Hour of the Dragon - Heather Killough-Walden Page 0,148

her, his eyes shifted, his teeth came out, and every possessive, hungry attribute to him came out to play. But he kept himself from sinking into her – in more ways than one – and used everything else in his admittedly well-stocked arsenal to help Annaleia through the volatile sensations that were the craven side effects of Sterling’s spell.

She was so recklessly beautiful, so wild and wanton, he couldn’t trust himself to focus on his own needs. His dick stayed in his pants so that his teeth would stay out of her throat. He just fucking knew that if he allowed himself the one, he would allow himself the other. Not a damn thing in the realms could have stopped him.

So this was her time. And the “dominant” one of the pair was the one undergoing masochistic misery.

Somehow Ares kept going. Vehemently spoken swear words and wicked strong alcohol from inhuman realms had become his nearly constant companions, but he bided his time like a good dragon. He did this because he knew what was going on in Annaleia’s head. She felt guilty and she was afraid. Having the ability to resurrect had allowed her to save countless lives, including hers and the lives of her family members. She wasn’t ready to throw the gift away, and she had no idea whether it would still be there when she was no longer a Withered, but a dragon.

And then there was that. When it came down to it, no matter how much a person might dream of becoming something as great and frightening as a dragon, of having that vast power of size and strength over everyone around them, the fact remained – becoming something terrifying was a terrifying prospect.

She needed time to come to grips with it all, and now that the spell was activated, he could technically give her that time.

If he didn’t fucking die first.

In the meantime, she explored his cavern and its many rooms and extensions, some of which defied dimensionality and stretched to encompass vast quantities of land or space. But he never actually let her out of his sight. He didn’t have to, not here in his home. He could feel her everywhere she went, almost see her in his mind’s eye, and he could sure as hell hear her.

When she was in the main part of the cave, she tried to read his books and used the hot tub and the pool.

That was a hellish kind of pleasure for Ares – Annaleia in the hot tub. It was a dichotomous mixture of allure and torture because she would inevitably wind up in the hot tub naked. He would try so hard to avoid listening or looking when she did, but eventually he would fail and find her touching herself. Needing release. It was the whole reason she got into the water in the first place most times.

And he would soon wind up there too, also touching her. Those were the moments he proved to himself that he, too, was strong. They were also the moments followed with the most copious amounts of alcohol.

But when she wasn’t in the hot tub, he never stopped touching her. She never wanted him to stop. It was a good compromise. He would come up behind her, slide his hand beneath her top, and feel her shudder under his fingertips. He would run his fingers through her hair and tug, just ever so gently so he could see the pulse in her throat. Beckoning him.

He would sit down immediately beside her and run his hand unabashedly up her thigh. She would drop her book and let her head fall back against the couch cushions. And then he would pull her into his lap so he could fondle her through her clothing.

It was on the night of the first twenty-four hours that Ares had given up trying not to touch more of her bare skin. When he pulled her into his lap this time, he simply held her there while he unfastened her jeans and told her to open for him. He couldn’t help but catch her surface thoughts then, and they spurred him on with spiking need. He pressed his fingers inside her, thumbed her clitoris, and palmed her perfect breasts, skimming their taut, aching nubs until she came around his fingers.

He brought her to two more climaxes on his lap, searing the image of her slender, writhing form in his memory before he finally let her go so