Chapter Fifteen
What the hell was Jimryr doing? Griff had stayed on his mind the whole time he’d been in Alaska. Griff, Daire, whoever. He should’ve been out training new recruits for his cause, or dancing around a bonfire naked to make the mage return. Anything but moping over a beta he’d only met once.
The DeKalb County Dragons had amassed a decent fighting force, but they could always use one more, right? His Harley didn’t want to turn toward home when he left the airport. Even when he’d tried to take the road home, he found himself heading back to Alabama a few minutes later.
He retraced the route to the bar where he’d first spotted the scarred dragon. With such extensive injuries in human form, they were bound to be as bad, if not worse, as a dragon. Regardless, Jimryr should at least give the fellow warrior a chance to say no, right?
Griff’s truck wasn’t in the parking lot at Joe’s Bar.
Still, best to check before arriving at the guy’s house.
He might not be alone. What if he had a lover?
But no, Jimryr’s nose had only detected faint, very old traces of another dragon in the cabin, along with a few humans, but no hints of recent sex.
He’d come all this way, might as well follow through. The heavily tattooed bouncer gave him a weighty scrutiny before letting him in. Jimryr tuned out the loud music, overwhelming colognes, and interested glances, and sat at the bar where he’d first spotted Griff.
The handsome bartender approaching had been working the night Jimryr came here before. “Hey, stranger. I haven’t seen you in a while. What can I get ya?”
“A Bud Light and information.”
The bartender’s bright smile faltered. “I can get the beer, but I can’t promise the other.” He sauntered down the bar and returned with a bottle, leaning against the bar. “One down, one to go. What do you want to know?”
“It’s probably ridiculous, because you see so many folks, but the night I came in, I met a man. Good-looking, big guy, brown hair. Kinda rugged. He sent me a drink.”
The bartender’s grin returned. “I notice you didn’t mention scars.”
Jimryr nearly growled. “His scars weren’t the first thing I noticed.
Or even the second.” Did all humans notice the scars first and not Griff himself, who exuded the confidence of a skilled warrior?
Well, okay, maybe Jimryr had noticed the scars, but only because they were part of the description Zorah had given before he came down to have a look.
He’d have to stop mentally referring to Griff as “scarred dragon.”
The grin widened. “I knew I liked you. What you want with Griff?”
Griff. So the guy had offered his real name, or at least the one he used in this realm.
Maybe. Many of the DeKalb County Dragons took more human-sounding names, or simply existed with whatever the group called them, like Jimryr going by Jim to those in the club.
Still, the mystery guy had claimed to be Prince Daire Thorne to those delinquents in Biloxi. “I was hoping to run into him again.”
The bartender narrowed his eyes. “Why?”
“Why? Did you get a good look at the man? Who wouldn’t want to see him again?
” Though looks were only part of the reason.
One night hooked Jimryr. Before, he’d come to see if the lone dragon could do something for him, like join his cause.
Tonight, he came to see the dragon because he couldn’t stay away any longer.
“Well, he came in regular-like for a while. I think he might’ve been looking for you. He stopped in earlier today but didn’t stay long. A close friend of his died recently.”
A death? Human? Should he leave, or could Jimryr offer comfort? “Reckon he’s at home?”
“I can call.”
Jimryr’s resolve faded. “Don’t bother. This is probably a bad idea.”
Someone down the bar called out, drawing the bartender away. Jimryr threw a twenty on the bar and strode out to his bike. What should he do? See the guy, or get his ass on the road where he should be? What if seeing Griff was where he should be?
An image came to mind: the smiling, handsome man in tears, and fate decided.
Jimryr's interest in getting Griff home and naked had distracted him the night they’d met.
Could he even find the right house? As though the bike knew the way, Jimryr found himself on a familiar dirt road, heading for a place he never should have left.
Never should have left? Where had such a strange notion come from?
What if the deceased friend had been a lover?
All the more reason to offer comfort now. Dragons needed dragons, especially when in pain.
Jimryr pulled into the yard of the old cabin. No way to be quiet on a Harley. No lights in the windows, though the truck sat in the yard. His heart hammered in anticipation. Once again, he wondered if Griff wasn’t alone or had someone with him. Probably best to leave.
A light came on in the bedroom, then the front door opened a few moments later. A dark form stood silhouetted in the low light. Even without a positive visual, something deep inside Jimryr recognized the dragon he couldn’t get out of his head.
Griff simply stood in the doorway. Then he opened the screen door and said in the gruff voice Jimryr remembered so well, “You coming in?” He wore nothing but a pair of jeans, bare-chested, barefoot, hair loose and tousled. Sexy as hell.
Jimryr turned off the bike, threw his leg over, and crossed the yard in a few long strides, barely pausing to take off his helmet. They stood toe-to-toe on the porch, gazes locked.
“I heard about your friend,” Jimryr said. “I’m sorry.” There went all the words he’d practiced on the ride over.
“So am I,” Griff replied.
No way to tell who moved first, but one moment they were staring, the next they were devouring each other’s mouths, pulling at clothes, and barely made it through the front door before Griff had Jimryr backed against the wall, grinding against him.
Jimryr vaguely registered his helmet bouncing across the hardwood floor.
Silence followed, except for moans and the swish of fabric as they maneuvered into the bedroom.
They didn't need words. Jimryr's T-shirt dropped to the floor, along with the rest of his clothes, and his boots went flying, leaving him and Griff skin-to-skin to collapse onto the bed, rutting against each other. Jimryr rolled them, looking down at the man he’d missed so badly. Daire or Griff, he didn’t care.
He wanted this man, whoever he was. He bent in for another kiss, cradling Griff’s face in his hands, though the glove on his left kept him from truly feeling.
Then Griff rolled them again, reached into the side table, and brought back the bottle Jimryr hoped he would. He nodded, spread his legs, and welcomed Griff’s lubed finger inside his body. Damn, how he’d wanted, no, needed, this.
Griff took his time, gaze locked on the fingers he slid into and out of Jimryr. Jimryr threw his head back onto the pillow, letting out a frustrated whine. If he dared speak and break the spell, he’d beg.
Those fingers left his body, leaving him bereft.
Before Jimryr had too many regrets, Griff positioned his cock, pressed in, retreated, and returned deeper.
Jimryr pulled his knees upward, giving Griff all the room he needed.
Griff braced his weight on his arms and rocked into Jimryr and back again, moans, groans, and the pleasure on his face holding Jimryr’s full attention—for a moment, before he released his knees and buried his fingers in the sheets, rocking upward to meet Griff’s thrusts.
Jimryr had dreamed of meeting again for so long, and now Griff had invited Jimryr into his home and bed. He couldn’t risk this encounter ending too soon, and grabbed Griff’s biceps with his good hand, the firm muscles barely giving under his grasp.
“Stroke yourself,” Griff ordered.
Jimryr released Griff's arm, following orders. Yeah, he wanted to make the moment last, but getting off won out. He breathed deeply of the heady scent of an aroused dragon. His groin tightened, and his muscles seized as he convulsed, tightening around Griff’s cock.
Griff shoved in once more, twice more…He threw back his head, eyes tightly closed, letting go on a throaty groan. Jimryr had never seen anything so damned beautiful.
Griff opened his eyes, blowing out a long breath, capturing Jimryr with golden eyes.
They stayed locked together, breathing hard, hearts thudding, before Griff slowly withdrew and collapsed onto the mattress, one arm flung over his head.
His chest heaved with every harsh breath.
He turned to look at Jimryr. “You’re staying the night, ain’t ya? ”
“Want me to?” Dare he hope?
In answer, Griff turned off the lights, drew Jimryr close, and kissed him again.
What was that noise? Jimryr held still, listening to the night. There it went again. The sound of someone’s heart breaking. He jolted upright. Griff sat on the side of the bed, head in his hands, quietly sobbing.
The friend. How callous of Jimryr not to have even asked about the friend. He sat up, placed one leg on either side of Griff’s hips, and pulled him backward, until his scarred back met Jimryr’s chest.
Griff stiffened for a moment before relaxing. He half-turned, giving Jimryr a look at his agonized face. Jimryr placed a hand on the back of Griff’s head, urging him to turn and rest his head on Jimryr’s chest.
Griff sat practically in Jimryr’s lap, face buried in chest hair, letting out his pain.
Jimryr said nothing, merely held on, humming a tune his mother used to sing to him.
“I…I wasn’t there for him! I…found him, but I should have fucking been there.”
While not privy to the circumstances, Jimryr couldn’t imagine this man turning his back on a friend in need. “Shh…you were his friend. I’m sure he knew you loved him and would’ve been there if you could.”