CHAPTER EIGHTEEN #3
Desire radiated from her in waves that matched my own, evident in the hardened peak of her nipple between my fingers.
And speaking of her nipples—gods above—her breasts were nothing short of exquisite.
Each perfect mound was heavy and full against my palm, the soft weight filling my hand entirely.
The contrast of her pale skin against my sun-darkened fingers made something savage stir within me.
Her flesh yielded to my touch, warm and pliant, yet the woman herself remained an enigma that threatened everything I'd built.
How could someone so seemingly vulnerable wield such power?
The contradiction made my head spin as much as the scent of her skin—like wildflowers after rain.
That scent clouded my judgment with each ragged breath I took.
"What is your name?" I growled, my voice much rougher this time than before.
"I-I—" The words caught in her throat as I slid my hand down her body with purpose.
"No more hesitation. Your name."
I thrust my hand beneath her thighs, feeling the muscles tense beneath my palm as she gasped sharply at the sudden contact.
The sound sent a bolt of satisfaction straight through me—part conquest, part arousal.
With casual strength that brooked no resistance, I pushed her thighs apart, my fingers splaying wide to keep her open and vulnerable beneath me.
The position left her completely exposed to my touch, unable to close herself off from what I intended to do.
The thin fabric of her shift offered no real protection against my exploration, the delicate muslin so fine it might as well have been nothing at all.
Through the gossamer material, I could feel every curve, every hollow, every secret place that no man had ever touched.
My fingers pressed against her opening, separated from her most intimate place by only that whisper-thin layer of cloth that grew damper by the second.
Her breath caught sharply in her throat, the sound rough and desperate as heat bloomed beneath my touch like fire catching kindling.
Even through the fabric barrier, I could feel her body's betrayal—the way she grew slick and ready despite her protests, despite the fear that made her pulse race beneath my fingertips.
The contradiction fascinated me: her mind might resist, but her flesh sang a different song entirely.
The dragon in my chest rumbled with approval, its ancient voice whispering dark promises of what was to come. Make her burn for us. The beast's hunger merged with my own until I couldn't tell where Arthur ended and the dragon began.
My eyes never left hers as my fingers pressed more firmly against the outside of her quim through the thin muslin.
She placed her hand against my arm as if to push my hand away from her, but once I began to rub the small bud just above her opening, her fingers closed over my arm instead.
I pushed the muslin of her shift into the folds of her lips as she gasped in shock. I could already feel the velvety wetness that was covering her. Slipping my index finger into her heat only slightly, I watched as she bucked beneath me.
"You're trembling." My voice dropped lower as my fingers moved in a small, deliberate circle atop her hard little nub.
Take her! Fuck her! Make her surrender to us! The dragon was relentless.
"I'm afraid," she admitted.
"Good." A dark smile curved my lips. "Fear keeps us honest, doesn't it, little temptress?"
My thumb pushed harder against her, and her hips jerked forward, pressing against my hand in a motion that thrilled me. I pushed the muslin aside and slid my finger up that narrow slit, her juices covering me as I felt for that slip of skin within her that thrilled both the dragon and me.
"I am the only man you will ever know."
The words tore out of me before I realized I’d spoken them aloud.
I bolted upright, chest heaving, the weight of the dream clinging to me like wet linen. For a heartbeat, I half-expected to see her there at the foot of my bed—white hair plastered to her skin, eyes wide with that thrilling mix of innocence and defiance.
But I was alone.
The chamber was dark, moonlight spilling through the narrow window. The air was heavy and cold. The sheets twisted around my legs, damp with sweat, as though I’d fought an invisible battle in my sleep. The embers in the hearth glowed faintly, offering no real warmth, just the memory of fire.
I dragged my hands over my face, the rasp of my beard rough beneath my palms.
Another dream. Just another fucking dream of the white-haired girl.
The tenth—no, it was more than that. Each one sharper than the last. The scent of lavender in her hair. The taste of water on her skin. The faint tremble of her lips beneath my fingers. The cool silk of her skin against mine.
Even now, with the world returned to stillness, I could feel her. The phantom press of her body against my hands. The slick heat of her, seared into my memory like a brand.
I swung my legs over the side of the bed, breathing hard.
These dreams were no mere fantasies—they were invasive. Consuming. They left me wanting. Unsatisfied. Weak.
And worst of all—they left me haunted by a woman who might not even exist.