The Reluctant Lord (Dragon Lords) Page 6
“Allow me to take that for you, my lady,” he said, quickly moving forward to attain her robe. She forced her fingers to release it. Without it to cover her front side, she found she wasn’t sure what to do with her hands. She thought about lifting them to cover her chest, to hide the fact that the thin material would reveal the color of her nipples to him. Or perhaps she should cross her hands before her hips, to disguise the light thatch of hair between her thighs. She opted to cross her wrists in front of her.
“As you can see, I am compatible.” Why was she stalling? She knew he expected to examine her. It wasn’t like her not to perform a duty.
“I can see little.” His tone was low, soft, dark. She couldn’t meet his gaze.
“Of course.” She had expected him to say as much. Though, as she reached to take off her gown, she found herself wishing he would feel at least something toward her. Even if he did not think of her in sexual terms, perhaps there could be some interest in her form, something, anything.
Once her hands started their task, they did not stop. She pinched the gown, pulled it over her head and draped it over her arm to keep it from falling on the ground. Instantly, he was there to take it from her. He set her clothing aside, placing them atop the wig on the table. Clara didn’t move, couldn’t move. She kept her eyes forward, her chin lifted. She didn’t dare look at his face, not yet. She was too afraid of what she would read in his expression. If it was disappointment or indifference, she would not be able to keep her feelings to herself. These people were so expressive, she was sure she would read such emotions easily. At least at home it was not always easy to tell what someone was thinking. Private thoughts stayed private. Here, she wasn’t sure there was such a thing as a private thought.
* * *
By all the gods, his wife was a true goddess.
Vlad could barely move. He held back, out of her eye line as he tried to get some semblance of control over his rampant desire. He knew this was going to be a difficult night, but he had no idea just how very torturous. His bride was the very definition of perfection.
Her long blonde hair fell over her back and shoulders. It teased him, showing just a hint of her breasts through the locks. The curve of her hips and ass naturally drew his attention. He gripped his hands into tight fists. When she’d worn the gown the bluish paint had covered her flesh, but like this he could see the creaminess of her complexion.
Her legs were strong. If he had to guess it was from hauling around the impossible weight of that gown she’d been wearing. Yet, despite the strength, she looked soft.
Vlad wanted desperately to test the suppleness of her skin for himself. Where she was yielding, he was hard. The idea that she was made to mold against him caused a very stiff, very potent reaction in his loins. Wet, soft, soft, wet. He closed his eyes briefly and nearly lost himself beneath the drying linen clinging to his waist.
Clara didn’t move and he didn’t stop looking. His hands began to shift, talons growing from his fingertips to dig into his palms. He felt the tingling insistence of the beast inside him. If he couldn’t lay claim to her like the human inside him wanted, the dragon wanted to surge forth to ease the desire. The Draig could not claim women in shifted form, and sometimes shifting was the only way to ease the longing of their intense sexual appetites.
Oh, but he did not want to ease the pain, not yet. He wanted to feel it, to look at her, to suffer in the sweet torture of what her body was doing to him. He forced the dragon back inside.
Perhaps he could touch her, just a little. Breathing hard, he moved behind her. His hand shook, but the scent of her was in his head—so sweet, so erotic—calling to him. With little thought as to what he was doing, he straightened his fingers and slid them between her thighs from behind. Instantly, she gasped and tensed. He watched her ass, seeing his hand buried between her legs. He slid the fingers upward, toward her sex. Heat radiated there.
Vlad closed his eyes and bowed his head. He focused on her softness, on her scent filling his nostrils. Her hair smelled exotic, like an alien flower he had never seen. The side of his finger bumped into her sex. Already she was wet. Her folds parted easily for him. He eased his hand higher, not stopping to think of his actions.
Clara’s body rocked lightly. Vlad pulled at his waist, releasing the drying linen. With his free hand, he took his erection and began to stroke, just as his hand started to rub his bride. She made a light gasping noise as he moved. The sound only propelled him on. His hand firmly gripped his shaft, stroking harder and faster. Blast, he wanted to be inside her. He turned his hand, forcing her legs to accommodate the change in position. When her legs spread just enough, he slid a finger up into her. Sweet, wet heat enveloped him.
By all the gods, it was too much.
Vlad removed his hand and quickly snaked it around her waist. He pulled her back against his hip while delving his hand between her thighs. This time, he stroked her from the front. He buried his lips against her neck, kissing her flesh through the tangles of her hair. When he opened his eyes, his shifted gaze made out the delicate texture of her skin. He looked over her shoulder, down her chest to two very ripe, perfect breasts. The nipples were hard without being touched, and he promised himself that he would taste them very soon.
Her ass pressed to his hip, the cleft flush against his flesh. He stayed against her as he turned just enough so his cock was near her hip while keeping her butt against him. He delved his finger inside her while his palm brushed along her clit.
He wanted to thrust himself inside her, but knew he could not—not yet, not on this night. So instead he opened the hand on his cock and pressed the hard shaft against her flesh while rubbing himself with the flat of his palm. Her hips jerked, as if instinctively starting their own approving rhythm. Her moisture flooded his hand. He bit at her neck gently, sucking and licking and kissing her through her hair. Oh, and those breasts, so close, begging him to touch them but just out of his mouth’s reach.
A low growl sounded in the back of his throat. “Touch your breasts.”
Her hands didn’t move.
“Touch your breasts,” he repeated into her ear before biting at the lobe. “Both hands.”
She lifted her hands and covered her breasts with her palms. He groaned at the sight of her delicate fingers, imagining what they would feel like cupping him. It was by sheer desire and willpower that he stayed braced upright as she leaned into him for support.
Vlad groaned. He swung her around to face the table, letting go of her sex long enough to push her over. She leaned with her forearms flat to the wood. Then, coming behind her, he pressed his cock against her ass, letting the cheeks caress him as he rocked against her. With his hands free, he licked the taste of her off his fingers before pressing the wet digits back to her sex. The other he used to explore her breasts and lock her tight to him.
It was easy to imagine he was taking her fully. With each thrust of his hips, her clit was forced hard against his fingers. He rolled a budded nipple between his thumb and forefinger.
“Sweet goddess,” he whispered. “My sweet, sweet temptress.”
Her body tensed and shook ever so gently. She was close. He could feel it. The tip of his crystal bumped against her back as he leaned over her. It caught his attention, reminding him that this woman was his, fully and completely.
Clara trembled again, this time jerking harder. She made a soft sound, so soft he would have missed it if he had not been so focused on her reaction. Vlad couldn’t hold back. He exploded, losing himself against her ass. The warm release slickened them as he slid easily a few more times.
“Mm,” he hummed in approval. He didn’t let go of her right away. Instead, he kept his hand on her sex and his cock buried along the cleft of her ass. Too bad he couldn’t have penetrated her, but he had no complaints. “You are very sweet, bride.”
* * *
Sweet?
The word stuck with her long after Vlad pulled his body away from her. When her senses recove
red, she’d been very glad that he could not see her face. For the life of her, she couldn’t remember if she’d kept her composure. All she recalled was the bombardment of feelings—tingling, pulling, wetness, friction, burning, pulsing, needing, pleasure, confusion, fear, panic, cellular explosion, and then his hands, his breath, his smell, his body erupting in wet finale.
Clara hoped she had not embarrassed herself. It was just his touch was so…unexpected. She didn’t know how else to describe it. At first, she’d thought he simply meant to ensure their compatibility. Such inspection made sense. It would not do for them to marry only to find out they were not physically compatible. And, since she was clearly not the one to determine such things, it made sense that he would do the inspection. As her husband, he would have full access to her body.
The thought caused her to shiver as she sunk lower into the warmth of the tub. The water had been clear until she washed the blue from her skin. Leaning her head against the rim, she closed her eyes. She instantly saw the appeal of soaking in water. It was much more relaxing than cleaning lasers. The pressure of the water cocooned her, wrapping her like a warm, wet blanket.
“Clara?” The sound was far away. “Clara!”
She jerked when she felt hands touching her naked arms. She flailed in the tub, pushing up with her feet. Blinking heavily, she looked at Vlad.
“You cannot fall asleep in there,” he said. “Come on, let’s get you to the bed.”
Her dry hair stuck to her back as he lifted her out of the bath. She had pulled the long length up so it wouldn’t get wet but a few tendrils had come loose. Her father had insisted they learn to swim as children, and she knew from experience that if she got her hair wet, it would take an entire day for it to fully dry. She had a travel laser comb that would take care of cleaning the locks.
Clara closed her eyes, leaning her head against his shoulder. He smelled of the same soap he’d given her to use. Yet somehow on him it smelled different, better.
She heard him whisper, felt the soft cushion as he laid her down. She did not open her eyes. All the worry and stress building up to this ceremony had left her tired now that it was done. She was married. The next generation could begin. There was nothing more for her to do this night.
* * *
Vlad wanted to crawl into bed next to his bride but didn’t want to risk waking her. The other impulse, to stand over her, staring at her beautiful naked body did hold some appeal, but he decided it would be best to leave her be. She’d self-admittedly had a long journey to get to his home world, and he’d already pushed things a little too far with his actions.
But how could he help himself? She was too much to resist. She was his fate, his destiny, his wife.
Even so, he thought it best to keep their almost joining a secret—not that he was one to brag about such things. The elders were very adamant about resisting temptation. Bron even said Elder Bochman would be giving a speech before the ceremony about being strong and brave in the face of that temptation. Vlad grinned. Technically, he had not been given that speech, so his little slip of etiquette could be forgiven.
His bride was the most gorgeous thing he had ever seen. Clara didn’t smile, but he could easily forgive her that. Surely she was tired, and nervous, and perhaps scared of being on a new planet without her friends and family. At least the brides who came from the main bridal ship traveled in a pack. Clara was alone. That easily accounted for her reserved behavior. Once she’d slept more and had a decent meal, everything would fall into place.
He reached to pull the covers over her body and paused. Two faint handprints were outlined in red on her breasts. The coloration was subtle, so much so he’d almost missed it. By the size, they were her hands. He didn’t remember her gripping herself that hard. A slight smile came to him and he forced the mounting desire back into his gut. Vlad covered her with a blanket.
He saw their future clearly. First, they would explore each other and finish what had been started between them. Then they would explore the wilderness—camping, running, hiking through nature—where he could show her the things she’d only seen through a viewing screen. She had a great heart. The way she worried about feeding those less fortunate than herself proved that. He didn’t think much of her society’s custom of forcing orphaned children to serve in another’s home, but he could hardy fault her for the laws of her home world. After the wilderness, he would take her to the village where he’d been born. There, life was simple. There were no castles, no servants, no titles, just people. His people.
Vlad loved his brothers. Just as he had loved his adoptive parents. They were good people. But there was always a part of him that felt he did not belong fully in the world of noblemen. He had a wildness in his soul, a freedom that burned so bright it needed to be released. Yes, he would do the duty his life had dealt him without complaint, but he did not feel like he was a nobleman. Lord Vladan was a title. He was born Vlad. He was just a man.
Vlad smiled at his sleeping bride as he ducked out of the makeshift room to give her quiet. Tonight he was blessed by the gods.
Chapter Five
Clara knew she was not in her own bed before her eyes opened. It wasn’t one thing exactly, but a combination of strange sensations that caused a thread of apprehension to flow over her body to settle in her stomach. The mattress was too soft, the air was too cool and the sounds coming from outside too unfamiliar. Normally, she awoke to the feel of her handmaids touching her. They started working on her hair and feet before she fully awoke in the morning. She’d gotten used to sleeping through the attentions of their administering hands.
Clara turned to the side of the tent. Distant shouts forced her from the bed. Only when her feet hit the floor did she realize she’d slept naked. The realization brought forth the memory of the night before.
You are very sweet, bride.
Sweet. Vlad had called her sweet.
Clara sniffed her arm and flicked her tongue on her flesh. She hardly tasted sweet. He had to mean it as the endearment of the word.
She wasn’t sure what to make of what had happened between them during his scrutiny of her. Perhaps she had been overtired from her journey, overwrought from her new home world, overcome from being left alone amongst half-naked primitives. No. All those things were excuses. She was a lady and she had failed to act as one the night before as she let her body get carried away by her husband’s inspection. Due to the stress of her circumstance, she could forgive herself this one slip. But it would not, could not happen again. The last thing her mother had said to her when she left was, “Remember the lady I have raised you to be. You represent all of your family with each action you take. I mourn your going but rejoice in the next generation.”
Clara lifted her hand and let it hover in the air, pretending her mother stood before her. The familiar act brought her a little comfort, false as the comfort was. Whispering into the tent, she said, “I will do what you wish, Mother. Always as you wish.”
One year to get pregnant. That was manageable. The mandatory night in a tent was over. Now they would go to his noble home where she would be more in her element. If the home was not to her standard, she would make it to her standard. Perhaps she could leave it better than she found it. Regardless, anything was better than sleeping in a tent with dirt floors.
A gown had been set out for her on a low table near the bed. She didn’t pick it up. Instead, she ran the back of her wrist over the material. The deep purple color reminded her of her favorite plant, razorwires. They grew in the west gardens of her family’s estate outside the reading room window—deep purple vines with razor-sharp red spikes along the spines. It kept intruders from climbing up to the female suites on the fourth floor. So pretty and so deadly.
She turned her attention to her trunk. The jewel-encrusted gown was inside it—the gown of a lady, the gown of her former life.
Despite her resolve, the upcoming year stretched out before her. Her ship was gone. She was trapped on this strang
e planet. Having grown up in a house full of siblings, the idea of being alone suddenly terrified her. She’d been so focused on the ceremony and finding a husband as she’d been ordered to do that she hadn’t thought too hard about afterwards.
Her new husband only had three brothers and four cousins. Such a small family. His family. Not hers. She had no one here.
Fear sent a shiver over her body. Her hands shook and she couldn’t control them. Clara took a deep breath. This overly emotional state wouldn’t do. She had to monitor herself.
* * *
Vlad waited for his bride to join him outside the tent. When he’d gone to fetch her she’d insisted she needed more time to ready herself. However, King Llyr and Elder Bochman didn’t appear to be as patient as he. They’d come to witness the end of the ceremony. His aunt, the queen, would normally be in attendance for this part of the event, but she was busy overseeing the morning preparations at the campground below, which was why the elder stood in her place next to the king.
“What news of the others?” Vlad asked his uncle. “Did my family find wives?”
The king grinned and nodded. “Yes, nearly all. It has been a blessed year.”
“Who?” Vlad asked, not needing to clarify the question.
“Mirek did not, but I am sure the gods will bless him next ceremony. We must be happy for the others,” the king said.
Sadness filled him for his brother’s continual bad luck.