To Desire a Dragon - Amanda Milo Page 0,8

assuaging his screaming erection, I can only assume.

But that’s a no.

Because while I would have told any of my tribeswomen that I’d welcome the first unrelated male I’ve ever seen up close, I always envisioned taking a fully human man. With a normal, natural, human-sized rod.

This? The dragon’s carrying a third leg with a mushroom cap, not a prick.

And that’s not all. His, ah, ‘member’ is ridged, with raised bumps along the sides. Bumps that are seeping a slick amethyst fluid. From his tip, two feathery protrusions, not unlike moth antennae, emerge.

OH, NOT ON HIS LIFE!

Not for anyone’s life! If you told me that a baby unicorn would die if I don’t spread for this, I’d ask you where you want the foal buried! Just NO.

I fight him, resisting with bared teeth and breathless curses, bringing my arm up between us, trying to shove at his stone-like chest, his rock-hard arm.

He’s not expecting me to nail him with a panicked punch to his upper right ribcage.

Livershot.

He drops over me with a gasping grunt. His hands have gone momentarily slack, no longer gripping me.

Which doesn’t help me in my escape like I hoped it would. He must weigh a full wool bale, easy, and his weight is plopped smack on me so that I feel like I’m trying to crawl out from under exactly that much. “Get OFF! Get away from me!”

It’s pretty unthinkable that I’ve uttered this. Here is a man I can have sex with. There are women who would steal this opportunity—literally. (Freakish reproductive equipment or not.) But all I want to do is run.

I’m inhaling to scream when his arresting face is suddenly shoved in mine. “Yeww ARRR,” he growls. “Myyy mrrrr.”

Whatever declaration he’s made seems to please him. He stares down at me with steadily lowering lids as his throat vibrates in a very not human purr.

Mouth hanging open, staring up at him, pinned with his heavy horse’s cock slapping my upper thigh every time he exhales, I’m overwhelmed.

I just wanted to save my brother!

And then his hand cups between my legs, and his thumb tries to run along the crotch seam of my leathers.

I jump and struggle and hurl imprecations—at him, his cave, his damned winged-lizard mother—and try to beat him with my elbow.

For that maneuver, the dragon catches my elbow with all the ease he’d have shown if he caught the wing of a domesticated chicken. He brings my limb down until it rests on the cave floor.

“This isn’t better,” I mumble, eyes pinned by his.

He keeps his hand cupped over the crook of my arm, keeps me beneath him, and when I finally meet the dragon’s eyes again, he eases himself up, reaches down, and catches me by my thigh.

I snarl with the effort I expend trying to thrash my way out from under him.

I have no luck with this though. He snaps up my knee so that my thighs are spread. He rolls my bottom half so that I’m twisted at the waist—and with a surprisingly skillful hand, he’s exploring my antelope-hide leathers like he’s searching for a key in the dark. I tanned the buck that made my clothes; I tanned him until his skin was hairless and butter-soft. Then the natural friction of my inner thighs worked the leather even softer when I walked. Now it’s so supple, I don’t know what the dragon feels, but I feel him when his curious finger brushes over my clit.

I squeak.

The dragonman’s eyes flash neon. His finger presses over my clit with intention, where he rubs, testing.

I suck in a breath, bite my lips, plant my heels, and try not to squirm into his too-effective touch as I inch away from him.

He takes his hand from my elbow, grabs me by the hip, and drags me until I’m right where he wants me—back under him.

And then with a softer touch, he brings his finger back to the magic spot he’s found, and he dances over it with a butterfly’s pressure.

Through a layer of animal skin, it shouldn’t be anything.

My body decides otherwise. It falls still. My commands sent to it are rendered completely ineffectual.

My thoughts even stutter. My ‘Run away!’ turns into ‘Ohhh… We’ll run in just a moment...’

Another silken touch has my breath catching in my chest.

Yet another gentle brush has me staring up at his face, at the intense look in his eyes as he scrutinizes my expression, and his questing finger has all the rest of my focus.

I twitch when