Total pages in book: 125
Estimated words: 120974 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 605(@200wpm)___ 484(@250wpm)___ 403(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 120974 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 605(@200wpm)___ 484(@250wpm)___ 403(@300wpm)
“Fuck.”
That one word—so guttural—ripped from somewhere deep inside him. It wasn’t a curse of anger, but one of utter, desperate surrender. He said it when I swirled my tongue around the crown. He groaned it when I sucked harder, experimenting. Each “fuck” felt like a secret victory. Each ragged breath was a prize I’d won. The mighty Dragon Shifter, brought low—not by chains or magic, but by my lips…my tongue…my untrained, eager mouth.
The most shameful part—the part that makes my empty, aching pussy clench now—was the end. Feeling him swell…hearing his breathing turn into ragged pants…feeling the intense, rhythmic pulsing begin deep within him.
I knew what was coming.
And instead of pulling away in revulsion, I held him tighter, took him deeper. I wanted it—wanted to pull that final surrender from him, to claim the ultimate proof of his pleasure.
I wanted to taste his seed.
When he came—the hot, salty-sweet flood hitting my tongue—I swallowed instinctively. It was an act of possession as much as obedience.
Mine. You are mine in this moment.
That was the thought in my head. It was insane, unbidden, and it made my own body convulse—my inner muscles going tight with need and desire as I knelt there, swallowing every drop.
It actually tasted good—though I have heard the servant girls whispering about how they never like it. But the salty-sweet flavor was delicious to me—I wonder if it’s different because he has a dragon inside? Maybe his people make a different kind of seed…or maybe it’s just Valen. Whatever the case, I didn’t mind swallowing every drop, as sick as that sounds.
Now, sitting here, the memory is like lightning under my skin. My nipples are so tender that the rough fabric of the ragged gown I wear is agony. Between my legs, I’m embarrassingly wet—a slick, persistent heat that throbs in time with my heartbeat. I press my thighs together, seeking friction, and a soft whimper escapes before I can stop it. What is wrong with me?
And then I see Valen’s back stiffen across the cave. He heard me—heard the sound I made.
Shame crashes over me, cold and drowning. I am a princess. I was raised to be a diplomatic bride—a political asset—my purity a bargaining chip for whenever my parents decided to marry me off.
Now I am a woman who gets wet remembering the taste of a beast’s release. Who replays the sound of his groans as she imagines his hands on her. Because yes, I can’t help wondering what it would be like to suck him when he wasn’t bound by magic and could touch me back.
I hate him for seeing me like that—for watching me suck him. I hate myself for liking it.
But most of all, I hate the terrifying, thrilling knowledge that coils in my gut like a waking dragon—it wasn’t enough. Sucking him…tasting him…feeling his cream spurt down my throat—it only made the hunger worse. It opened a door to a room inside myself I never knew existed—a room filled with bonfire spice and guttural curses and the desperate need to be filled by the very man I’m supposed to command.
And the worst part is…I want to do it again.
38
IRENA
As I sit there, reliving my shame and trying to suppress my desire, Valen comes over to me. Somehow he still has the burlap sack with our supplies and he’s been busy cooking something—maybe the last of the sausage and bread.
It smells delicious, but I’m not hungry anymore—I’m too ashamed of what I did and how much I enjoyed it.
“Hey…” Valen crouches beside me and I can’t help inhaling, breathing in his scent. Am I addicted to him in some way now? I feel like my whole body wants to be closer to him, but I make myself lean away.
We haven’t really talked about what happened between us—about how he came to save me and what I did to get the witch to set us free. When she let us out of her hut, it was already growing dark. Too late to try and find the path again, which is why Valen found us this shallow cave instead.
“Hey,” he says again. He takes me by the left wrist, being careful because I’m still covered in scratches from the thorn vines—though what happened with Old Man Oak seems like a thousand years ago now.
“What?” I can’t look at him but I can feel his eyes on me.
“You want to tell me what happened here?” He nods at my arm—at the scratches and wounds. “Who did this to you?”
I guess there’s no point in lying to him.
“It happened when I accidentally left the path,” I say in a low voice. A tree thing—the witch called him ‘Old Man Oak’—he wrapped these vines around me and they grew thorns. He was trying to drag me…drag me into his mouth.”