Chapter 37 Irena
IRENA
I can’t believe I did that—can’t believe I sucked him and swallowed his seed like a common street whore.
I tell myself I felt nothing but shame as I sucked him…but if that’s true, why is my body so sensitive now? Why are my nipples so tender and why does the forbidden place between my thighs feel so hot and wet?
I try to forget what happened—what I did—but my mind insists on replaying it in detail over and over. The memory is a brand, seared into the back of my eyelids. Every time I blink, I see it.
I see the worn wood of the floorboards, gritty against my knees.
I see the rough weave of his trousers, the way the fabric strained over the hard, thick outline of him.
My fingers remember the clumsy fumble with the leather laces, the shocking heat that radiated from him even through the fabric. And then… freeing him.
Goddess…the sight of him, springing free, fully erect and immense. I’d stroked him in the bath when I was cleaning him, but I wasn’t so close to him then. When I opened his trousers, I had him right in my face—long and thick—hot as a bar of freshly forged iron and the head flushed a dark purple.
The sight was intimidating…primal. It shouldn’t have been beautiful, but some traitorous part of me thought it was. A piece of raw, male power, and it was my task to master it.
My face flames again, alone in the dim cave we’ve taken shelter in. Valen is across the space, tending to a small fire he lit with his own breath, his back to me. The orange glow outlines the powerful breadth of his shoulders, and just the sight sends another pulse of heat straight through me.
I can’t stop reliving the feel of him in my mouth.
The first touch of my lips was a shock—the skin so soft against such unyielding hardness. The taste of him, salty and clean and uniquely male, exploded across my tongue. I told myself I was disgusted. I was performing a vile task for our freedom. But my body… my body sang a different song.
The moment I took him in, a low, ragged groan tore from his chest. The sound went through me like a physical touch, tightening my nipples and making my stomach clench.
He tried to stay silent, I could feel the effort vibrating through him, but I pulled that low, primal sound from him. Me. With my mouth.
And his smell… Gods, his smell. Up close, it wasn’t just the bonfire spice of his dragon nature.
It was spicier…darker. Sweat and leather and pure, untamed Valen.
It filled my senses, drowned out the odors of the witch’s foul food and became the only thing I could breathe.
Every inhale as I worked over him stoked a fire low in my belly.
I remember the clumsy scrape of my teeth, his sharp hiss, and the frantic, secret thrill that shot through me at causing him that tiny spike of sensation.
The way his hips jerked against the invisible bonds that held him when I finally listened to his growled instruction and used my tongue, licking a broad stripe up the underside of the thick club of flesh.
The helpless, hungry sound he made when I took him deeper…
when the head of his cock nudged the back of my throat.
“Fuck.”
That one word—so guttural—ripped from somewhere deep inside him.
It wasn’t a curse of anger, but one of utter, desperate surrender.
He said it when I swirled my tongue around the crown.
He groaned it when I sucked harder, experimenting.
Each “fuck” felt like a secret victory. Each ragged breath was a prize I’d won.
The mighty Dragon Shifter, brought low—not by chains or magic, but by my lips… my tongue…my untrained, eager mouth.
The most shameful part—the part that makes my empty, aching pussy clench now—was the end. Feeling him swell…hearing his breathing turn into ragged pants…feeling the intense, rhythmic pulsing begin deep within him.
I knew what was coming.
And instead of pulling away in revulsion, I held him tighter, took him deeper. I wanted it—wanted to pull that final surrender from him, to claim the ultimate proof of his pleasure.
I wanted to taste his seed.
When he came—the hot, salty-sweet flood hitting my tongue—I swallowed instinctively. It was an act of possession as much as obedience.
Mine. You are mine in this moment.
That was the thought in my head. It was insane, unbidden, and it made my own body convulse—my inner muscles going tight with need and desire as I knelt there, swallowing every drop.
It actually tasted good—though I have heard the servant girls whispering about how they never like it.
But the salty-sweet flavor was delicious to me—I wonder if it’s different because he has a dragon inside?
Maybe his people make a different kind of seed…
or maybe it’s just Valen. Whatever the case, I didn’t mind swallowing every drop, as sick as that sounds.
Now, sitting here, the memory is like lightning under my skin.
My nipples are so tender that the rough fabric of the ragged gown I wear is agony.
Between my legs, I’m embarrassingly wet—a slick, persistent heat that throbs in time with my heartbeat.
I press my thighs together, seeking friction, and a soft whimper escapes before I can stop it. What is wrong with me?
And then I see Valen’s back stiffen across the cave. He heard me—heard the sound I made.
Shame crashes over me, cold and drowning. I am a princess. I was raised to be a diplomatic bride—a political asset—my purity a bargaining chip for whenever my parents decided to marry me off.
Now I am a woman who gets wet remembering the taste of a beast’s release. Who replays the sound of his groans as she imagines his hands on her. Because yes, I can’t help wondering what it would be like to suck him when he wasn’t bound by magic and could touch me back.
I hate him for seeing me like that—for watching me suck him. I hate myself for liking it.
But most of all, I hate the terrifying, thrilling knowledge that coils in my gut like a waking dragon—it wasn’t enough.
Sucking him…tasting him…feeling his cream spurt down my throat—it only made the hunger worse.
It opened a door to a room inside myself I never knew existed—a room filled with bonfire spice and guttural curses and the desperate need to be filled by the very man I’m supposed to command.
And the worst part is…I want to do it again.