Chapter Thirteen – Izzy
Feeling his claws on her was a heady beverage that she wanted to drink more and more of. He was the perfect gentleman as they crossed the dance floor, making conversation with people that was vague enough for them to not ask questions regarding their whereabouts after. She spoke with her sister, soliciting a partner in crime for later in the evening. Whenever he could, Remy had a claw resting gently on the small of her back, teasing.
Patricia followed Remy and Izzy down the path long enough to escape the noise and lights of the party, before she peeled off and gave a conspiratorial bow to Izzy, walking off in the opposite direction. Remy raised an eyebrow, but followed Izzy towards one of the great wine cellars.
As soon as the door closed, he was upon her, picking her up as if she weighed no more than a sack of flour, depositing her on one of the large casks so that she was at eye level with him. And then…
Then he was atop her, leaning forwards and setting his claws on her waist, inhaling the scent of her, tail slipping around one of her legs to pull them apart.
“How attached are you to this frock?” he rumbled, his voice impossibly low, making desire curl within her, suddenly too hot all over.
“Oh, I… I don’t know. I mean, it’s in my family’s colors but it’s an older gown,” she babbled.
He gave a curt nod and then let his claws sink into the cloth, ripping it apart up the sides. She gasped and he let out a low rumble that sent shivers up her spine.
“Forward,” she murmured, pulling him closer, letting her fingers run against the scales on his arms, feeling the dense, sculpted muscle.
She’d watched him in the mornings on their journey to Vinitore. He would move through forms, the sun glinting off the scales, his muscles shifting just under the skin.
It felt just as fantastic as she hoped it would.
He leaned forward, removing the last shreds of the dress, leaving enough for it to be draped over her once they were done, and leaving it neatly on the side. Her underskirt came after, then another layer of fabric, and another. He huffed impatiently as he got to her corset. “How can you possibly have this many layers on?”
“Oh, there’s a string here that you—”
He gave another impatient huff, making purchase in the garment with his claws and ripping it off of her in one showy move of strength.
It took her a moment to let the realization settle in, but he was already staring at her, admiring her, his golden eyes hungry as he took in every inch of her. “So soft,” he murmured, leaning down carefully. His eyes flickered to hers once, asking permission.
A thousand thoughts raced through her mind, then she nodded.
He gave a pleased grunt of approval before his teeth were delicately nipping at her collarbone, his claws more delicate as they scraped against her thighs, parting them.
“Remy…”
“Ah ah, Princess. You talk yourself out of far too many situations. Eventually, your bill will come due,” he rumbled against her skin.
She clung to the cask, gripping it for dear life, wishing that she had claws herself as he continued his languid exploration of her body, nosing his snout against her right breast, letting out another rumble that shook her to her core. His tongue darted out, and the rasp of his tongue against her nipple made her toes curl.
“Fuck me,” she whispered, eyes closing.
“In due time, Princess,” he replied with a chuckle.
He continued his agonizingly careful ministrations, and Isabella felt herself helpless in his touch. He played with her nipples with the utmost curiosity, and agonizing slowness, before moving and kneeling, rasping his teeth against the soft skin of her stomach.
Her breathing hitched again, and she felt dangerously close to falling into the abyss forever. Gods above and below, he’d barely touched her!
“Remy…” she warned, and he stilled for a moment, unused to her tone.
“Are you alright? I can—”
“I need you to pick up the pace, dear.”
He looked up to her, and there was a strange look in his eyes as he carefully readjusted her to lay her back on the cask. Her skin prickled against the rough wood, but she didn’t care. She just needed more of him.
“Princess, you are still under the impression that I want to take these things at your pace. However, I’m just beginning to scent your desire. I need you dripping, gushing for me, before I’m ready to ‘pick up the pace.’ Is that understood?”
With that matter seemingly settled, he continued, biting into her bloomers and ripping those off as well, clearly having no more patience for any fabric on her person whatsoever.
He quickly unbuckled his own tunic, being much more careful with the expensive custom leather as he dropped that to the side. From this angle, she could watch the spines on his head and neck flex, and she saw the breadth of his shoulders as he got back to his business.
“Gorgeous,” she said, surprised how thick her own voice was with need.
“I concur,” he said, finally letting his claws graze her delicate lips, opening them gently. “Simply beautiful. Soft, pink.” He then moved to take a taste of her.
It was as if he’d used his lightning breath on her. It felt like she had been shocked as he dove deep into her, greedily exploring with his powerful tongue. He found purchase on her clit a few moments later, and pushed on it gently. She nearly leapt off of the cask. He shifted, stabilizing her for a moment and then moving her legs, setting her feet on his shoulders.
“I’m going to be here for a moment.”
He feasted on her, keeping her legs held open as he devoured her, like a dragon starved. Isabella felt her body burn as he took his time. All at once she felt overwhelmed, like he’d turned her whole lower body into a singular nerve. Her thighs shook as he pulled, dragged her to the very edge of pleasure.
“Remy…. Remy!”
He rumbled, subharmonic, the vibrations sending her into a wordless, pleading ecstasy. She lost track of how long he explored her, consumed her. He would barely give her a break before she would tumble again into the fathoms of pleasure.
Finally, she set a hand on his shoulder, surprised at how his scales felt softer, more pliant beneath the pads of her fingers. She urged him for a moment’s pause; he stilled in an instant, looking up at her wordlessly.
“I’m dripping. I’m gushing for you. Let me return the favor… I want to play too.”
At this, Remy hesitated, drawing his tail towards himself. “Before we do that, I think that I should explain a few things about… well.”
“I’ve been around the maypole a few times, dear. It can’t be that difficult, can it?”
He paused for a moment, and chuckled. “Well, I’ve never been much for subtlety anyhow.” He rose to his full height, giving her a moment to get acclimated.
She leaned up on the cask, resettling herself. At some point during his… ministrations… he had removed his pants, revealing his thickly muscled thighs, covered in the same scales as his legs, with smoother, segmented skin between his inner legs. As she looked up, he gently adjusted his hand, which had been wrapped around…
Two heads.
Isabella sat up, immediately curious. “Is this—are you—”
“This is what I was trying to tell you,” Remy said. He had the good sense to look abashed. “I, that is to say, dragonkin in general—our anatomy is a bit more complex than yours.”
Isabella felt faint as he shifted.
His cock was bifurcated at the top, with two heads, soft, flexible spines dotting both. Even between his sizeable claws, as it emerged from his underbelly it just seemed large.
“How do I…”
“This is why I wanted to prepare you. We will go as slowly as you’d like, my dear.”
“I don’t want to go slow,” she said, the words falling out of her before she could catch them.
Remy sat back, startled, searching her face, and then nodded, his concern turning into barely concealed arrogance and pride. “Then we won’t go slow.”
Isabella felt his claws shift, grazing against her thighs and bottom before he lifted her up into the air like she weighed nothing at all. Isabella gave an undignified yelp as they walked towards one of the walls.
“Hold onto that post there. You’ll need the support,” he said. “And tell me if you change your mind, Princess.”
She nodded, spreading her legs wide, feeling a bit of dread that quickly evaporated into excitement.
Remy’s gaze was molten as he positioned her, and Isabella felt a pang of white-hot desire curl through her as she felt the first brush of his cock, or, she supposed, cocks, against her lips. He let out a small grunt of pleasure, his cocks twitching against her before he entered.
The anticipation gave way to a whole new feeling of tightness as he thrust into her slowly, using his strength to carefully lower her down, and down, and down. The feeling of his cocks filling her, overfilling her, left her gasping, shaking against him. He’d stop every few moments, giving her a questioning look, wordless permission for her to say “stop”.
She persisted, urging him deeper into her.
She ascended to another orgasm before he rooted deep within her, the feeling of being so thoroughly overwhelmed too much to bear.
She set a hand on his shoulder to still him. He quickly slowed to a stop, looking up into her eyes. Isabella softened to see the worry there. Even now, when she knew he was at the cusp of his restraint, he pulled back for her.
She leaned over to kiss his snout, then nodded. “Don’t go slow. I don’t think either of us can take it.”
Remy chuffed a laugh, leaning down to nuzzle against her neck. “Perhaps there is some dragon in you yet.”
Isabella couldn’t help herself. “Oh, there’s quite a bit more than a little dragon in me.”
Remy’s laugh was high and musical. “You clearly need to be entertained. Let’s fix that.”
Remy’s strokes were spot on, the rhythm carrying her back to all those nights before, when they’d danced together in Onson. The pulses of the percussion flashed through her mind as Remy thrust in, deeper, deeper still, sending her gushing.
And then, when she thought he had neared his peak, the most peculiar sensation turned her thoughts to nonsense. His cocks began to vibrate within her.
She could feel the heads flare as they thrummed, as if brought to life by some tinkerer’s construct. It was all she could take. She had become so stretched, so deliciously tight and full. She was lost then in the haze of him, of the strength and the depth of him. She was ruined, body and soul.
Either seconds or eons later, she heard him roar her name, and it dragged her shaking back into reality as she came in tandem with his climax.
He stilled again, panting for breath, holding her still and steady as she returned to her thoughts.
“We’ve informed the party,” Isabella managed.
“Probably the whole village, with how you screamed for me.”
“Rude. Uncalled for,” she replied.
“Can you move?”
“Why would I ever want to again?”
Remy looked into her eyes and then leaned over to nuzzle her fondly.
Isabella ran her hands over his arms, his chest, marveling at how soft and pliable his scales felt. “Did I do this?”
He nodded, nipping gently at her throat. “We feel more comfortable. I suppose it’s like doffing armor at the end of a long day.”
“I’m glad I make you comfortable.”
Remy assessed her, eyes soft and warm as he regarded her. “The least thing you make me is comfortable, Princess. You’re so much more than that. A treasure. Thank you.”
Isabella blushed, and as they separated, she felt the first wave of boneless exhaustion hit her. “I don’t think I’ll be long for the party.”
“Is there a way to get you to bed without your whole family seeing?”
“Oh yes. There are so many secret passageways in these halls.”
Remy carefully helped her off the casks, slipping out of her with some logistics. Isabella felt hollowed out in all the best ways; she wasn’t sure if there could ever be another man after Remy that would ever live up to him.
The dragonkin had the good sense to look sheepish as they discarded her ruined bodice. She tried not to admonish him too much. She worked her dress back on and he offered his tunic to ensure she was fully covered, not bothering to conceal his chest. He slipped his trousers on, waiting for his organ to slowly recede back within his body.
He walked with her, supporting her as they walked out the back entrance of the wine cellar, up into the servants’ entrance to the kitchens, and then through another hallway that led to the bedrooms.
Remy was adamant about drawing her a bath, helping her in and putting her hair up so she could relax, offering to return her laurels if need be. Despite Isabella’s protests, he waited dutifully, talking with her about everything and nothing as she rinsed herself off.
And, when she expected him to slink off, he instead turned down her bedding, helping her into bed, and then settling in behind her.
“I didn’t take you for a cuddler,” Isabella said, leaning backwards into his embrace.
“Perhaps I grew nostalgic for our carriage rides and seaside inns.”
From this angle, Isabella felt the rumble of his voice in his chest. His scales had regained some of their hardness, but he was still pleasantly warm, and she felt safe and protected in his arms.
“Perhaps I’m nostalgic for them, too,” Isabella said softly.
“You need your comfort. Because I plan to explore the sturdiness of human carpentry in the morning. Get some rest, Princess.”
She giggled and pulled the sheets over her head, unable to keep herself from blushing.