and each other. I’m a sucker for my multitasking dragon man.”
Darkwyn grabbed one of their blankets off the bed to use as a robe and covered himself, in the event Zachary got hungry and went looking for food, too.
When he got back to Bronte, he set down a small table beside the tub, dropped his blanket, and got in with her. “You’re having corned beef hash or Spam for breakfast, my lady’s choice, but for now, a light snack.”
“Cream-filled chocolate cupcakes? Yes! Where did you get these?”
“From a robot that didn’t give them up easily, but I won the fight.”
“You beat up a vending machine?”
“When I finished with it, it did look quite defeated. A machine, heh?”
“You’re supposed to put money in them.”
“Ah. I did not know that.”
She opened the package and took a bite, letting her new husband see how much she enjoyed the treat he brought. “Now, this is what I call a feast.” She made a sound that visibly affected him, then tested the sound twice more before giving in to a fit of the giggles. “This coming back to life,” she said, licking the frosting off the cupcake, “is quite exhilarating.”
“You won’t get anywhere near as much pleasure from eating me up with your eyes as you will from chocolate icing,” he warned.
“Hah,” she said. “I beg to differ. You don’t care about my body, do you?” she asked, sitting forward, his answer and expression especially important to her.
“I care a great deal about your body, every delectable inch. I just haven’t had enough time to show you.”
“No, I mean the fact that I have a pretty full figure.”
“You have a pretty
perfect
figure. Were I still a dragon, and I caught you,
after
skipping lunch and dinner, I would not eat you, just so I could look at your amazing curves any time I wanted.”
“That’s serious.”
“I love your height—it is a match to mine—I adore your shape, every arc and bend, and you are so graceful that I feel like a clumsy oaf beside you. You, Bronte Dragonelli, are magickally, seriously, delicious.”
“I’m not a breakfast cereal.”
“Good, because I want to eat you up all day long. Man or beast, I worship your figure. If my hands were not occupied with healing right now, they would be testing the artistic flow of each and every dip and hollow, until you screamed your delight, or you shouted, ‘Enough already.’ You make other women look like their bones will poke through their skin. Not for me, baby.”
She experienced a moment of perfect joy, rare for her, halved the second cupcake, and shoved one piece into Darkwyn’s mouth while his gaze was otherwise occupied with her nipples bobbing in the water.
His mouth overflowing, he raised his brows with dire inquiry.
“Hey, I got screwed out of shoving wedding cake down your throat after the ceremony. Indulge me. Eat cake on our wedding day. Chew for Goddess’s sake.”
Darkwyn obeyed, his eyes still on the prize: wet nipple a la chill.
Bronte rose on her knees, smeared cupcake filling on her undamaged breast, and aimed the creamy thing at her new husband’s mouth.
“No fair,” he said, pupils dilating, irises brightening to all the violet shades in a perfect seaside sunset.
While he was otherwise mesmerized by her offering, she took him by surprise and impaled herself on his firm interest, so slick and ready herself, she swallowed his perfect beast with ease.
Darkwyn’s eyes widened.
Her sex pulsed. His did, too.
“
No
freaking fair,” he rasped. “No f-fairrrrrr.”
Darkwyn controlled his hips with every muscle, even the ones in his neck, arms, chest, and back. She felt every taut cord beneath her wandering palms. She moved, and he released a groan, and came for her mouth. He took it hostage, brutalizing her lips with his kiss, and she couldn’t get enough. He used his lips and tongue the way he wanted to use his sex, and she welcomed the invasion, his rough hunger a contrast to the gentle pleasure he brought her.
Eventually, his head came up, both of them breathing heavy, and while she read a certain resentment in his expression, probably at her taking charge, she saw enlightenment, as well, before he came for her cream-covered breast. He licked the cream and woke every nerve ending, nipped at her, laved her with enthusiasm, then he tugged and suckled her, pulling nourishment and pleasure from her at one and the same time.
When she moaned, he let go. “I got carried away and you’re hurt. I’m sorry, damn it. I did not want you to exert yourself.”
“Hey, I’m not moving. Your mouth is doing all the work, thanks, and tricky dick’s pretty frisky, too. I’ve come several times. You?”
Darkwyn swore, pulled her close, and went back to ravaging her mouth while adoring her with his touch. His right hand did wondrous things, nearly as amazing as his acrobatic tongue. Even his left hand performed a kind of magick as he cupped the side of her scarred breast, radiating warmth and a soothing—
She pulled back. “Are you healing me while you have your beastly way with me?”
“I’m not a beast, you see, because I am not moving or making you move.”
She kept her inner smile from her expression. She could not afford to care for this man. “Between the two of us,” she said, “throbbing and pulsing against each other, you hung like a bull, my horn sucking your plenty, we’re going to have a fi—a fine—honey . . .”
Somehow Darkwyn knew how to make the unexpected cliffhanger last, so she rode the crest evenly, no sharp edges or fast falls, just the slow blossoming wonder of a perpetual orgasm, pleasure roiling through her, no muscles to stretch, just ecstasy everlasting.
And into the silent bliss . . .
A tree fell through the window, starry shards of glass raining down on them, the prickly, pointy top of a Christmas pine like a knife at Darkwyn’s throat.
THIRTY-SEVEN
 
 
Bronte froze, in more ways than one, but her scream
carried no sound while a blizzard rushed in at them through a broken window, sprinkling them with snow as well as glass.
“Gee, you think Killian is trying to tell me something?” Darkwyn got out of the tub, icy air curling around them, but she couldn’t seem to move on her own. He lifted her again, like a babe, dusted glass and snow off her, wrapped her in a body towel, and carried her out through the cozy blue striped bedroom she’d been looking forward to sharing with her sexy dragon man.
Silly detail. “
Brr
,” she said, shivering in his arms, hers as bare as his.
He nixed a corner suite because it had “too many windows.” But he grabbed blankets from every room he rejected. They settled in a cozy purple room, so lush the walls looked velvet, with a homey quilt to match, and only one narrow casement window near the far wall, opposite side of the room from their king-sized bed.
He sat her in a chair, toweled her completely dry, then wrapped her in a blanket and placed her between the sheets, covering her to her neck with the quilt.
“I should set you free,” she said. “I put your life in danger and I swore—”
“I put my life in danger by stealing you and flying away with you. This is not your enemy stalking us, but mine. No setting me free.”
“You make a confused kind of sense.”
“Warm the bed,” he said. “I’ll be back to wrap myself around you as soon as I’m sure Zachary is okay.”
Moments, or hours, later, he slipped into bed beside her. “Zachary?” she asked, groggy and ashamed of herself for falling asleep, though his relaxed body told her all was well.
“Is fine. You were right about Jagidy. He’s a cuddler. When I tiptoed in, Puck the bird started rattling off dragon jokes but Zachary and Jagidy slept through the monologue.”
Feeling frisky after her rest, she snuggled into him. “What dragon joke was he telling?”
“What happens when a dragon gets mad?”
“I don’t know. What?”
“He gets all fired up.”
“Fire when ready,” she said, curling his chest hair around a finger. “Darkwyn, were you—you know—as
satisfied
in the tub as I was?”
“How could I help myself watching you?”
“But was it as good for you as for me? Because, ‘incredible’ hardly explains it.”
He kissed her temple and covered her hand to stop its southbound wanderlust. “I got all fired up. Lay on your back.”
“Oh, goodie. Time to play?”
He placed his healing hand on her chest, above her wound, and tucked his face into her neck. “Time to heal.”
Before she worked up a good pout, he fell swiftly into a deep sleep, his snore rather growly—perfect for a dragon. He must be tired after flying so far, carrying her in hellacious weather, dodging trees, expending healing energy, worrying about her, Zachary, Jagidy,
and
Puck. What a honeymoon. “Rest,” she whispered. “We have the mob and an evil sorceress to fight. Together.”
Her poor husband.
Husband
—shocking word. Forever. Till death do us part.
Death made her think of Sanguedolce. She shivered, and when she did, Darkwyn spoke her name and pulled her close, utterly aware of her. No other woman’s name tripped off his tongue with his guard down, his mind sleep fogged. Only hers.
Her turn to stay alert and filter night sounds, hoping none resembled the stealth of an underworld assassin.
Someone knocked on their door. Her eyes opened wide, guilt her first instinct. Some night guard she turned out to be, falling asleep.
“It’s me, Zachary. Bronte, you in there?”
“We’re here,” she said.
“Breakfast is ready. Canned surprise. Wake up the flying machine, will you?”
“I’m awake. I’m awake.” Darkwyn sat up and scrubbed at his face with both hands.
She chuckled. “Trying to rough yourself up?”
“I needed a brutal wake-up call.”
“I’ll remember that.”
“No, I was really out, and I’m annoyed with myself for that.”
Bronte rose to sit on the side of the bed, aware she breathed easier and felt nearly as bossy as her old self.

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