Dragon Desire

Needing to do something with his hands, he gripped the flag and tore it away from the cage. ‘Dragon horn is a story put about by those who’ve never seen a dragon and don’t realise that dragons don’t even have horns.’

The flag fell to the floor in a noiseless rumple.

He realised that the redhead had stopped listening to him as he prattled on about the inefficacy of dragon horn and its part of the lore of unsubstantiated myths. She was staring into the cage. Her eyes had been wide before. Now they were as large as a berserker’s battle shield. Her mouth had fallen into a broad O of silent amazement. She stood motionless as she stared into the cage.

Owain wasn’t really surprised.

Y Ddraig Goch was an impressive sight. Standing on all fours the dragon would have been an imposing six foot tall. From the tip of her snout to the spike at the end of her tail, she was closer to double that length. The dragon was as scarlet as blood-red dreams. She regarded Owain and the redhead with unblinking onyx eyes. A forked tongue slipped from between her crimson lips.

‘He’s beautiful,’ the redhead muttered. ‘He’s truly beautiful.’

‘She,’ Owain corrected. He reached through the bars of the cage and patted the dragon on the top of its spiny head.

Despite the moment’s irritation that had woken in him at the mention of dragon horn, he found himself warming to the redhead.

She smiled for the dragon. Her expression bore the sort of affection that suggested she was a genuine animal lover who possessed a sincere kindness of spirit.

‘Drusilla is a female dragon,’ he explained with patience. ‘She’s one of the last of her kind from the West Ridings.’

‘Drusilla the dragon?’ The redhead smiled sourly.

Owain shrugged. ‘She was named by a former princess of the West Ridings,’ he admitted. ‘And the girl was only three at the time.’

The redhead seemed to allow this with a nod of her head. Her gaze had never left Drusilla. Cautiously, she took a faltering step toward the bars of the cage. She had one arm extended and a doubtful expression on her lips. She hesitated and then turned to stare at Owain with a submissive expression.

Despite the darkness surrounding them he could see the dark green flecks in her pupils. It was a colour that reminded him of Carys’s eyes.

‘May I pet her?’

‘Gently. Of course,’ he said. ‘But remember what I said before. An irate dragon could burn you alive.’

She nodded and began to slip her arm through the bars.

He placed a hand on her shoulder and said, ‘Remember also that dragons inspire an uncontrollable passion in us humans. Touching dragons makes it impossible to ignore those passions once they’re stirred.’

She nodded and hesitated for a moment longer. Then she pushed her hand through the bars.

Drusilla was one of the friendliest dragons that had fallen under the charge of Owain’s husbandry. She was affectionate to strangers. She was careful around all those animals that she wasn’t expected to eat. In truth, the only person Drusilla had never taken to liking was High Laird of the West Ridings, Gethin ap Cadwallon. In his presence Y Ddraig Goch would snarl and hiss, then catch breath as though preparing to sear his worthless hide with a flurry of flames from her nostrils.

Drusilla purred softly as the redhead stroked her cheek.

‘Aren’t you a pretty girl? Aren’t you a lovely, crimson girl?’ the redhead cooed. A forked tongue slipped against her wrist and she giggled. ‘It tickles,’ the redhead laughed.

Her gaze turned to Owain. There was a moment when he could see the unbidden desires shining behind her eyes. The longing inspired by the dragon’s nearness had clearly begun to stir in her nether regions and he knew her pulse would be racing and her loins would now ache with the bitter pain of unsated lust. Her cheeks flushed to the same colour as the dragon’s leathered wings and the redhead looked away and busied herself with petting Drusilla and allowing the creature to stroke its forked tongue against her wrist.

He patiently allowed her to continue.

He had seen the signs before and knew how the game would develop.

The redhead would be fighting the arousal that grew within her. She was still not convinced that her contact with the dragon was causing her to become driven by a need for him. As she tried to disguise her responses, she would busy herself by petting the dragon which would only serve to exacerbate her arousal. Eventually her need for him would outweigh whatever practical considerations were making her arousal such a source of embarrassment. And when she did submit to him, her acquiescence would be far more noble than any conquest won by a charlatan peddling dragon horn.

As long as he could continue to overlook the fact that there was a leather wedding band on her heart finger, Owain knew he would enjoy rutting with the redhead in any one of the hay-filled stalls.

‘I didn’t mean to upset you with my ignorant comment about dragon horn.’

She didn’t look at him as she said the words. Instead they were spoken over her shoulder as she continued to pet Drusilla. The dragon continued to purr as she caressed its cheek and wings.

‘You weren’t to know,’ he assured her. He was thankful for the darkness of the stalls. It stopped her from seeing the solemnity of his features. ‘I once had a bad experience because of someone spinning lies about dragon horn,’ he explained. ‘I suppose I overreact whenever it’s mentioned nowadays.’

He looked up to see she had stopped petting the dragon.

Silently, she had moved to stand by his side. She stared up at him, her emerald eyes sparkling softly. Her chest seemed to rise and fall with a quickened pace. His gaze fell to the heave of her breasts. The thrust of her nipples jutted sharp against the light cotton of her kirtles.

Unable to stop himself, Owain licked his lips.

‘Do you like what you see, sire?’ she asked coyly.

The red and gold kirtles were laced with ribbon at the breast. She reached for the dangling thread of one ribbon and teased it so the binding began to unravel.

‘Would sire like to see more?’

The coquettish lilt to her voice was thoroughly endearing.

Owain dearly wanted to show decency and propriety. He wanted to mention the fact that she wore a leather band on her heart finger and was therefore either married or betrothed to another. But, whilst he wanted to act like a gallant knight or chivalrous suitor, his actions were dictated by the needs of his loins.

‘I’d like to do a lot more than see,’ he told her.

He pulled her into his embrace, snaking one arm around her waist so that she was brought close to him. He lowered his face to her lips and then they were kissing with a passion that was as ferocious and fulfilling as he had expected.

Her tongue explored his mouth. She curled one leg around his hip, pressing the centre of her sex against her thigh. A sob of raw desire whimpered from her throat as she ground herself against him. Her hands pushed at his chest, fumbling to remove his tunic and gain access to his bare flesh.

With a moan of desperation she wrenched her mouth from his.

‘Take me,’ she pleaded.

He couldn’t hide his smile.

‘If you insist.’ He lowered his face to the unfastened décolletage of her kirtles and pressed his nose between her breasts. Drinking in the dusky scent of her nearness he moved his mouth over one orb and suckled against the stiff, throbbing tip of her nipple.

She groaned.

He stiffened at the sound and cast a wary glance toward the doorway. When he realised that no one had been alerted by the cry of her pleasure he allowed himself to relax and enjoy the experience and stop worrying that she might have a husband or fiancé lurking in the shadows ready to accuse her of being adulterous or challenge him for being a swiver.

When the redhead groaned again, Owain savoured the sound.

He resisted the urge to buck his loins against her.

Working with dragons fuelled him with a constant arousal but he was loathe to surrender himself so quickly to such a base response. Holding her in one arm, teasing the shape of her exposed breast with one hand as he suckled against the hard and unyielding tip of the other, Owain revelled in her heightened responses to his teasing.