Prince of Dragons (11 page)

Perhaps if he told her who he really was, promised her a life of luxury and prestige while she gave him the chance to win her heart. But that was the one thing he had sworn he would not do. He wanted to be, he must be loved for himself, not his fortune. If a female accepted him with currency in his hands, how would he ever know how she really felt about him?

He had just humbled himself to this one, opened his heart, and she had gazed down at him as if he were some being she had never seen before. Had that been pity in her eyes, or merely shock?
Why had she not answered him?
Did she not know a Dragolin humbled himself for no one in the galaxy?

He clenched his fists, fighting the urge to shift and roar out his pain to the silent passageway.

“Commander? Are you all right?”

Oh, no, not her. Anyone but her. Tawnee walked up to him, reaching out to touch him, eyes soft.

Slyde held out his hands, palms out, in an emphatic signal.

“No,” he said starkly. “No.”

“But, you are upset,” she persisted. “Let me—”

“No!” He couldn’t control the deep roar of his voice, or the anger he knew was written on his face. He was too near shifting, too precariously balanced between rage and pain. “Leave me.”

Tawnee stepped back sharply, coming up against the wall of the passageway. Her mouth trembled. And he couldn’t bring himself to care. He walked away.

He could not believe this black hole he had allowed himself to be sucked into.

Sirena… Sirena…

He reached his quarters through habit. He shut himself inside and then stood in the middle of the room, breathing slowly with the effort not to allow himself to shift into his dragon self, roaring to be free.

He was nearly maddened with pain and he couldn’t relieve himself by shape-shifting and flying to exhaustion. He was also still aroused from holding Sirena in his arms.

He finally closed himself in his shower-dry unit, turned the water as hot as it would go and took himself in hand. Then he staggered over to his bed and fell face down on it. Just like Tawnee’s servicing, all his own handful of slippery gel-soap had accomplished was to make him want Sirena even more.

And if he knew anything about his lovely temptress, she was going to make him sorry he had refused her.

Chapter Seventeen

Sirena woke with one resolve burning inside her—despite all Slyde Stone’s fine words, she was going to make him sorry he had dared to refuse her.

Showered and dressed, she looked in her mirror, making sure her hair shone, that her collar was fastened neatly about her throat. As usual, the golden yellow was a perfect foil for her coloring, bringing out the auburn of her hair and the tiny gold flecks in her green eyes. Only the faint shadows in and around them gave any hint of her inner turmoil, or her lack of sleep.

She lifted her chin proudly. Slyde Stone might think he was so special there was only one female for him, but she was enough for any male alive. In fact, she would no doubt spoil him for other women. Especially if he had not—

She stared at herself in the mirror, dazed as if her reflection had reached out and slapped her. Oh, great serpents.
He had never been with a woman
. The handsome, virile, urbane Slyde Stone
was a virgin!

Sirena sat down abruptly on the side of her bed, her mind whirling. Virginity was practically unknown for a Serpentian of maturity. Sexuality was such a fundamental part of their fiery makeup that most Serpentians accepted promiscuity as a matter of course. There were so many partners to be enjoyed, all with the same easygoing attitude toward relationships. When children arrived, they lived with the mother, their fathers drifting in and out of their lives as hers had.

But not Slyde Stone. For some reason, he’d avoided sexual experimentation. She wondered again about his reasons, dismissing now the religious angle. He seemed, from his words the evening before, to have some quixotic idea that somewhere in the galaxy there was one perfect female for him. She rolled her eyes at this foolish notion, resolutely ignoring the pang in her heart as she recalled how he’d sworn
she
could be that female. The great, handsome moon-dreamer.

No, all his talk of fidelity was only a fantasy. But, if not his only lover, she certainly intended to be his
first
. His virginity meant he’d never known the ecstasy of being locked in a lover’s arms. Never buried himself so deep inside a female he forgot where he left off and she began. Never lain sated with a lover, already plotting the delicious variations possible for the next act.

She would be the one to show him all of this. She had to be. The thought of all that gorgeous masculinity being hers to enjoy was too delicious to pass by. And when she pictured those golden eyes gazing into hers as she showed him how to please himself and her, she felt a deep swell of what almost felt like tenderness.

She simply couldn’t bear the thought of his training that look of deep yearning on another female. Of course this feeling would pass, after they’d been together for a time, but for now, she wanted, no, craved him.

That the cadet had been the first to show him how delightful a female mouth could be enraged her for reasons she refused to examine. Her eyes narrowed. She would see to it the little opportunist never got to touch him again. A transfer to another LodeStar ship was easy enough to arrange.

And so was his seduction. That this path might not be the best for either of them, she refused to acknowledge. What she craved, she took. Had she not learned the hard way that this was the Serpentian way, and was she not a quintessential Serpentian?

Slyde wandered into the male guard locker room. It was empty but for him, the padded massage table and benches neat, the sinks and commodes gleaming.

Wearily, he stripped off his singlet, tossed it into the cryo-cleansing unit and walked into the nearest shower-dry. The hatch slid shut behind him. He leaned on his outstretched arms, letting the hot water jet over his head and body. He’d worked out with the robot again, trying to tire himself so he could sleep. Perhaps tonight, it would even suffice.

Slowly he pushed himself upright and began to soap himself with the soft gel-soap. As usual, he was half aroused. He stroked the length of his cock, contemplating taking a swift release, but then grimaced. It would relieve him for a short time, but it was so far from what he needed that it wasn’t worth the effort. Instead he soaped himself all over then turned, rinsing.

He tipped back his head and let the jets of warm air puff over his skin, drying him. He inhaled deeply and nearly groaned. Great serpents, he even imagined his siren’s perfume here, wafting on the drying jets.

Then his eyes flew open, every part of him alert, his weariness falling away. He
did
smell her perfume—and her womanly scent under it.

He opened the hatch.

She leaned against the massage table, watching him. Her emerald gaze was sleepy with carnal intent. As their eyes met, she smiled slowly and began to unfasten her little wrap of scarlet silk.

Frozen, he watched, a helpless thrill of response in his groin as his cock rose and swelled, his balls tightened. Heat flooded across his skin, every muscle taut and ready. Fierce primitive joy sang in his heart, warring with sheer self-preservation. To stay meant a fast road to ecstasy and a slow descent into emotional agony.

He had never retreated from a confrontation in his life, but if ever there was a time to start, this was it. He had to get out of here.

When the wrap loosened enough that her breasts nearly burst from it, she stopped. Straightening, she prowled toward him. He stepped out of the shower dry and sidestepped around the nearest bench, watching her carefully. If he could just make it to the door, naked and aroused or not…

Her eyes narrowed, and she shook her head chidingly. She stepped over the bench, cutting off his escape route. Down to the barest survival instincts, he backed up, one blind step at a time, until the padded edge of the massage table struck him in the back of his thighs.

She prowled nearer, smaller, softer, but so very dangerous. For the first time in his life, Slyde knew what it felt like to be prey, with no hope of escape or rescue.

As she neared him, she reached out one hand and touched her fingertips to his chest. She pushed gently. Knowing he was sealing his own doom, he sank down on the padded bench.

Her gaze slid down over him, and he sat, his hands clenched on the seat beside him.

He groaned deep in his chest. He could smell her…the scent of his chosen female, her arousal and her special perfume.

“Sirena…” It was a deep husk of sound, a plea for he knew not what. For mercy? For anything she cared to do to him, he acknowledged achingly.

Sirena was who she was. She could no more resist taking him than she could fly. As for him—he surrendered. He was so in love and lust with her that he was going to let her, even knowing how it would end.

“Yesss,” she answered. “Yes.”

She raised one knee and planted it beside his thigh, then the other so she straddled his lap. Her warm hands stroked across the broad slope of his shoulders, resting lightly as she lowered herself so the silk of her shift enveloped his cock and slithered against his torso and chest. With a croon of pleasure in her throat, she stroked her fingers invitingly into her open shift, baring the inner slope of her full breasts and the deep shadows below them.

His hands clenched into fists, then, with a deep groan, he gave up and put his hands on her. Her hips flexed in his tender grasp, the silk sliding over the supple curves beneath as she rose then sank again on his lap. This time warm flesh brushed his cock. Shuddering, he caught his breath and waited, knowing the touch would come again.

The open shift teased him, inviting him at last to know everything that lay beneath. Reverently, he raised his hands and caught the delicate fabric in his grasp, then pushed it back and off of her breasts. They were gorgeous, just as he had known they would be—such a contrast to her slender arms and shoulders and her tiny waist. The full mounds were tipped with long, thrusting nipples of dusky peach.

His hands trembled as he carefully cupped them and squeezed. They fit perfectly, the most exquisite things that had ever filled his hands. She caught her breath, then her fingers slid into his short hair. Arching her back, she offered herself to him.

Tilting his head slightly, he took a nipple in his mouth. The texture of the small, firm nubbin on his tongue, his lips, was all he had dreamed.

He suckled her delicately at first, tasting the textured velvet of her nipple and areola. Testing their resilience, he sucked harder and learned the power of this caress as she shuddered with delight, her fingers caressing his head in fervent reward. She moved in his grasp, so tender and lithe, so silky, so warm.

Fondling her other breast with his hand, he enjoyed her at length, then gave equal attention to the other. The throaty sounds she made as she pressed herself into his ravening mouth were heady applause.

But even as he enjoyed her thus, his cock jerked and twitched impatiently, slapping against what he knew must be the inside of her thighs—silken skin so hot and soft it maddened him even as it pleased.

He yanked at her shift and it fell away, slithering down his legs to the floor, leaving him with a naked siren in his lap. Rearing back, he looked down at her. His huge hands spanned her waist, then slid down to cup her bare hips, finally her ass, so full and round. He squeezed it, his fingers kneading restlessly as he stared at the delicate folds of flesh that he knew guarded heaven.

Her mons was nearly bare, only a narrow trail of auburn curls arrowing down to the velvet folds of her labia. And a bare inch away, the massive shaft of his cock strained up toward her, the broad head spangled with his arousal. His hands tightened on her hips, and he groaned deep in his chest as he thrust himself up toward her.

“Now!” The word was all he could manage.

She slid one slender hand down her flat belly and touched herself, stroking her fingers into her labia. The succulent sound of wetness as she stroked them back out, parting the sleek pink folds, sent desperation shooting through his cock. Her scent swirled up around him. Her other hand closed around his shaft, fogging his mind, leaving him with only one primal goal—get inside her immediately.

“Yes,” she murmured, her lips brushing his face. “Now.”

She guided him into the sleek, hot furrow of her body. Holding her in the vise of his hands, he pulled her down on him.

She was impossibly tight and yet she urged him on, rocking against him, uttering soft cries of pleasure as he thrust again and again, forging his way into her silken heat. He thrust one last time, felt himself buried to the hilt in her wet, living caress—and lost all control.

He came immediately, in one long explosion of shuddering ecstasy.

Chapter Eighteen

Sirena sat astride her lover, holding him as he shuddered and groaned in his release. She turned her face against his, pressing little kisses on his hot skin, drawing in his scent. He was so big and delicious, she wanted to lick him all over, eat him up like a melon.

The feel of him filling her so tightly was indescribable, as if she were an untried girl again.

His hands relaxed on her hips, and he took a deep, shuddering breath. Slowly, his arms came up about her, holding her in a gentle vise, although his eyes remained closed.

For a long moment, they simply held each other. Heady triumph filled her, mixed with a queer tenderness. She had made this huge, powerful male lose control. She had given him the ultimate pleasure—and been the first female to do so. Never had she received so much joy from pleasuring a lover, and without coming herself.

“You feel… I cannot describe the feel of your sex holding mine,” he murmured finally. “Like the most sensual, sweet glove. Hot and wet and tight.”

“Mm-hmm,” she agreed, smiling against his mouth as she moved slowly, sliding up and down his shaft. His hands tightened on her bare back.

“I am—sorry,” he said. His cheekbones reddened, and she realized with a tender pang that he was embarrassed by his lack of control. “You didn’t find release.”