Dragon Desire. Lisette Ashton
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Nihal’s exclamation was shrill with surprise and outrage. Whatever special connection had been growing between them was rent asunder before the words had finished bouncing from the stone walls of the offices.
‘What the hell would you want with dragon horn, Caitrin? You shouldn’t even know about dragon horn. You certainly won’t find any here. These are respectable offices.’
‘Dragon horn is very nice,’ Caitrin confided.
‘Nice? You’ve tried it?’ Nihal took a wary step backward. The crimson shoulders inside the robe stiffened with indignation. ‘You mean you’re no longer chaste?’
Caitrin giggled. ‘I’ve been chaste and I’ve been caught. That’s not a problem, is it?’
‘You’re no longer a virgin?’
Caitrin frowned. ‘The stories of your superior intelligence weren’t an exaggeration, were they? There’s not a lot slips past the keen observational skills of Nihal the legendary mage from the southernmost –’
‘Fuck!’ Nihal roared. ‘Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!’
If she had been able to control her physical responses, Caitrin would have flinched from the ferocity of the exclamation. Instead she could only stand naked and motionless and tolerate the mage’s fury.
‘No!’ Nihal shrieked. ‘This can’t be happening. Not again.’
The mage suddenly stepped close. One hand encircled Caitrin’s waist. The weight of the velvet robe was a forceful and erotic caress. She caught the fragrant scent of sandalwood and incense that always lingered on the mage’s flesh. It was a sultry combination that now made her inner muscles clench with greedy haste.
A hand pressed between her legs.
The thrill of excitement blossomed between her thighs. The rush of wanton need turned her loins to a fluid heat. From the shadows within the cowled hood she caught a glimpse of the mage’s features. There was a suggestion of high cheekbones, almond eyes and ripe, kissable lips.
Strong inquisitive fingers stroked against her labia.
The desire to be penetrated was sudden and avaricious.
She parted her thighs and grinned as not one but two fingers slipped into the smouldering confines of her wetness. In the stillness of the moment she could hear the soft dewy squelch of the penetration. She imagined she could hear her inner muscles suckling lightly against the cool fingertips that nestled in her warmth. The mage’s touch slipped into her with such ease she murmured, ‘Why don’t you glide a third in there?’
‘Fuck!’ Nihal exclaimed.
The mage tore the fingers from her sex. The exclamation and the action were so pained and unexpected Caitrin stepped back in surprise. With a twinge of sadness she realised that the spell that had been holding her in place was now spent.
Broken.
‘What’s wrong?’ Caitrin asked.
‘You’ve lost your innocence,’ Nihal snapped sharply. The mage stepped to the left and then the right. It was the dance of someone harried, perplexed and uncertain. ‘The castellan will be outraged. Heads are going to roll for this.’ With a shrill cry of despair, Nihal added, ‘It’ll probably be my head that rolls for this. Why do you keep doing this, Cait? Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!’
‘Why is my innocence the concern of my father?’
Nihal glared at her. ‘Didn’t you hear what I was saying before? The thane is going to offer your hand to Gethin ap Cadwallon this evening.’
It was a revelation to Caitrin. She was sure that wasn’t something that had been discussed before. She stared at Nihal in disbelief. ‘He’s going to offer my hand?’ She couldn’t keep the shock from her voice. ‘He’s going to offer me up for betrothal? To a man with a name I can’t pronounce?’
‘It’s not just you,’ Nihal allowed. ‘Gethin will be allowed to choose between you and your sister.’
‘And that’s supposed to make it better?’
‘I thought you knew.’
Caitrin clutched at the mage. ‘You have to help me,’ she begged. ‘You have to do something to stop this.’
‘I don’t have time,’ Nihal complained. ‘I’m supposed to be casting protection spells around the whole of Blackheath. I’m supposed to scrutinise Gethin ap Cadwallon with my own magicks to make sure he’s not a dark mage and I’ve got to –’
‘You have to do something to stop this,’ Caitrin insisted.
The mage thought for a moment. ‘I can get your virginity back for you.’
‘What?’
‘I can get your virginity back. I have a spell.’ The mage pushed her away and rushed to the south wall to rummage through the books on the shelves. ‘I have a grimoire from the Orient,’ Nihal mumbled. ‘It’s on one of these shelves. I’ve done this for you before.’
‘Why would I want my virginity back?’
Pulling volumes from the shelves, the mage spoke without looking back. ‘If your father marries you to Gethin, and Gethin discovers you’re not a maid, it could prove catastrophic for the fiefdom. It could prove catastrophic for the whole of the North Ridings. Gethin will see it as an insult.’
‘That’s ridiculous.’
Nihal shrugged. ‘I don’t make the rules for this sorry excuse for a society. I have enough difficulty following the magicks.’ With a sigh of relief Nihal pulled a large leather-bound tome from a high shelf and said, ‘Here. This is the grimoire. This is the book that holds the spell I need.’
‘You don’t have to –’ Caitrin got no further.
Nihal swiped the bitternut wand in her direction. Further words refused to pass her lips.
‘If I don’t restore your virginity there’ll be war,’ the mage grumbled. ‘Imagine if someone discovered that you’d been naked in my offices this evening. Imagine if someone learnt that I’d had my fingers inside you.’
Imagine if you were to do it again, Caitrin thought dreamily.
She wouldn’t let the idea take hold of her thoughts. She couldn’t even produce the words to tell Nihal that no one would learn of what had happened in the offices from her lips. She could only stand silent and watch as the mage pulled necessary ingredients from the stoppered jars on the walls.
‘Sit here,’ Nihal barked, clearing clutter from the central counter in the middle of the chamber.
Caitrin found herself sitting on one of the mage’s high counters. She hadn’t even been aware that her body had been moving in response to the mage’s instructions.
‘Part your thighs. Drink this.’
A flagon of honeyed wine was thrust into her hand. She sniffed it doubtfully.
‘What’s this?’
‘Wine.’
‘What does it do?’
‘It will get you drunk.’ Nihal was busying collecting ingredients for the spell. ‘Now drink the damned stuff and stop pestering me with stupid questions. Isn’t it enough that I’ve got to mess around to try and remedy all the problems that you’ve already caused?’
She could hear the irritation in the mage’s tone and wished Nihal’s upset didn’t sting. She liked the mage and hadn’t wanted to cause problems. She watched as Nihal alternated between reading from the large leather-bound grimoire and then rushing to find necessary ingredients from the shelves before adding them to a granite mortar.
Warily, she sipped the honeyed wine.
It