Page 57 of Foundling

Her dainty claws dug into his hair, scraping his scalp and burrowing around the base of his horns. She couldn’t know how sensitive a place that was, but her warm grip had him seeing stars—and imagining just what it would be for her to take his cock in such a grasp. His groan buzzed around her nipple, and Leita arched beneath him, another senseless sound on her lips.

Blood pumping hotter than the volcanoes that had made the earth, Attalus reluctantly left the bounty of her breasts—if only because he needed something even richer. His claws made quick work of her trou, not even bothering with the button before pulling them down her shapely legs. He crooned in appreciation at the strong contours of her thighs and elegant shape of her feet.

He started there with more kisses, fluttering his lips and tongue along the arches and then the delicate bones of her ankles. Up her shin to her knee, where he felt her skin jump against his lips. For all their strength, her thighs were smooth and silky, a decadent pleasure for all his senses.

Attalus was more than gratified to see how she’d begun to tremble, laid out as she was on their blankets. She watched him from there, her sapphire eyes so dark they were nearly black.

That such a powerful, untamed creature would lie there obediently for him, allow him close enough to touch what few ever had, went right to his head. And cockhead. His croon lowered in pitch, becoming almost a purr, as he palmed her knees to push them wide.

He made room for himself between her legs, claiming that empty space and filling it with his need and warmth. She gasped when his lips fell on the flat of skin just above her mons. If she thought he’d shove his cock inside her and be done with it quickly, she was sorely mistaken. He’d asked for a night and been granted a night, and so he’d take it.

His lips and tongue found the sensitive bundle of nerves nestled at the top of her sex, and he set himself there with a determination he’d rarely experienced before. Sex had always been about pleasure, true, but this time, Attalus had something to prove. Every past encounter had led him to this, to pleasing a Queen, and he’d not fail.

Licking her from entrance to clitoris, Attalus gorged on his mate. She positively burned here, her scent strong and her taste flooding his mouth. He lapped at her, ravenous for more.

The V of his tongue fit at her clitoris just as it had her nipples, and Attalus swirled and stroked her as his fingers played in her growing slick. She wept for him, her purple flesh glistening as though to beckon him closer. Dragons always loved shiny things.

Attalus abandoned words for kisses and suckles, using his mouth in the most effective ways he knew how. If this was all he was good for, if this was what made her come back, so be it. He’d be her stud, her male, her supplicant. So long as he belonged somewhere, to someone, so be it.

Her thighs began to shake, but Attalus had no mercy. Setting his thumb where his mouth had been, he trailed his tongue down her slick slit to her weeping cunt. He rimmed the entrance in one gratuitous lick before thrusting inside.

Leita yelped, back arching off the blankets, and came around his fluttering tongue. He didn’t stop, thrusting and lapping at her, greedy, desperate to wring all that he could from her body.

As she came and cried and gushed for him, Attalus clawed back a bit of his sanity.

He had to do this right.

Even if his cock never forgave him for it.

If this was how it was to be, he had to bring her back.

Gently, he pulled his tongue from her throbbing cunt. Her clitoris, her mons, her belly, and each breast got a kiss before he settled on her mouth, claiming it in lazy, luxurious kisses that he felt down to his bones.

Lax and pliant after her orgasm, Leita didn’t complain when he rolled her to her side and settled behind her. He bent an arm beneath her to support her head—and fill his eager palm with a breast. She moaned softly, nuzzling his forearm; she may as well have stabbed both his hearts for how painfully they panged to see it.

He returned the affection, nuzzling her temple as his free hand slipped down her leg to grip beneath her knee. He guided her leg up, hooking it over his own and opening her to him.

“Mmm,” she sighed, a sound he felt down to his cock as it slid between her legs.

It was Attalus’s turn to shudder as his voracious cock finally tasted her warm slick. His resolve wavered as the head and ridges teased her. The hot well of her cunt kissed him with every stroke, and it physically pained him not to slip inside, to have, if only once, everything he wanted.

She shivered in his arms as he slowly rocked back and forth, back and forth. His pace was measured, far less frantic. He touched her with purpose, building her pleasure higher and higher only to slow it to a simmer.

Attalus relished how she squirmed in his arms, her impatience driving her claws into his scales every time he slowed and denied her. When he smiled with satisfaction, it was as much a grimace, gritting his fangs as he willed himself to hold strong.

“Attalus…” she moaned, her need plain for both of them to hear.

He knew what she asked.

He knew he was a bastard for denying her.

Still, he’d no compunctions whispering, “Not yet, agae.”

“When?” she whined. “I want you, azai.”

His hearts lurched to hear her call him that, to acknowledge him.

Strong. Be strong.