Chapter Seven #2
He looked. Her feet were long and narrow, and the toes were callused and reddened, but he didn’t see anything out of line.
“Stop it,” she said, slapping her hands down on the bed. “Stop looking at them! They’re all bunions and calluses, and broken and bruised toenails. And don’t get me started on the blisters. I live my life in constant servitude to my blisters.”
“You’re exaggerating their appearance,” he said, taking a fast glance at her other foot, in case that was the affected one.
It looked perfectly fine to him.
“You think so? Once we’re done here, I’ll show you the chat group with the corps de ballet where they hold a contest for who has the ugliest feet that week.
I won three weeks in a row when two of my toenails fell off during a lengthy run of Giselle.
It was so gruesome, one of the trainees actually vomited. ”
He was unable to keep from first eyeing, then gently pressing on her toenails, just to make sure they weren’t at risk of detaching.
“If it makes you uncomfortable, then I won’t include them in my plan to lick all of you, but I don’t see anything unattractive about your feet.
They are red in spots, but I assume that is due to those shoes you wear that let you dance on your toes. ”
“Pointe shoes are responsible for most of it, yes. And thank you. Why don’t you come up here and let me have my turn diving into the Hunter smorgasbord?”
He was about to insist that it was still his turn to explore his newfound ability to breathe fire on her, but at that moment, two things struck him: The first was an acknowledgment that not only would he enjoy Mabel taking a turn frolicking on him, but it would give her the opportunity to feel in charge, and he very much wanted her happy.
In fact, her happiness had somehow become uppermost in his mind. He wondered briefly about that, but then the second, more profound thought immediately followed.
She took his fire. Although he’d been able to conjure his fire only a few times in the last three years—since Archer and he had been balanced when the curse laid upon them was broken—he’d never been able to summon it with a partner.
And when that partner wasn’t a dragon, but didn’t seem to have any problem with tolerating it, well, that spelled only one thing.
“You’re a mate,” he informed her, releasing her legs in order to crawl up her body, making sure to kiss and nibble and lick everything in his path. She wriggled out from underneath him, kneeling as she pushed on his shoulder.
He obliged by rolling onto his back.
“Yes, mating is definitely good, although as I said, I have an implant because I’m not planning on having kids for a while, if ever. Oooh. Such a tasty display before me! I’m not sure where I want to start.” She actually flexed her fingers while looking over his body.
He fought a struggle he feared he was all too close to losing. “I’m not sure if I’m going to last if you touch me anywhere even remotely erogenous.”
“Oh.” She pursed her lips as she considered him laid out before her. That just made him want to kiss her. “Well, we don’t want you blasting off solo, if you will forgive the euphemism. Now, let’s see what’s not erogenous on you. How about here? I like the way your muscles are bulgy right here.”
He sucked in approximately half the available air in the room when she let her fingers do a little dance along his flank.
“No,” he said, his hands fisted as he struggled to control both his fire and his libido. Both threatened to slip his control and run amok, and he didn’t want that to be Mabel’s first sexual experience with him. “No, that’s definitely part of the erogenous areas.”
She’s a mate, whispered a voice in the dark part of his mind. Your mate. Claim her! Claim her now!
“OK,” she said, her lips still pursed, pushing his desire higher. She looked at his legs. “How about this knee right here? You can’t possibly be turned on by me touching your knee.”
She placed a hand on his knee.
His penis bobbed its approval, increasing in hardness and sensitivity until Hunter thought he might just die of it.
“Yeah,” she said, first eyeing his penis, then shifting her gaze to his. “That didn’t seem to work. Hunter, I want to touch you. Find somewhere I can touch you that won’t leave you heading for the docking bay.”
He was about to answer when her words caught him by surprise. “Docking bay?” he asked, wondering if all the blood in his body had abandoned his brain for his penis. Judging by its state of hardness, it wouldn’t surprise him.
“Sorry, I’ve been watching a lot of Star Trek shows, and that got tangled up with my blastoff euphemism.”
He stared at her. “Have I gone barking mad, or have you?”
“Sorry,” she repeated, a little chirrup of laughter following the word. “I get a bit space cadet when I’m nervous. Lord, there I go with space references again. I’ll stop, OK?”
He took a deep, deep breath, wrestled for a good twenty seconds with the need to flip her over onto her back and dive into her welcoming heat, then managed to say in a voice that only somewhat sounded like he was gargling marble, “Do not, under any circumstances, stop. If you do, I’ll die of sexual insatisfaction, and then I won’t be able to help you with the blackmailing Broker.
Not to mention you’ll have to tell my tribe that you killed me by not allowing me to make love to you. ”
“You’re wordy. I’m wordy, too, but I really like that you are, as well.
Especially with the Irish accent,” she said, smiling as she leaned over him and, to his immense happiness, feathered kisses along his lips before straddling his hips.
His penis strained harder than it ever had trying to get her attention.
“Do you need assistance impaling yourself upon me?” he inquired politely when she spent half a minute just staring at—and stroking—his chest. He kept his hands relaxed where they rested on her enticing thighs, which was a struggle all its own.
She laughed, outright laughed at that. “No, but thank you for such generous consideration. I was just admiring your chest, but I think you’re right—it’s action time. Sorry if I’m babbling, but it’s been a long time since I’ve done this, and I’m a bit nervous.”
“You aren’t babbling, but I understand. And I will happily be wordy with you later, after you’ve placed your delectable and enticing self upon my cock. Now, for instance, would be a good time for that.”
She laughed again, but to his utmost gratitude, she started to sink down on him. “All right, but I’m going to hold you—holy cheese on rye, Hunter.” She rose up off him, doubling over to look at his penis. “You don’t look massive, but damn, you’re a tight fit.”
He tried hard to look modest, but since his brain was clearly no longer getting any blood or oxygen, he had to settle for simply stroking his hands up her legs to her hips, where he gently urged her on.
She sank down again, and for a few seconds, Hunter wondered if it might not be possible to die of ecstasy.
“Glory to the stars,” she said, her eyes wide, a flush washing upward as she started a movement on him that had his hips bucking without any rhythm, just pure, unconditional need. “You’re so there. I mean, I’ve never felt anyone be so ... there. There’s more of you?”
Her voice rose on the last few words, hinting at a sense of panic.
“Not much. Just a little. Christos, woman, don’t tighten! It’ll all be over for me if you tighten again!”
“I can’t help it,” she said, her breath almost as ragged as his as her motion lost its smoothness, and she moved faster on him. “You feel so good. I mean, sex is always good, but this is next level. Oh my god, what was that swivel you did?”
“I’m just trying to keep up with you,” he said on a loud groan as his body collected itself, unable to hold back the climax for much longer. “And I hope to god you’re close, because I’m not sure how much more of your intimate muscles, and legs, and breasts, I can take.”
“Right there ... holy shizznit! Yes! Yes, yes, yes!” She arched back, her ponytail swinging wildly as her hips flexed, her inner muscles gripping him and rippling in a manner that pushed him over the edge.
His control slipped, his body jerking beneath her as he found his own climax, his fire roaring to life for a third time, bathing them both in a blaze that he hoped would never die.
It took a long, long time for him to gather enough wits to ease the collapsed, warm, sensual form of Mabel off him, managing to pull up the sheet that had gone flying when she took over.
“I may survive this,” he said into her hair as he curled protectively around her, the feeling of her so soft and right against his body, satisfying something deep inside him that he hadn’t realized was lacking. “If I don’t, please tell my tribe I loved them all, and died with a smile on my lips.”
She turned in his arms, laughing into his shoulder as she melted against him, giving a sigh of contentment. “You’re assuming I’m going to survive that really spectacular lovemaking. I don’t know if you’ve ever danced, but your hip action is commendable, even if you were on the bottom.”
“No dancing,” he said, smothering a yawn.
Although he knew he should be up, guarding Mabel against attack, he couldn’t seem to drag himself away from her tempting self.
After all, he told the warning part of his mind, he could protect her far better with her at his side.
“But I very much wish to see you do ballet.”
“I’ll get you tickets,” she murmured, her breath warm on his neck as her body relaxed, fitting so perfectly against him that he frowned.
He didn’t like the way everything she did seemed perfect—her laugh, her legs, her delightful mind. ... Even the way she crept around his compound was exactly to his taste, and he couldn’t think of any more ridiculous conclusion than that.
“My brain is confused,” he said softly, not wanting to disturb Mabel’s slow, deep breaths, which made him feel more relaxed than he had in years. Decades, even. “I am not the sort of person who can be bound to just one woman. You may be a mate, but you’re not my mate.”
He hated the words the second they were spoken, but was too stubborn to take them back.
Anything more than a fleeting dalliance with Mabel was completely out of the question.
He was dark and dangerous. She was light and sunshine, all long legs and graceful arms, her bright, shining soul glowing from within.
For someone born of darkness, she drew him like a moth to a flame, but that didn’t mean anything. Not really.
“It just wouldn’t work, the two of us,” he said aloud. “You’re light. I’m dark. Well, now dark with a dragon in control. But the demon side is still there. It’s just ... quiet.”
He thought about that for a few minutes, hope rising at the thought that perhaps now that Archer and he were balanced, both possessing dragon selves that commanded the dark power inherent to dragon hunters, he might be able to escape his past.
He gave a mental headshake at the yearning that started in his chest and spread outward in waves. He simply was not a one-woman man, and that’s all there was to it. Any relationship with Mabel would end in sorrow.
“She’s a mate, but not mine,” he repeated softly.
The words fell like lead, crushing his soul.