Page 29 of Cursed with the Dragon Prince
Teyr, I fucking want him.
Only this pressure, it’s… it’s…not okay.
He’s not human—he’s not my husband. My whole body freezes up, and I pull away, gasping and moaning, hips writhing as my body begs me to surrender to pleasure.
Drakon glances across my face, struggling to interpret, and I struggle with words, my body and mind warring against each other.
“Slower,” I swallow, hoping for compromise. I wrap my hands around his back, kissing his lips. “I’m… not ready.”
“Okay.”
He brushes his lips behind my ear, kissing me sweetly. When he lays another soft kiss upon my mouth, I open my lips, welcoming him.
We kiss deeply, lovingly and long, keeping our hands more chaste. This won’t release the tension building within me, but at least the shame vanishes, freeing me from the cycles of doubt.
Maybe I shouldn’t be encouraging this; our bodies are closer than our minds, but I don’t want to stop. These kisses are the sweetest I’ve ever endured.
At some point, we slide apart, with my head upon his chest and his arm around me, holding me there. For a long while, we remain, my body heavy, fatigued from training and the denial of pleasure. Finally, sleep finds me.
When I next stir, the sun is heavy on the horizon with the weight of late afternoon. There’s not much daylight remaining, and I’m eager to take to the sky.
I kiss Drakon awake, planting each one upon his chest, his neck, his cheek. “I’m ready,” I say, finally kissing his lips. “I want to fly.”
Sleepily, he blinks at me, but with a glance at the waning light, he is stirred to action. “You’re ready,” he agrees.
Standing upon the ledge, the lava glows below us, but I swallow my fears. I summon my wings and practice the positions I’ve learned. The rest was helpful, every muscle stronger than before.
I’m rushing to start, refusing to give doubt the chance to catch up. Drakon seems more nervous than me, bracing to catch me should I fall, and yet he nods encouragingly, trusting I’m ready.
I’m about to lose my nerve, so I don’t delay. I flap once, then twice, growing light on my feet.
When Drakon held me, I largely kept my wings pinned in place, gliding, learning the feel of wind against their webbing. Now I lift myself, raising power with each beat of my wings.
It’s work, more than I’m used to, but with a grunt, I tap into my budding strength, generating force. The whoosh of each wingbeat, the pressure of air, each sensation emboldens me, and I gain height, rising under my own power.
Drakon watches from the ledge, wings expanded, near but not hovering.
I gain height and tilt downward, starting my flight with an easy glide. It’s thrilling to do this on my own, and I quickly begin testing my limits.
I bank left and right, and discovering I’ve drifted too low, I rise a little higher with two careful flaps from my wings. With a wild grin, I try something new.
I lean forward, pulling my wings closer to my back.
And I dive.
Awhoopescapes my lips. The wind rushes over me as I surrender to the chaos—my fears have no sway.
Pulling out of the dive is easy, and I give myself a large clearance from the rocky valley and lift myself a little higher, shaking, vacating the stress from my liberated limbs.
Only then do I realize Drakon is frowning.
He left the ledge, diving after me. Now he faces me, arms crossed and brows furrowed. His eyes darken, a red shade fading away as he glowers at me.
“Don’t do that,” he snaps.
I didn’t mean to scare him.
My actions surprised me too, diving like that, committing to this experience so completely. “Next time, I’ll warn you,” I offer in apology.
