Chapter 29
twenty-nine
A Serenade in the Bath
Iclimb the stairs slowly, keeping the wood from creaking and giving me away. His voice is a hauntingly deep baritone when he hums, and higher, more alto when he vocalizes. I can’t understand the words, but they feel…
Sad.
They draw me in, mirroring my mood.
The bathroom door is open and there’s steam trickling out by the ceiling.
This close I can tell that he’s not just singing, but reciting a poem.
There’s a specific cadence that goes beyond matching words to a beat.
I don’t know if it’s iambic or what, but I sense the structure.
Water pounds down in the tub, adding percussion to his ballad.
He appears in the doorway, naked and beckoning me with an open hand. I’m struck dumb by the sight of him. Moisture clings to his golden scales, making them shimmer like gems in the sunlight. His lean muscles are taut under scarred, green skin.
“What is this?” I ask.
He cocks his head, smirking a little. “I thought perhaps you would like to relax after all the hard work.”
I don’t miss the way he stresses the word relax and I think I know what his brand of relaxation might entail. The memory of his lips against the back of my neck sends electricity down my spine to my feet and I take a step forward.
“Getting so excited over a bath,” he says, his smirk growing into something arrogant. “I’ll have to make it memorable.”
“You can try,” I say, feigning flippancy to no avail because my voice comes out all breathy.
God, I sound desperate.
My hand slides into his warm palm and he closes his fingers around me.
He tugs me into the bathroom, then pushes me back against the door as it slams shut.
An involuntary gasp slips between my lips from the roughness of the motion.
Bastian pauses for a moment, leaning over me against the doorframe as his eyes scan my features.
“Fine,” I peep. “I’m fine.”
His smile returns as he pushes my hair back from my neck, exposing my collarbones. My heart is pounding and I don’t know what to do with my hands, so I just leave them plastered against the door.
“You won’t be,” he says, his voice rumbling against the tip of my ear.
“Ha,” I declare, trying to take him down a peg, but it comes out more like a desperate moan and his smile only grows.
He grabs my sweater, untucking it from my skirt with a slow drag. “You think you can withstand my ministrations?”
I’m about to retort when his tail slips up my leg, cutting me off. I remember what that tail did to me on the shop floor, and I doubt I could prevent an orgasm with that kind of attention.
“Fingers only,” I say.
“A challenge?”
His teeth tease my earlobe and I shudder.
“Yes, a competition,” I say on a heady exhale. “Hands only.”
He pulls back with a sultry pout. “No mouth?”
I shake my head because my mouth will certainly not support this choice.
He grabs my chin and exposes my neck as he moves in. His lips hang just a whisper above my skin, so close I know he can feel my pulse.
“Are you sure?”
“Uh huh?” I try to confirm but I’m wavering.
His lips ghost over my neck to my collarbones as he drops down to his knees. He looks up at me from the floor with cocky determination.
“As you wish,” he says, then grabs the zipper of my skirt.
He drags it down painfully slowly as his tail retracts from my leg. The skirt drops to the floor, leaving me in just my sweater and polka dot stockings. His hands rise to my waist, sliding under my shirt and the urge to bat him away rises in me.
I keep my hands stuck to the door, and bash that feeling in the dick.
He’s held all of me.
He’s touched all of me.
He wants all of me.
Just as I am.
His claws retract as he loops his fingers in the band of my stockings.
“Wouldn’t want to rip these delicate little things,” he says, his voice a guttural groan. His eyes stay locked on my face as he drags the material down, judging my reaction and asking for more input. He wants to know how to seduce me.
“Maybe next time I’ll wear something you can rip off me,” I say, my stomach fluttery and excited.
His tongue darts out to wet his lips, then slides back over his fang. “I would relish the opportunity.”
My knees are trembling as he lifts one foot, then the other, freeing me of the stockings.
He grabs my panties and does the same. I’ve been naked around him before but not like this, not so exposed.
The last time, I scurried behind the shower curtain as soon as he’d stopped coming, but now, he sees me.
He caresses my thighs as he stands, moving his palms under my sweater as he goes. His hard cock drags up the inside of my thigh, then rests at my belly. He pushes his hands up the sides of my breasts and then stops when he reaches my chest.
“Your arms are at the wrong angle to accomplish my goal.”
I throw my hands up in the air and he chuckles, then pushes my sweater over my head. I’m temporarily blinded by the material and fear attempts to break into the moment. I don’t let it. I don’t need to see his reaction to know his face is full of desire and reverence.
He wants me.
When the sweater is free, he tosses it into the pile of clothes in the corner. He touches my neck, tracing the line of my bra strap. I’m not sure when the last time he had sex was, but given his intrigued, yet puzzled, expression, he’s not encountered one of these.
I tuck my arms behind my back and undo the five hooks that hold the bra together. It pops forward when released, making me let out a little huff. He pushes the straps off my shoulders in a sensual drag that draws a shiver over my skin.
The last article of my clothing falls to the floor and Bastian takes a step back.
His clouded gaze is clearer than ever as he takes in every bit of me.
His knuckles turn white as he bites his lip.
Then he murmurs something I don’t understand and his cock flexes, drawing my attention down to it.
The memory of every ridge and vein of that cock on my tongue has me squeezing my thighs together.
“Hands only?” he confirms.
My mouth is so dry I can’t speak, but I nod. No matter how willing my hormonal body might be, I know emotionally I’m not ready for more.
He grunts, jerking his head toward the tub. “In.”
I step into the deep, clawfoot tub and hiss at the heat of the water. It’s so close to intolerable I want to step out, but I know I’ll adjust in time.
When I put my other foot in, I see Bastian’s leg follow. I glance over my shoulder but he’s paying me no mind, getting himself situated in the bath. I look around at the available space and start to panic. We won’t fit. This won’t work.
He settles down, his legs open and arms wrapped around the edges of the bath, then looks at me.
“Sit,” he commands.
I shake my head. “There’s not enough space.”
He lunges forward, splashing water around my legs as he grabs my hips. I yelp, my heels slipping. I go down with a loud splash, closing my eyes on instinct. Somehow, I fit a lot better than I thought I was going to.
The water sloshes back and forth, and I crack an eye open.
The tub is somehow three times as large as it was when standing above it.
It’s hot tub sized now, and the bathroom above us is gone.
No longer the off-colored plaster and wood baseboards, but something akin to an ancient temple bathed in dark shadows.
Bastian pulls me against his lap, wrapping one arm over my chest as the other holds tight to my hip.
“You see, there’s space,” he whispers against my cheek.
“How is this possible?” I ask as I reach where the edge of the bathtub would be.
It’s not there…
“I have places of refuge around the world. This is one of them.”
My eyes adjust to the dimmer light as I take in my surroundings.
The walls are red sandstone with intricate carvings.
Speckles, dots, and perfect rings circling one another.
Flowing lines, looping and swooping. Nothing that looks like text or any shapes but still, it seems to hold meaning. It looks ancient and worn.
The walls are crawling with English ivy, but it’s been cleared where there are lit torches, blazing bright orange.
“How are we here?”
“Water makes the transition between realms easier. I moved us through a spirit dimension to this place, opening two doors at once,” he says, very smugly.
I glance over my shoulder at him. He’s smiling very smugly, too.
“You opened doorways in space and time to bring us to a different location?” I ask.
His grin widens. “I am a very powerful dragon.”
“What is this place?”
His fingers slide over my right breast, gently tugging on my nipple. I suck in a little breath from shock and grab his thighs.
“This was my favorite home, some four thousand years ago,” he says.
Four.
THOUSAND.
My head is light and so I drop it against his shoulder. “I’m sorry. How old are you?”
His other hand moves across my lower belly until he’s cupping my sex.
“I’m old enough to have helped with what you now call Stonehenge,” he says. “Lovely creatures, the proto pagans. All they wanted to do was tell stories, farm, feast…”
His fingers push through my labia with a deliberate stroke that leaves me breathless.
“And fuck.”
His left hand plucks my nipple again, creating a surge of pleasure between the two points.
“And…you fucked with them?” I ask.
“I enjoyed watching,” he says.
The vision of him sitting in a corner while ancient Brits performed sex rituals springs to my mind.
“Tell me more,” I moan. “Did you touch yourself like you did when I was masturbating?”
Bastian licks his lips to hide a smirk. “Sometimes.”
His fingers circle my clit in loose, gentle movements, letting the heat of the water flow over me with each stroke.
“Did you like to watch them like you watched me?”
His hips flex, pushing his cock against my ass. I press myself back against him and he groans.
“I did. But now I only want to hear your pleasure,” he says, pressing his fingers against me in two quick strokes.