Page 13 of Dragon Cursed
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Poppy
Alsander’s mouth branded hers.
A brutal, desperate claim that stole the air from her lungs.
One moment Poppy stood naked, wet, and terrified — hauled from her bath by a furious mythical creature.The next, her body betrayed her.It melted against his.Her hands fisted in the rough fabric of his tunic, and she kissed him back with a ferocity that shocked her.
A dragon.A dragon had followed her home.
A dragon was kissing her now.
The thought screamed through her mind, a frantic warning bell drowned out by the roar in her blood.This was insane.Dangerous.Every instinct for self-preservation she had told her to shove him away, to run, to scream for help.
But she couldn’t.She didn’t want to.
The villagers in Cuanfirth had always kept their distance, their smiles tinged with a wary respect that bordered on fear.They’d whispered that her grandmother's magic was too strong, that Poppy was too strange.
The only lover she'd ever had was from another village.A man who didn't know who she was.Who her family was.A man who had enjoyed her body but never bothered to learn anything about her.
No one had ever touched her like this.
No one had wanted her with such raw, desperate intensity.
It was a drug, and she was instantly, hopelessly addicted.
His kiss was all fury and possession.But underneath it, she tasted a loneliness that mirrored her own.She recognized the flavor — the hollow ache she had carried in her own soul for as long as she could remember.
She wanted more.She wanted to soothe that lonely ache.To banish it forever.
Her hands, which had clutched his shirt, moved with a will of their own.They tore at the fabric, fingers clumsy with urgency.She needed his skin.She needed to feel the heat of him against her, to know this was real.
He groaned into her mouth — a deep, guttural sound that vibrated through her entire body — as her hands finally found the hard, hot plane of his chest.His skin was velvet over steel, and the touch sent a fresh wave of liquid heat between her thighs.
Her fingers curled around hard, hot muscle.
"A chuisle.”The word was a ragged accusation."You are a fever in my blood."
She didn't know what the word meant.
The way he said it made herwet.
Before she could answer, he swept her into his arms.Her back met the soft, damp carpet of moss and heather behind her cottage, the cool night air a shocking contrast to the fire of his skin.
He loomed over her — a predator in the moonlight, his expression a mask of raw hunger and a struggle for control he was clearly losing.The danger was a palpable thing, a thrum in the air that should have sent her fleeing.Instead, it made her heart hammer with a wild, primal excitement.
He was a myth.A legend.A beast of nightmare and fantasy.
A dragon.
And he was hers, if only for this moment.
His gaze traveled down her body — lingering on her breasts, her stomach, the curve of her hips, the dark thatch of curls between her thighs.The look was so possessive, so full of raw need, that it made her arch up toward him.An offering she could no more resist than the beating of her own heart.
"Beautiful." He breathed the word.A reverent curse."I have lived three centuries and seen nothing like you.Nothing."
His voice broke on the last word.
