Kneeling across from each other, he said, “You know, Dagmar, not everything has to be so serious. Every moment involving a life or death issue that needs to be analyzed and sussed out.”
She winced. “I try not to be stuffy.”
“And you’re not, thankfully. But the games played that involve whole kingdoms don’t need to be played here. Here it’s just us—and we can do whatever we want.”
It dawned on Dagmar that he was right. She wasn’t at her father’s fortress, one of her brothers liable to walk in unannounced at any time. Nor did she have to worry about her sisters-in-law listening at the door or bribing the servants for information. She was thousands of miles from her kinsmen and in a place that knew nothing of her.
Dagmar felt a delicious, wicked thrill lash through her and carefully stated, “I don’t have your freedom, my lord. I have my … honor to think of. To protect.”
“Your honor?” Confused, Gwenvael stared at her for a long moment, and then his expression cleared and slowly, carefully, he began to play the game with her. “Ahh, yes. Your precious honor. There will be no protecting that tonight. Not with me.”
Gwenvael lowered his head, his mouth heading toward hers. Dagmar turned her face away, her hands firmly pressed against his chest, trying to push him back even while her hands begged to explore.
But he wouldn’t let her turn away, grabbing a handful of her hair and forcing her head back until she had to look at him, his mouth again lowering toward hers.
His tongue slid inside, taking full ownership as it stroked and teased her and Dagmar whimpered desperately, her fingers digging into his shirt-covered chest. There was no rush to this kiss, no desperate invasion. He simply took what he wanted in his own time—and she let him.
So lost in his kiss, she didn’t know he’d opened her robe again until he palmed her breast. Startled by the contact, Dagmar instinctively tried to pull back, but his grip on her hair kept her firmly in place. Unable to escape.
In this moment, on this bed, the dragon had complete control of her. And the violence of the shudder that went through her told its own tale. She needed this moment, this break from responsibilities. A longed-for break that had nothing to do with getting what she wanted or protecting those she cared for, and everything to do with her pleasure.
His lips nibbled their way down her chin to her neck and kept going. His warm mouth closed over her nipple and began to suck as a finger slid inside her.
Dagmar’s h*ps jerked, attempting to move away from the finger so easily sliding in and out of her. But the fingers still gripping her hair tugged hard, and he gave a low warning growl.
Without a word, he made it clear he wouldn’t let her go until he was done, and she rewarded him with fresh wetness between her legs that allowed him to add a second finger to the first.
She winced a bit, sucking air between her teeth, remembering that her few relations had been extremely short, years apart, and mostly unpleasant.
Her whimper this time had nothing to do with unpleasantness, however. She couldn’t explain the difference, but it was there. His gentleness, his control without ever being vicious. It had her melting into him, giving herself over as she’d never done before. His mouth moved to her other breast, sucking until the nipple was hard and begging.
He had her bent back now, over his forearm, her body completely open to him and whatever he wanted to do. Her hands moved across his shoulders, holding onto him as her h*ps began to rock back and forth, riding the fingers inside her. She tried to stop herself, but her body had long left her behind. It had a mind of its own, and it seemed to know exactly what it wanted.
The pace of the fingers inside her increased, taking her roughly, the tips curling and rubbing against some nameless spot that had her legs shaking. She could no longer hold herself up, but the dragon took care of that. He took care of everything as his mouth returned to hers, his tongue forcing its way back in while he held her tightly with his arm. And when he had full control of her mouth and her whimpers had turned to short, desperate cries, Gwenvael placed his thumb against her clitoris and began to swirl it in circles, pressing down hard.
It was the last thing she needed, and she was grateful for the mouth covering hers as she screamed out the first release she’d had without use of her own hand.
She held on to Gwenvael as her body shuddered and shook, and when she felt the wave ebb and thought she was done, he turned his fingers a bit and readjusted where he’d placed his thumb. Then the wave was back again, twisting and turning her body, wringing it out like a rag. She tried to beg him to stop, to release her, but his mouth on hers seemed a permanent thing as he readjusted yet again, and again her body was dragged up and over.
When she could no longer breathe and sobs clogged her throat, he finally pulled back. His thumb slowed its pace before finally stopping, his fingers slid out of her with a gentleness she found startling, and the brutal assault on her mouth turned to tender kisses along her jaw.
He held her until her panting turned to slow, deep breaths and her fingers unclenched from his shoulder.
He’d just begun to lower her to the bed when she heard a brisk knock against the door.
“My lady?” Fannie’s voice said from the other side.
Gwenvael pulled her back up and whispered harshly against her ear, “Answer her. Answer her now.”
“Yes?” Dagmar stated clearly.
“Evening meal will be in another hour. I have a gown for you. Do you need help dressing?”
Still unable to organize her always organized thoughts, Dagmar was grateful when Gwenvael prompted, “Tell her yes, but you need another ten minutes to yourself.”
Dagmar swallowed and said, “Yes, but I’m still napping. Another ten minutes, please.”
“Of course, my lady.”
“Thank you.”
She never heard the woman leave, but the shadow under the door vanished.
The dragon finally released her, and Dagmar immediately pulled her robe over her body as he climbed off the bed and headed toward the door. She remained where he’d left her, unable to move.
“I’ll be back later tonight,” he told her as he walked away.
“Who says I’ll be here?”
He stopped before opening the door and faced her. “You’ll leave the window open for me and you’ll be nak*d. When I come back, I’ll take what I want from you, as many times as I want to.” He grinned; it was pure and raw and astonishingly beautiful. “Understand me, Lady Dagmar?”
She shook her head. “No. You’ll have to explain it to me.”
“I will. Even if I have to tie you to the bed and explain it to you again and again and again.” He looked her over one more time. “And don’t play with yourself after I’m gone. Don’t want you wearing my p**sy out before I’ve had a chance to use it.” With his hand on the door handle, Gwenvael rewarded her with the warmest smile she’d seen from anyone. “Besides, you look so beautiful when you come, I don’t want to miss a second of it.”
Then he was gone, the door shutting quietly behind him. A few minutes later when Fannie returned with the gown, she found Dagmar in the same position Gwenvael had left her in—kneeling on the bed, clutching her robe closed … and panting.
“She should have warned me, Jack.”
“Aye, my Lord Gwenvael. She should have.”
“She should have told me the truth about herself.”
“Very true, my lord.”
“Spinster? Spinster, my perfect ass! That woman is a volcano, Jack. Self-contained, waiting-to-go-off-and-melt-my-scales volcano. And, if I might add, a wee bit of a tease.”
“Sounds that way, my lord. Now … are you sure about this?”
“If I hope to get through dinner … I have little choice. Just do it.”
“As you wish.”
Jack stepped back and motioned to several of the male servants under his direction. One after another, they poured the ice water pulled from a deep well discovered not long after Annwyl took over Garbhán Isle.
As soon as the water hit Gwenvael’s human form, it sizzled and popped, the large chunks of ice melting completely on contact, steam rising after only a few seconds. Thankfully, however, it did its job.
Resting back in the tub, Gwenvael sighed, “Thank you, Jack.”
“You’re more than welcome, my lord. Will there be anything else?”
“A return of my sanity would be nice.”
“You’re on your own with that, my lord. I’m afraid there’s only so much a servant can do.”
Chapter 20
Gwenvael closed his bedroom door and headed down the hallway toward the stairs. He felt calmer now. More in control. He wasn’t used to a woman who could rattle his tail. Even worse, he didn’t know he’d like it.
Nearing the stairs to take him to the Great Hall, Gwenvael almost missed it. He stopped walking, his nostrils flaring, instantly recognizing all the scents coming from one room. He took several steps back and gave one knock on the door before pushing it open.
His young cousin Branwen lay stretched out on the bed, stomach down, her gaze focused on a book. She still wore her chain-mail shirt and leggings while her worn boots stood at attention by the bed, ready to be pulled on at a moment’s notice. Like her mother, Branwen seemed more comfortable in her battle clothes than in the gowns her sisters often wore when not in the middle of combat. It reminded him of why he’d always liked Branwen.
Across the room were Izzy and Celyn. Together they held one of the battle lances developed by Gwenvael’s ancestors, the Cadwaladr Twins. The weapon could be lengthened or shortened, should a dragon decide to shift from dragon form to human or back again. The twins, like his grandfather, had spent as much time human as dragon during their warrior years and found the use of the weapon important, and to this day they were still considered two of the deadliest beings who’d ever lived.
Yet Izzy’s form would never change, so there was no real point in teaching her to use the weapon other than it allowed Celyn a chance to stand behind her with his arms around her and his hands on hers, slowly moving from battle stance to battle stance together.
In Gwenvael’s extremely educated opinion, Celyn’s pelvis snuggled just a little too close to his niece’s rear.
As he stepped into the room, Izzy’s head came up. The intense expression—or scowl, depending on who you spoke to—she always possessed when learning anything to do with war or combat, quickly changed into that welcoming smile Gwenvael simply adored. For a niece, he couldn’t have asked for better than Izzy.
“Gwenvael! You’re back!”
“Hello, my heart. Dinner will be soon. You sure you want your mum to see you looking like that?”
Izzy glanced down at her dirt-covered clothes. Spending a day playing with young dragons was hard and messy work, and clearly his Izzy had enjoyed every second of it.
“You’ve got a point. Mum’s going to be pissed as it is, eh?”
“After watching you play Run and Jump? What do you think?”
She gave him her biggest grin, which caused her adorable pug nose to crinkle, making him laugh.