Page 82 of Dragon Cursed
"Everything."Her voice was wrecked."I want everything you have to give me tonight."
"You have it."
He leaned in.
The first touch of his tongue was a shock — a slow, deliberate swipe against her slick folds that made her knees tremble.He wasn’t rushing.He wasworshiping.He explored her with a patient, thorough intimacy that was almost unbearable in its intensity, learning every curve and sensitive spot as if committing her to memory.
As if he, too, knew this was the last time.
He didn’t know.
He didn’t know and yet his body knew.His mouth knew.The way his hands tightened on her hips when she gasped — knew.Some deep place below his conscious mind registered something his conscious mind hadn’t, and it wastaking everything in.
She put her hands in his hair and she let him do it.
Her fingers tangled in the soft black waves as his mouth settled over her, his tongue delving deep.The pressure coiled low in her belly — a tight, hot knot of pleasure that grew with every expert flick of his tongue, every gentle scrape of his teeth.He built her up slowly.Relentlessly.He was in no hurry.He had decided — she could feel it, the slow patient certainty of it in the way his mouth moved on her — that he had all night, that nothing else mattered, that this small Dublin bedroom and this naked woman trembling under his hands were the only things in the world.
She was shaking when he sucked her clit between his lips.
She cried out — quiet, into her own hand, because the walls were thin and Niamh was somewhere downstairs — and he made a sound against her, a low rumble of pure satisfaction that vibrated up through every nerve she had.
His tongue circled her.Once.Twice.
"Look at me, Poppy."
She forced her eyes open.
He was looking up at her from between her thighs.His mouth was wet from her.His pupils had gone full vertical-slit dragon, and the green around them was burning.The man and the dragon were both there.Both wanted her.Both were claiming her with their tongue.
"Come on my mouth,a chuisle."
She came.
The knot inside her snapped and her orgasm shattered through her with the force of a tidal wave.She cried out into her own hand.Her body arched against his mouth.Her fingers dug into his hair as wave after wave of exquisite pleasure washed over her, and he held her hips steady through every shudder, drank her down, didn’t stop until she wastremblingwith overstimulation and couldn’t stand.
He caught her as her knees gave.
He lifted her — effortlessly— and laid her down on the brass bed.
She watched him stand over her in the lamplight.
He waved a hand.
The soft rustle of his clothes was the only sound before they vanished.The dragon-magic he had used to put on the postman uniform took the postman uniform away.Then he was naked, and she was naked, and the lamp threw warm gold light across the long line of his body — the cliffs of his shoulders, the carved planes of his chest, the heavy thickness of his cock already hard and ready and wet at the tip.
She had seen him naked, yet each time her body remembered him a little differently.
Tonight he looked likegrief— the shape of every night she would never have, walking toward her on bare feet.
He came down over her.
His body was a warm, heavy weight.His skin slid against hers, the friction of bare bodies meeting after a long absence, and she made a small involuntary sound of pure relief at having him on her again.
He didn’t enter her.
Not yet.
He began, instead, to kiss his way up her body.A slow, torturous journey ofreverence.He kissed the inside of her knee.The sensitive skin of her inner thigh.His lips a brand against her flesh.
