Page 50 of Chained to the Champion
She pulled me up, her mouth fierce, lips devouring the last traces of her taste from me. She was wild now, wanton, her grip on me urgent and sure. My shaft throbbed against her belly. Her hands explored, fingertips a delight as they traced scales, ridges, veins. Her thumb stroked the lip at the tip, drawing out another string of hot, heady slick, tasting me with every pass.
“You are fucking amazing,” she murmured, hunger and awe blending. “I want to know you’re real.”
She pressed me down, taking her place above me for a moment, testing both her power and my trust. Her tongue ran the length of my throbbing cock, and as she drew the crown into her mouth, the lip caressed her in turn, a wordless exchange, my gift for hers.
I trembled, tail flailing against bedding, claws scraping for anchor. “Keep that, and I will fall,veshari.”
She paused, wicked satisfaction softening her smile. “Do you want me to stop?”
“If you leave me wanting, I will never forgive you.”
She drew me deeper, savoring, until my control frayed. I caught her hand, not to stop her, but to save some last remnant of self.
She tasted victory and let me pull her astride me, straddling my waist, her hair wild, her eyes molten and inescapable.
She angled me to her center, the lip at my tip stroking, beckoning, pledging. I steadied her hips, guiding without force, letting her take as much as her body would allow. Inch by slow inch she sank over me, a sacred joining—her velvet heat stretched, enfolded me, claimed me in return.
“Oh, God—” Her words dissolved in sighs.
I thrust gently, fighting the wildfire urge to lose myself, savoring her every wince and whimper, her pleasure-twisted features the most beautiful sight in all the world. The lip at my crown swirled within, stroking secret spots, coaxing more pleasure, coaxing more love.
She braced above me, riding slowly, her hands splayed on my chest, fighting for every ounce of control as desire warred with need. I caught her gaze, refusing to let this be anything less than truth.
“Say it,” I begged, hardly more than a breath, not sure what I was truly asking.
She met me, spirit unbroken, pleasure blazing fierce as any flame. “Yes, please, cum in me. I need you.”
Her words broke me. I surged up, hips meeting hers in a rhythm older than stone, cock jerking as her body clenched, surrendering to release once more. My tail circled her waist, drawing her closer, grounding us both in the holy tangle of flesh and longing and hope.
Her climax tore her name from my lips, a raw, wordless roar. I spilled into her, thick and unrestrained, marking her at every level, body and soul, our scents knitted now and forever in the air around us.
We held, trembling, my tail refusing to let her go, body shuddering with every aftershock. Her sweat streaked my scales, and her scent became my sanctuary.
Eventually, she eased off, collapsing at my side, thighs marked by our joining, stomach glittering with all we’d spent. I watched my claim seep into her skin, not a brand of dominance, but the most fragile, sacred contract, hers as much as mine.
I gathered her in, pressing my lips to her temple, breathing her in, sharing all that was fierce and all that was soft. “You are a danger I would face a thousand times,” I murmured, “and I would choose you. Always.”
Beyond the door, darkness lurked, echoes of shouts, the press of duty, and the arena’s bloody challenges. But here, wreathed in the scent and heat of our union, there was only this fragile, precious hour.
I cleaned the last traces from her skin with my tongue, savoring the taste of us, the way she shivered gently in my hold. When I wrapped my tail around her, it was not to claim, but to shield, to cradle all of her, for as long as fate allowed.
Her fingers twined through mine, silent, but so much passing between us.
Bond-words hovered, unspoken, on my tongue, in the echoing fullness of my heart. Not yet. But I would speak them.
Soon.
18
ZARVASH
The tasteof victory soured quick in Ignarath. The corridor beyond the arena pulsed hot with old blood and fresh humiliation, dust grit grinding under my scales. I could barely feel the afterglow, only the ache in my side, a poison throb deep under bruised ribs, every breath a reminder I was still alive.
For now.
Guards herded me from the sand with dull nods, hands jittery for a fight even when the arena was done with me. Respect on their terms: given only to those too stubborn to die. I shrugged off the worst of the dust, worked my shoulder against the ache, eyes hunting for danger. The Ignarath never let an enemy forget where they stood; they paraded you, sometimes with banners, sometimes with knives.
Omvar stood in the crook of shadow and torchlight, impossible to miss. Red giant, bull-strong, his silhouette dwarfing the guards who pretended not to fear him. He pushed off the wall as I neared, torch glow flickering over the broad plane of his scaled shoulders.
