Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 88010 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 440(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88010 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 440(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
She's so beautiful this way.
Bent over, ass spanked red, soaking wet and thinking she's ready for me to claim her virgin body. But my little mate has no idea what's coming once I yank her cute thong aside.
Because I'm not just going to ravage her more completely than any mortal man ever could.
I'm going to breed her.
Then I'm going carry her off to my world and do it over and over again.
Publisher's Dragon's Mate is a standalone romance. It includes spankings and rough, intense sexual scenes. If such material offends you, please don't buy this book
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
CHAPTER 1
Melissa
I am in trouble.
Real trouble this time. Not the kind where they issue a fine and send you a snotty letter all dressed up in fancy language that hides their ire. I am in the kind of trouble that has immediate physical consequences, the kind that makes my heart beat faster, my pupils dilate, my breath come shorter.
It’s exciting.
And it’s wrong.
So damn wrong.
I’m not dressed for this. I’m dressed for a day by the pool, a skimpy little bikini that dares tan lines to exist.
I could have gotten changed before I came. I should have, but I wasn’t thinking about it. I assumed there’d be time when I got here. The sun was still warm then, and the sky was bright and it felt like the day would go on forever.
But night has come, and my new boss is flicking cufflinks onto the smooth polished table and rolling up his sleeves, one, then the other. Fuck. Me. Does he know what he’s doing? He’s got to know what he’s doing. This is a real-life thirst trap, and I cannot look away.
Tall. Dark. Handsome. The kind of thick, dark hair that men half his age would die for, hanging below his shoulders. In this moment he seems like a man, not a creature out of time. Flickering light from a dancing candle makes his eyes glow golden and for a brief moment I almost think I see a slitted pupil.
My imagination always did have a habit of running away with me. I’m just freaking out because I am in the house of a man twice my age and many, many times my power, and he is looking at me like I am a particularly juicy cut of meat.
My new boss prowls toward me, his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows, his forearms flexing in ways and with muscles defined so intensely that I didn’t know they could look like that. How is he that well defined? What the hell does he lift? I have to get my brain working again, but right now it feels like trying to think through mush.
He places his hands on the table in front of me, and I feel excitement rush through me again as those forearms of his ripple. He moves one hand, extends an elegant forefinger, and slides it under my chin, directing my attention to his eyes.
Heat flushes across the bridge of my nose and cheeks as he makes me look at him.
“You are trouble, but I intend to tame you. Break you of the bad habits you’ve gained in your short lifetime. With me, you will be punished. Taken. Claimed. You will know what your place is.”
I tremble. This is my first job, but I am certain this is not usually how these things go. The kind of trouble I am in is the deeper, hotter kind. I am trembling in my very core as the most handsome, unearthly man I have ever been in the presence of wraps his hand around the back of my neck and I feel the roughness of his… scales? No. His hand doesn’t have scales. He must do hard labor. That’s it. And the sharp points that dig but don’t sink into my soft skin, they’re not claws. Because he is a man.
Isn’t he?
“Are you listening, Melissa?” He purrs my name and I feel it rumble through me. The floor itself seems to shake, though I know that has to be a function of my perception. I am shaking, that’s what it is. Not from fear, but from an intense reaction to his presence.
“I am,” I say.
A wisp of hair is brushed back from my face.
“Are you ready to become more than a spoiled little girl getting into trouble for the sheer enjoyment of it?”
I want to say I’m not spoiled, that he’s mistaking me for the rich kids I got to hang out with, but never really belonged among, but this does not feel like the moment for making clarifying statements.
“Yes,” I practically whisper.
I’m getting wet. I look up at him under my lashes and feel a shameful jolt of recognition. Oh, god. He knows.
Everything was so different just a few hours ago…
In the back of a car neither one of us is driving, my best friend and I are plotting the rest of our lives together. She slides her phone under my nose, where a guy with washboard abs is emerging from surf with the caption: You’ve just got to seize the day.
“Him?”
“No. Too old,” I say.
“He’s like twenty-two, Melissa.”
“He looks thirty.”
She rolls her eyes. “Age doesn’t matter. You’ve got to ask the questions that I do. Like, is he rich? Does he have rich friends? Does he have a yacht? Does he know where his yacht is? You want a guy who doesn’t know where his yacht is.”