“Proper?”
He finished tying off the strips and went flat on the floor. He laid one end on the bed and tossed the other end across the floor until it came out the other side. Standing, he moved around the bed and pulled the end out, placing it on top of the bedding. “Now this bit is your choice …”
“My choice?”
He loved the sound of confusion and frustration in her voice. It wasn’t an easy thing to catch The Beast unawares.
“Now your choices are: you can take your clothes off and submit—I think that’s what my grandmother did—or we can go toe-to-toe.” He held up his fists in a standard boxing pose, enjoying how she began to laugh, then stopped herself, going back to a haughty frown. “That’s what Annwyl did. Or you can make a run for it.”
Dagmar’s frown grew worse as did her confusion. She looked at the torn sheets on the bed and back at Gwenvael. He raised a brow, and her expression cleared.
And that’s when she tried to make a run for it.
How did she get herself into these situations? And why did she insist on enjoying them? But what else could she do when she got to the door, her hands reaching for the lock, only to have Gwenvael grab her around the waist. She slammed her foot against his instep and pushed him back.
“Ow! You viper!”
“I believe that’s your mother.”
She went for the lock again, but he was right behind her. She dodged under his arms and ran across the room. The dragon was only seconds behind her, so she charged toward the bed, leaping on it and running over it to the other side.
Dagmar ran right into his arms. Physically, she was slow on her best day, but she’d still never met anyone who moved as fast as the dragons. Especially when they were human.
Gwenvael forced Dagmar into the wall, his impatient hands tearing off her dress, his mouth ravaging hers. She struck at his shoulders with her fists and his shins and knees with her feet. She knew she’d hit something with meaning when he grunted and pulled back. But it only allowed him to turn her around and force her back against the wall.
He pressed his body into hers, holding her in place while he finished ripping the dress and shift from her body. She groaned when he licked the back of her neck and yelped when he nipped her shoulder blade.
His hand slipped between her thighs, two of his fingers sliding inside her. Dagmar’s body trembled and she took hold of the other hand pressed to her shoulder. She brought it to her mouth, kissing it, licking his fingers until his hand relaxed. That’s when she bit down on the flesh between his thumb and forefinger.
Gwenvael cried out and scrambled away, releasing her. He tried to pull his hand away, but she wouldn’t let go, smiling around the flesh she’d dug her teeth into.
“Unleash me, woman!”
Her smile grew, much to his annoyance.
Gwenvael reached for her with his free hand, but she kept stepping back or moving to the side. Anything to keep out of his reach.
He scowled, staring at his hand. “Is that blood?”
She nodded happily.
“Crazy female,” he muttered. “Beast, you are!”
Dagmar shrugged, enjoying herself entirely too much. Who had time for this sort of violent silliness? There were plans to make, supplies to arrange for, messages to be sent. There were always important things to do, and this was not one of them. And yet, she was having so much fun. Did it really matter if every once in a while she had a little fun that didn’t involve the manipulation of others and the eventual peace or war of her people? Was it wrong to take a little time for herself and the dragon she adored? That she loved?
She did love him. She knew that now, with her teeth dug into his flesh and the taste of his blood filling her mouth. She loved Gwenvael the Defiler with all her hard, unsympathetic, uncaring heart. And the fact that she was causing him great discomfort but he had yet to punch her in the face, told her he loved her, too.
It would never be a normal union, not with them. He’d never think to bring her flowers or arrange a romantic dinner in their room. And he’d always flirt with others if it got them to smile or got him what he wanted.
Yet what Dagmar knew she could count on was that Gwenvael would always be loyal to her, would always protect her, would always make her laugh, would always treat her as if she mattered, and would never play the games on her that they would always play on others. And she felt confident about all this because she knew that mixed in with his love for her was a little bit of fear.
In the end, their loyalty and allegiance would be to their families and their people. But their devotion would be to each other.
Well … and, of course, her dogs. But he could find that out later.
A drop of blood splashed on the floor and Gwenvael cried out, “I bleed! Death comes for me!”
Dagmar didn’t release her grip on his hand, but she rolled her eyes in disgust. It was all the distraction he needed, his free hand reaching out and taking firm hold of her breast. His thumb and forefinger gripped the nipple, applying pressure and twisting lightly.
Gwenvael licked his lips, his teasing fingers making Dagmar groan and her body writhe.
“Bring those pretty tits over here, Lady Dagmar.”
She did, moving closer without him exerting any force at all.
“Good lass.” He slid his arm under her rear, lifting her up so he could wrap his mouth around her breast. He sucked hard while his tongue teased the tip, making it painfully hard.
She wrapped her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist, her body quaking as he continued to suck on her breast. The wonderful feel of his mouth against her had Dagmar nearing cli**x. Her body shook until she finally released her grip on his hand so her head could fall back against her shoulders and she could groan in desperate need.
“Ha, ha!” he cheered, her breast falling from his mouth and his wounded hand raised in the air. “So easy, Lady Dagmar.”
He carried her to the end of the bed. She put up a fight, but he kept his valuable bits away from her mouth this time. He spun her toward the bed and pushed her down on it.
“Now I can’t promise you this won’t hurt, but I will promise to make it worth it.”
Before she could even get back to her feet, he had the torn sheets tied to her wrists. If she pulled with one arm, she nearly tore the other from its socket.
“Ingenious,” she sneered.
“Isn’t it?” He rested back on his heels for a moment. “I won’t say that I don’t trust you, but I don’t trust these legs of yours. They’re sly.”
“What does that mean?”
He answered by tying the rest of the torn sheets around her ankles and then to the legs of the bed.
“Now that’s simply perfect.”
“Do you ever get tired of patting yourself on the back?”
“No!” He pushed her flat against the bed. “Don’t move. I need a few minutes to examine my canvas.”
The sound of that worried her. “Your what?”
“You’re moving.”
“With good reason.”
He leaned in and asked, “Do you want me inside you or not?”
“No,” she told him flatly.
“Forgot who I’m dealing with,” he muttered.
“Clearly.”
“Never ask the hard questions first,” he said, sliding two of his fingers inside her. She was already wet and ready, his fingers moving in and out of her only made her needy and a bit desperate.
He stroked her for what felt like ages, his other hand occasionally brushing against her clitoris as a reminder of what she really needed.
When her h*ps pushed back against each thrust and she moaned into the bedding, he stopped.
“Now, my Lady Dagmar … Do you want me inside you or not?”
“Yes,” she hissed between clenched teeth.
“Good. Then don’t move. This is very precise work.”
She rolled her eyes yet again and wondered what the hell he was doing back there.
She felt heat first and thought it was quite rude of him to burn her without permission. Were there not rules for this sort of thing among their kind?
Then the pain became worse and she couldn’t explain where it came from. She felt it all over, from the heels of her feet to the top of her head. Unsure of what the hell he was doing but trusting him as always, she gritted her teeth, trying to hold in her cries.
His fingers brushed against her sex and a cry slipped past her lips as she cli**xed, her hands gripping the bedding and her body shuddering from the intensity of it.
Gwenvael entered her with one strong push, burying himself to the hilt until she felt his h*ps and pelvis slam into her rear. The pain of his skin against hers startled another cry out of her, but as he ruthlessly took her, her cries became louder, more intense. At first it was the pain alone, but then the pleasure returned, combining into some wonderfully messy burst of passion that had her tearing at the bedcovers and sobbing into them. Nothing had ever felt like this. So indescribably intense and overwhelming.
If he knew he caused her pain as well as pleasure, he never showed it, taking her harder and harder as they went. She felt his big hands dig into her hair and pull her head back, turning her just enough so he could kiss her.
Her tongue stroked his, bold and demanding. She hid nothing from him when they were like this. Both of them stripped down to their most elemental.
It was right that it should be like this. Raw and brutal and intense. Because he’d just marked her as his own. She was his now, as he was hers. And nothing would ever change that.
Gwenvael had meant everything he’d said to her. They were partners now. Mates. They would stand together against whatever life had to throw at them, doing what they could to protect those they cared about.
She came again, her cries pouring into his mouth. He felt her clench around him and he couldn’t hold back. He came inside her, the hand gripping her hair tightening, his h*ps pushing against her so he knew she could feel what he’d done to her.
And what he’d done to her was made her his.
It took several minutes for him to get his breath and full control of his limbs back. When he did, he slowly pulled out of her, his c*ck partially hard and more than ready for another go. But he knew that Dagmar needed a short nap before they could begin again.
The snoring was kind of a dead giveaway.
Chapter 35
Morfyd held the newest red gown up in front of her and debated if it was too much. Too bold? For her anyway? She’d begun to hate these impromptu family feasts. But this would be the first time she’d go to one and not have to hide her feelings toward Brastias from anyone. Even her mother and father.
The thought terrified her, but she was determined not to back down now. He loved her and she loved him; nothing else mattered. And she would keep telling herself that until this whole nightmare was over!
“I need your help,” Dagmar said as she walked into her room without knocking.
“What’s wrong?”
“Other than being in love with your idiot brother? Dog-slobber rash.”
“Dog slob … ?” No. Probably best not to ask. “Let me see.”
Dagmar stepped in front of her and Morfyd realized the Northlander had been telling the truth. She did love Gwenvael—she could see it in those cold grey eyes. Morfyd might even feel sorry for her, if Dagmar wasn’t such a plotting little cow. They were perfect together, Dagmar and Gwenvael. And even better, Dagmar was perfect for Annwyl. The human queen needed a good politician by her side, and that was Dagmar.