Chapter Six #2
“Not yet,” I murmur, my voice dropping to a low growl. I pull my fingers out just enough to leave her aching before slowly pushing back in. “Remember what I told you last week, Angel? You didn’t have to earn it then. Today you do—and I’ll tell you when you can come.”
“Please—” The word is a raw wound, torn from a place of pure, desperate need. That sound—her begging—stokes the beast in me. The part of me that wants to own her pleasure, to be the sole arbiter of her release.
I bring her back to that razor’s edge again, and again, my fingers buried deep inside her pussy, my thumb a ruthless brand on her clit. I hold her there until her body is shaking apart, until “please” is a frantic, breathless chant that she gasps like she’s stopped expecting it to work.
Then I hook her thighs over my shoulders, exposing her completely.
I bury my face in her pussy, dragging a deep breath of her scent—pure, aroused woman.
The first taste of her on my tongue drags a guttural growl from my chest. I lick into her, lapping at her before sucking her hard, swollen clit into my mouth.
Her hands fly into my hair, gripping tight, her knuckles white.
I’m relentless. I read every twitch of her hips, every hitched breath, and each time her orgasm crests, I ease the pressure of my mouth just enough to let it fall away, forcing her to chase it, to strain against me until her heels are digging into my back and her whole body is pulled tight as a wire.
“Now,” I command, my mouth pressed against her. “Come for me, Margot.”
She comes hard.
And then she laughs.
Her laughter catches me off guard. It bursts out of her, breathless and completely unguarded, pulled from her by more pleasure than she knows what to do with, and I feel it somewhere deep beneath my ribs.
The same dragon that has torched cities, slept on mountains of gold, and watched kings rise and fall practically curls up inside me at the sound of Margot laughing.
I could listen to that sound forever and not once tire of it.
She’s still catching her breath when she starts to sit up. I move with her, turning to sit on the edge of the bed with my feet on the floor. Margot follows, sliding off the mattress before lowering herself to her knees in the space between my legs.
Her hands go to my belt, her fingers fumbling with the buckle. She looks up at me, her face still flushed, a slightly triumphant smile pulling at her mouth. “Can I? I want to—”
I catch her hands, my instincts warring with what I’m seeing in her eyes. “You don’t have to. This is about you, Angel.”
She doesn’t pull away. She doesn’t drop her gaze. “I know.” Her thumb moves over the thick leather of my belt, a slow, deliberate caress. “I want to.”
The distinction undoes me.
Not I should. Not it’s only fair. Not the reflexive surrender. I want to. She isn’t collapsing. This is an offering, not an obligation.
I let go of her hands.
She gets my belt unbuckled and moves straight to the fastening of my pants, her earlier fumbling replaced by an eagerness that makes my cock throb.
She frees me from my pants, my erection springing forward, thick and heavy.
I’m considerably larger than a human male, and Margot’s reaction tells me she wasn’t prepared for the difference.
Her eyes widen as she takes me in, lingering for several seconds before slowly lifting to mine, the question clear on her face.
I hold her gaze for a moment before giving her a slow nod.
She leans in, but the first attempt makes her pause.
I’m too thick for her to comfortably get her mouth around me without adjusting, and she pulls back for a second before trying again, taking her time until her lips stretch around the head of my cock.
A low growl rumbles through my chest before I can hold it back.
Margot startles and begins to pull away, but then she looks up and catches the pleasure on my face.
Whatever she sees there changes something.
The uncertainty in her expression eases, and when she lowers her mouth again, she’s more confident, using her tongue and taking only as much of me as she comfortably can.
My hands fist in the sheets. She starts a slow, steady rhythm, her gaze locked on mine, and I watch her watch me come undone.
She’s learning my body, discovering what makes me groan, the way her hand wrapping around my shaft while she sucks makes my hips buck.
She is taking her pleasure from mine, and the shift in power is the most exquisite fucking thing I have ever felt.
She is claiming me, and the dragon in me wants to let her have anything she wants.
“Margot,” I gasp, my control shredding.
She quickens her pace, taking as much of me into her mouth as she can, and the sight of her looking up at me while she does it brings me dangerously close.
“Margot.” My hand tightens in her hair. “Angel, I’m going to come. You need to pull back.”
She doesn’t.
If anything, she becomes more determined, keeping her eyes on mine as she takes me again.
“Fuck.”
I barely get her name out before the orgasm tears through me. I roar her name as I come, hot and violent. I spill into her mouth, my body convulsing, and she takes all of it without hesitation, her eyes never leaving mine.
She rests her cheek against my thigh. I smooth her hair back from her face, still trying to get myself under control, and she closes her eyes beneath the touch.
We stay that way for another minute before I reach down and help her to her feet.
“Come here, Angel.”
She lets me pull her back onto the bed, where I wrap the weighted blanket around her and make sure she’s comfortable before dealing with the rest. By the time I return from the bathroom, she has burrowed farther beneath the blanket, only her head and one bare shoulder visible above it.
“I have something for you.”
Her eyes follow me as I cross to the small table near the window.
A covered bowl and a basket of bread have been waiting there since before she arrived.
I made the soup this morning, then spent most of the day pretending there was nothing unusual about making soup for a client who wouldn’t arrive until four.
The bread came from a bakery across town because they only bake this particular loaf on weekends, and I remembered thinking last Saturday that she’d like it.
The soup has cooled while we’ve been occupied, but that’s easily fixed. I wrap both hands around the covered bowl and let some of my dragon’s heat into my palms. It takes less than a minute before warmth seeps through the ceramic and steam curls out when I lift the lid.
Behind me, Margot says, “Did you just heat that with your hands?”
I glance over my shoulder. “Yes.”
She stares at the bowl, then at me. “That is deeply unfair.”
“What is?”
“You never have to use a microwave.”
A laugh catches in my chest. “One of the lesser-known advantages of being a dragon.”
I tear off a piece of bread, warm that between my palms too, and add it to the tray before carrying everything over to her.
Margot pushes herself upright as I set the tray across her lap. “You made soup?”
“I did.”
“For me?”
The question stops me for a second.
“Yes, Angel. Just for you.”
She looks down at the bowl again, and I have to resist the urge to ask what’s wrong. But I’m beginning to recognize the expression she gets when someone does something for her and she can’t immediately find a way to repay it.
She picks up the spoon and takes a cautious mouthful. Her eyes close almost immediately, and she moans.
“Good?”
She nods, catches herself, and opens her eyes. “Yes, sir.”
“Good girl.”
I tear off a smaller piece of bread and give it to her.
She eats it, then goes back to the soup, and I settle beside her against the headboard while she finishes.
There’s no need to fill the silence. Margot seems content beneath the weight of the blanket, eating something I made for her, and I find I’m equally content watching her do it.
I don’t check the time once.
Eventually, the bowl is empty and Margot sinks farther against me, warm and drowsy beneath the blanket. We stay there for a while before I coax her out of bed and send her into the bathroom for a shower.
She comes back a little while later wearing the robe, her damp hair loose around her shoulders, and climbs onto the bed beside me again. I pull the weighted blanket over her lap and bring over the bowl of fruit I set aside earlier.
Margot reaches for a strawberry, but I get there first.
Her eyes lift to mine when I hold the strawberry to her mouth, amusement flickering across her face before she leans forward and takes a bite.
Juice runs down my fingers, and before I can reach for a napkin, Margot catches my hand and draws my fingers into her mouth, sucking the sweetness from them.
The memory of her on her knees in front of me comes back immediately.