What a Dragon Should Know
Page 118
But he’d left her!
Was he already that bored with her? Already that ready to move on and find some bar whore to warm his bed?
Dagmar knew there were ways to entice males into a woman’s bed, but she’d never been good at that sort of thing. In fact, she’d never even tried to be. Instead she’d taken off her spectacles and forced herself not to squint. She’d hoped that would have done the trick. It didn’t. He ran out of the cavern like one of her dogs was chasing after him.
Throwing off the furs, Dagmar slipped out of bed. She grabbed her spectacles from off the side table and rebelliously put them on before walking into the main alcove. The thought of returning to that empty bed was not enticing, nor was sitting at the table reading. There were only a few torches still lit, but she decided to follow the light and see where it took her. Anything was better than lying in bed, staring up at the cave ceiling, worrying about whether bats hid up there until the suns rose.
The interior of the dragon’s cave could almost be called plain. He had few adornments on his walls. A tapestry here and there, and several weapons tacked up as decorations. But, she noted on closer inspection, they could easily be pulled down and used as necessary.
There were many alcoves, several filled with riches. But what surprised her were all the books. At least three alcoves had books from floor to her shoulder. She cut through one of these alcoves, a few torches against the wall lighting her way, until she slipped through a large crevice in the wall. Yet she didn’t expect the crevice to suddenly bow inward, making her feel trapped and wonder if she’d ever get out. But she wiggled a bit and pulled herself through. She let out a breath, suddenly grateful for her small br**sts, and kept going, determined to find another way back around.
As she stepped out on the other end, she realized she was on a large, naturally made ledge that curled up at the end. It was sturdy and allowed her to walk across and place her hands on the raised part so she could lean over and look down onto an amazing indoor lake. The lake itself was breathtaking, the water crystal clear and beautiful, a small underground stream constantly refilling and churning it so it didn’t become stagnant.
For a very brief moment, she wondered why Gwenvael had not brought her here to bathe, but then she caught sight of Annwyl and Fearghus by the lake’s edge. The babes were in a large crib, big enough for the both of them. And they slept while their parents clung to each other. Dagmar could hear low moans from him and soft sighs from her. Could see the queen’s body arch, her head thrown back as her mate entered her. He kissed her neck, his hands stroking her body with a reverence Dagmar had only seen from monks when touching their most holy of artifacts. From where she stood, unseen, she could hear words of undying love and promises of a grand future.
She lowered her head. This wasn’t the usual sort of coupling she’d secretly watched over the years. Sordid liaisons to be grabbed and hurriedly done with before husbands or wives came to investigate. Dirty secrets to be kept and fantasized over while at first meal the following morning. To be forgotten months, if not days, later.
No. This was love. In its purest form.
And Dagmar felt nothing but regret knowing she’d never have this herself. She couldn’t even blame the men who found her not to their tastes because she understood that to have this kind of love was simply not in her nature. To open herself this way to anyone was not possible for her. Who could she ever trust like this?
Feeling a sadness from deep within, Dagmar stepped back, determined to tackle the tight fit of the crevice again so she could leave Annwyl and Fearghus to their privacy. But her back moved into something hard but not nearly as hard as a cave wall.
A hand slipped around her mouth, silencing her surprised gasp, and soft lips pressed against her ear.
“I leave you alone for a few minutes”—that low voice whispered—“and I always find you up to something very naughty, my Lady Dagmar.”
She shook her head in denial, absurdly delighted when she felt his other arm slip around her waist and hold her tight against his body.
“You can deny it, but we both know. Know how much you enjoy watching others.”
Perhaps. But she didn’t enjoy it nearly as much as she enjoyed the feeling of Gwenvael’s hand sliding down her leg and grasping hold of the shirt she’d worn to bed. He pulled it up until it rested above her hips.
“Aaaah,” he sighed as two of his fingers slipped deep inside her. “I knew it, my lady. Knew you’d be soaking wet from watching.”
She’d known it too, but it had little to do with what Annwyl and Fearghus were up to.
“Can’t leave you like this, now can we? Wet and needy, with no relief.” He thrust hard with his fingers, and Dagmar immediately gripped the fingers covering her mouth with both her hands. She didn’t try to pry them off, but pinned them there, hoping they would help her control her desire to cry out.
“Watch them,” he said against her ear, while his tongue explored. “Watch how my brother takes his mate. With such skill, he brings her to climax. And I will do the same for you.”
As her hips began to match Gwenvael’s fingers, thrust for thrust, she had no doubt he’d do as he promised, but again, it had nothing to do with what went on near the lake’s edge. She couldn’t see the other couple anyway, her eyes closing as she focused on the feel of Gwenvael’s fingers inside her, the way his breath caressed the sensitive place behind her ear, and the way his naked body felt pressed against her back.
Was he already that bored with her? Already that ready to move on and find some bar whore to warm his bed?
Dagmar knew there were ways to entice males into a woman’s bed, but she’d never been good at that sort of thing. In fact, she’d never even tried to be. Instead she’d taken off her spectacles and forced herself not to squint. She’d hoped that would have done the trick. It didn’t. He ran out of the cavern like one of her dogs was chasing after him.
Throwing off the furs, Dagmar slipped out of bed. She grabbed her spectacles from off the side table and rebelliously put them on before walking into the main alcove. The thought of returning to that empty bed was not enticing, nor was sitting at the table reading. There were only a few torches still lit, but she decided to follow the light and see where it took her. Anything was better than lying in bed, staring up at the cave ceiling, worrying about whether bats hid up there until the suns rose.
The interior of the dragon’s cave could almost be called plain. He had few adornments on his walls. A tapestry here and there, and several weapons tacked up as decorations. But, she noted on closer inspection, they could easily be pulled down and used as necessary.
There were many alcoves, several filled with riches. But what surprised her were all the books. At least three alcoves had books from floor to her shoulder. She cut through one of these alcoves, a few torches against the wall lighting her way, until she slipped through a large crevice in the wall. Yet she didn’t expect the crevice to suddenly bow inward, making her feel trapped and wonder if she’d ever get out. But she wiggled a bit and pulled herself through. She let out a breath, suddenly grateful for her small br**sts, and kept going, determined to find another way back around.
As she stepped out on the other end, she realized she was on a large, naturally made ledge that curled up at the end. It was sturdy and allowed her to walk across and place her hands on the raised part so she could lean over and look down onto an amazing indoor lake. The lake itself was breathtaking, the water crystal clear and beautiful, a small underground stream constantly refilling and churning it so it didn’t become stagnant.
For a very brief moment, she wondered why Gwenvael had not brought her here to bathe, but then she caught sight of Annwyl and Fearghus by the lake’s edge. The babes were in a large crib, big enough for the both of them. And they slept while their parents clung to each other. Dagmar could hear low moans from him and soft sighs from her. Could see the queen’s body arch, her head thrown back as her mate entered her. He kissed her neck, his hands stroking her body with a reverence Dagmar had only seen from monks when touching their most holy of artifacts. From where she stood, unseen, she could hear words of undying love and promises of a grand future.
She lowered her head. This wasn’t the usual sort of coupling she’d secretly watched over the years. Sordid liaisons to be grabbed and hurriedly done with before husbands or wives came to investigate. Dirty secrets to be kept and fantasized over while at first meal the following morning. To be forgotten months, if not days, later.
No. This was love. In its purest form.
And Dagmar felt nothing but regret knowing she’d never have this herself. She couldn’t even blame the men who found her not to their tastes because she understood that to have this kind of love was simply not in her nature. To open herself this way to anyone was not possible for her. Who could she ever trust like this?
Feeling a sadness from deep within, Dagmar stepped back, determined to tackle the tight fit of the crevice again so she could leave Annwyl and Fearghus to their privacy. But her back moved into something hard but not nearly as hard as a cave wall.
A hand slipped around her mouth, silencing her surprised gasp, and soft lips pressed against her ear.
“I leave you alone for a few minutes”—that low voice whispered—“and I always find you up to something very naughty, my Lady Dagmar.”
She shook her head in denial, absurdly delighted when she felt his other arm slip around her waist and hold her tight against his body.
“You can deny it, but we both know. Know how much you enjoy watching others.”
Perhaps. But she didn’t enjoy it nearly as much as she enjoyed the feeling of Gwenvael’s hand sliding down her leg and grasping hold of the shirt she’d worn to bed. He pulled it up until it rested above her hips.
“Aaaah,” he sighed as two of his fingers slipped deep inside her. “I knew it, my lady. Knew you’d be soaking wet from watching.”
She’d known it too, but it had little to do with what Annwyl and Fearghus were up to.
“Can’t leave you like this, now can we? Wet and needy, with no relief.” He thrust hard with his fingers, and Dagmar immediately gripped the fingers covering her mouth with both her hands. She didn’t try to pry them off, but pinned them there, hoping they would help her control her desire to cry out.
“Watch them,” he said against her ear, while his tongue explored. “Watch how my brother takes his mate. With such skill, he brings her to climax. And I will do the same for you.”
As her hips began to match Gwenvael’s fingers, thrust for thrust, she had no doubt he’d do as he promised, but again, it had nothing to do with what went on near the lake’s edge. She couldn’t see the other couple anyway, her eyes closing as she focused on the feel of Gwenvael’s fingers inside her, the way his breath caressed the sensitive place behind her ear, and the way his naked body felt pressed against her back.
