Read Online Dragon and the Princess by Jo Beverley - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Jo Beverley
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that marvelous hair, cradling her skull, commanding her lips to him, then plunging his tongue inside to explore her deeper, hotter taste. A clatter told him her skewer had fallen onto stones, but he was lost, lost in the torrid wave of her, her smell, her taste, her essence drowning him.
Their mouths became as one, sweet and spicy with the sauce, hot and deep as the womb itself. They were plastered together, her supple, vibrant body everything a man could ever desire. He fought billows of silk to reach her leg, her silk-covered leg—was ever anything so alluring? Except a silk-covered bottom, so round, so hot, so damp in secret places.
Wife. He tumbled her to the ground, throbbing, struggling one-handed with his clothing—
“Ow! Stop. Stop. Rocks!
Owwwww!
”
One of her flailing fists glanced off his nose. The pain was just enough to bring him out of madness. He heaved away. By the womb, what had he almost done?
She sat up, rubbing her hip, but smiling. “Just rocks. I’m sure we can—”
“No!” he snapped, backing, unable to be anything but rude.
“I’m sorry. But the rocks . . . it hurt.” Tears glimmered around her eyes.
He wanted nothing more in the universe than to comfort her, to take her into his arms again and drown in her wonders.
To save her.
Temptation slammed into him. If she wasn’t a virgin, she would be safe.
But the dragons would die out.
Dorn would die.
“That’s why we have to wait,” he said desperately. “Until we reach Dorn.”
“Oh.” A tear escaped to trickle down her cheek. “But won’t that take three days?”
Three days. Two more nights. His body pounded with pain, his mind exploded with it. “The river,” he said and staggered off to throw himself into the saving shock of cold water.
Seesee lay coiled in the stream, and he sensed nothing from her. Not alarm, not amusement.
“If I start doing that again, stop me.”
But you would enjoy it.
“What’s that got to do with it?”
People are funny.
“Coming from a dragon . . . Doesn’t it matter to you that the dragons survive?”
Yes.
“And don’t you need princess blood—to lay eggs?”
Say no, say no.
Yes.
He gave up. Dragons could communicate, but that didn’t mean people always understood, even dragoners who lived their lives with them. Among the dragoners they used
dragon sense
to mean “incomprehensible.”
Dragons liked their people to be happy, that was clear, but would they put that before their own survival? If so, if couldn’t be allowed.
He staggered up, soaking wet again, this time including his boots. As he changed into his last dry clothes, he hoped the ones hanging by the fire would dry overnight, or next time he needed a quick dunking he’d have a problem.
His biggest problem right now was how to survive the night. He had to return to his bride and it would soon be bedtime, womb save him.
Bed.
The princess was exhausted. Once she was asleep, he could keep far away.
“Seesee. Bedtime.”
He felt her grumble that it was early, exactly like a child, but she waddled out of the woods and wandered the rocky ground until she found a spot to her liking. Then she settled down, neck and tail coiled, wings furled on her back.
Standing no closer to his wife than he must, Rouar said, “Let me show you how to sleep on a dragon, Zlinda.”
She gave him a look but rose, an image of dejection, especially when struggling in the absurd skirts. She should get undressed. . . .
By the womb, no.
“I need”—she hesitated—“to go to the river.”
“Right, of course.” He had to offer. “Do you need me to guide you?”
She shook her head, picked up her bag and walked away, clutching her ridiculous skirts in front, trailing them behind.
Her stained and drooled skirts and the heavily drooled veil tied around her waist like a belt. No wonder she was driving him so completely mad. He wasn’t simply affected by bits of queen drool—the princess was covered in it.
He needed
Their mouths became as one, sweet and spicy with the sauce, hot and deep as the womb itself. They were plastered together, her supple, vibrant body everything a man could ever desire. He fought billows of silk to reach her leg, her silk-covered leg—was ever anything so alluring? Except a silk-covered bottom, so round, so hot, so damp in secret places.
Wife. He tumbled her to the ground, throbbing, struggling one-handed with his clothing—
“Ow! Stop. Stop. Rocks!
Owwwww!
”
One of her flailing fists glanced off his nose. The pain was just enough to bring him out of madness. He heaved away. By the womb, what had he almost done?
She sat up, rubbing her hip, but smiling. “Just rocks. I’m sure we can—”
“No!” he snapped, backing, unable to be anything but rude.
“I’m sorry. But the rocks . . . it hurt.” Tears glimmered around her eyes.
He wanted nothing more in the universe than to comfort her, to take her into his arms again and drown in her wonders.
To save her.
Temptation slammed into him. If she wasn’t a virgin, she would be safe.
But the dragons would die out.
Dorn would die.
“That’s why we have to wait,” he said desperately. “Until we reach Dorn.”
“Oh.” A tear escaped to trickle down her cheek. “But won’t that take three days?”
Three days. Two more nights. His body pounded with pain, his mind exploded with it. “The river,” he said and staggered off to throw himself into the saving shock of cold water.
Seesee lay coiled in the stream, and he sensed nothing from her. Not alarm, not amusement.
“If I start doing that again, stop me.”
But you would enjoy it.
“What’s that got to do with it?”
People are funny.
“Coming from a dragon . . . Doesn’t it matter to you that the dragons survive?”
Yes.
“And don’t you need princess blood—to lay eggs?”
Say no, say no.
Yes.
He gave up. Dragons could communicate, but that didn’t mean people always understood, even dragoners who lived their lives with them. Among the dragoners they used
dragon sense
to mean “incomprehensible.”
Dragons liked their people to be happy, that was clear, but would they put that before their own survival? If so, if couldn’t be allowed.
He staggered up, soaking wet again, this time including his boots. As he changed into his last dry clothes, he hoped the ones hanging by the fire would dry overnight, or next time he needed a quick dunking he’d have a problem.
His biggest problem right now was how to survive the night. He had to return to his bride and it would soon be bedtime, womb save him.
Bed.
The princess was exhausted. Once she was asleep, he could keep far away.
“Seesee. Bedtime.”
He felt her grumble that it was early, exactly like a child, but she waddled out of the woods and wandered the rocky ground until she found a spot to her liking. Then she settled down, neck and tail coiled, wings furled on her back.
Standing no closer to his wife than he must, Rouar said, “Let me show you how to sleep on a dragon, Zlinda.”
She gave him a look but rose, an image of dejection, especially when struggling in the absurd skirts. She should get undressed. . . .
By the womb, no.
“I need”—she hesitated—“to go to the river.”
“Right, of course.” He had to offer. “Do you need me to guide you?”
She shook her head, picked up her bag and walked away, clutching her ridiculous skirts in front, trailing them behind.
Her stained and drooled skirts and the heavily drooled veil tied around her waist like a belt. No wonder she was driving him so completely mad. He wasn’t simply affected by bits of queen drool—the princess was covered in it.
He needed
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