Chapter 11

Rosemary

I wasn’t prepared for him to change his shape on me. Not the first time, and not the second time either. He was a freaking, honest-to-god dragon. He hadn’t been a crazy, delusional stranger. He really was a friend of my father, and he really could fly.

For me, Zachary was just some abstract figure. Technically, he was my father, but I’d never met him. Chardum considered my father a lifelong friend, and during his time of being trapped, he had no knowledge of what had happened to him. I regretted being so casual about the fact that he’d died.

His arms around my body, his warm and firm flesh pressed all along my front; I wasn’t going to complain. It felt extremely right to be in his arms and with all the strangeness that already went on; I was ready to just go with the flow on that one. I lowered my head to lean it against his pectorals, his bare skin hot against my cheek. I forced myself not to glance down, though the temptation was very strong; he was probably naked again.

“I’m sorry. Were you really trapped for so long beneath that rubble? Couldn’t you just push those stones away?” He’d been huge moments ago; his dragon form seemed to rival a passenger airplane in size. I couldn’t imagine that he’d have trouble with tossing a boulder around, like the one I had dreamed of moving.

Uneasily, I shifted a little to glance at the part of the vegetable garden I could see from here. Maybe I hadn’t dreamed that after all. He said he could talk to me in my head. He’d done it when he was a dragon, so he really must have called me out there. Goosebumps broke out along my skin when I remembered the phantom touches that were downright erotic, the hint of a large body pressing against mine, a cock outlined against the small of my back.

Chardum was a very naughty man, if he’d done that with his mind. Then again, he’d made no bones about his attraction to me so far. Heat curled through me just from remembering how he’d licked the frosting right off my fingertip. The wet heat of his mouth as he sucked my finger inside…

“Ah, my sweet Rosy,” he rumbled, and then his arms weren’t just holding me gently for a hug. The whole mood shifted from melancholic to sensual, his palm curving along my spine to press me against him. I felt his cock grow thick and hard against my belly, his breathing growing a little ragged. “The things I wish to do with you,” he said.

He tipped my chin up with a finger and covered my mouth with his, a claiming, possessive kiss. My body seemed to respond like I was in a dream, a fantasy. Heat arrowing straight for my core, pleasure skating up my spine. His taste was smokey and spicy, cinnamon and cloves. His mastery of my mouth was all-consuming.

I clung to his shoulders, nails biting into the thick muscles. I was all instinct in that moment, just letting him claim me in whatever way he wanted. It felt better than anything I’d felt before, better than sex, and this was just a kiss. Imagine what actual sex with him would be like. I moaned, then whimpered when the pleasure coiling in my belly almost bordered on pain. I needed something; I needed him.

“That’s it, my sweet mate,” he murmured, and his leg pressed between mine. His thigh pressed up against my center while he urged me to move against him with a hand on my hip. This was moving really, really fast, but I didn’t care one bit. It felt too good to worry about it. For the first time in years, I felt like I was exactly where I belonged.

My orgasm crashed through me like an avalanche, shocking me with how powerful it was. For a moment, my vision went dark at the edges. The only thing I could see was the golden glow of Chardum’s eyes. I was held in his arms, one at my hips, one cupping the back of my head so he could keep on kissing me. His tongue tangled with mine, not quite human, a little longer, a little more agile.

When the last shudder of pleasure left me, he finally pulled away, but only far enough to let me breathe. “So pretty,” he husked. “Look what you did,” he added, and he dropped his hand from the back of my head to gesture down at our feet.

He wasn’t buck naked, somehow, pants clung, unbuttoned, to his hips. His bare feet were between mine and vines had grown and curled all around them, tying him to the earth.