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)
“Mine!” the Drake growls again. “All mine, Princess!”
And then he begins to move.
It’s a slow, deep, rolling rhythm of pure animal coupling. Each withdrawal drags the textured ridges against her oversensitive walls, making her sob. Each thrust home is a solid thump that jars her entire body forward and makes the visible bulge in her belly shift.
I swear I can feel the huge cock inside me as I watch—my fingers curl in sympathy as I watch her clawing at the obsidian platform, tilting her hips back and trying to make herself open enough for him.
Her cries are continuous now—a ragged symphony of pleasure-pain. She’s meeting him thrust for thrust, fucking herself back onto him. Her breasts swing heavily with the force of his rutting.
The Drake’s growls are guttural, possessive. He increases his pace, the slapping sounds of scale against flesh—of wet, tight friction, filling the silent room.
I watch in mingled fascination and horror as his thrusts become harder…faster, until he’s driving into her with a piston-like intensity that has her crying out with pleasure, her back arching and her toes curling.
She’s so close. I can feel it—an echo in my own throbbing pussy. Even though I know I shouldn’t be excited by this terrible scene, I can’t seem to help myself. I’m panting, my own hand pressed between my legs, over my gown, applying a frantic, shameful pressure.
With a final, brutal slam that lifts her knees off the platform for a moment, the Drake buries himself to the hilt and holds there. A roar—deafening and triumphant—rips from his throat.
I can see the intense, rhythmic pulsing at the base of his cock where it joins her body. He’s coming—pumping his hot, draconic seed deep into her womb in torrential jets.
The Irena on the platform comes too, her own climax clearly triggered by the feeling of being filled so completely. Her cries are raw moans of pleasure—her body convulsing around the massive invasion, milking him for every last drop of his seed.
As the last pleasure fades and the Drake slowly turns his great head. His molten gold eye seeks the Irena beneath him, but then, as if sensing another presence, his gaze shifts. It turns toward me—toward where I stand watching in the shadows.
And as he turns, the vision changes. The draconic features melt…reshape. The scales recede…the muzzle shortens. The glowing gold eyes soften and deepen in color.
I bite back a gasp at what I see—it’s Valen’s face looking back at me from the body of the Drake!
His expression is one of fierce, sated possession, his human lips curved in a wicked, knowing smile. Sweat mats his dark hair to his forehead. He is the beast and the man—both at once—claiming the woman who is me in every way possible.
The eye contact holds for a heartbeat—his gaze boring into my soul, acknowledging that I saw everything, that I felt everything. The eye contact holds for a heartbeat—his gaze boring into my soul. Then, slowly, he pulls out of her. The thick, ridged shaft emerges from her well-used pussy with a wet, sucking sound, glistening and slick.
I see his seed, which isn't milky white but a viscous, shimmering liquid the color of molten gold, as it begins to pour from her.
It spills out in a heavy, gleaming stream, dripping from her pussy lips to coat her inner thighs. It flows so copiously it pools on the dark obsidian beneath her knees, a growing puddle of radiant, metallic seed.
More of it trickles out with a soft, wet sound, painting her skin and the stone with the undeniable evidence of the Drake’s—and Valen’s—possession.
The Irena on the platform shudders—a final aftershock—and a fresh rivulet of gold joins the puddle, running down toward the back of her knee. She is utterly claimed—filled and marked inside and out by him—and the Door of Uncertainty holds me there, forcing me to watch the last, glistening drops fall.
I stumble back, gasping, my legs nearly giving way, my body humming with unmet need, my mind seared with the image of his face—Valen’s face—wearing the Drake’s satisfaction as he filled me to overflowing.
A brilliant flash of purple light can’t erase the images burned into my mind.
Why did the Door show me that? What does it mean? What—
63
VALEN
…the hell am I doing here, back in the dungeon?
I look around me, furious to find I’m back in the dark depths of the castle where I was chained for almost a year. The air is cold and wet, heavy with the stink of mold and old iron. The stone walls sweat with damp, slick under my fingers when I touch them. The floor is uneven beneath my boots, gritty with filth and old straw.
I know this place. Gods, I know it all too well! Every shadow…every crack in the stone…every echo of sound claws against my ears like a warning.