Dragon Bitten (Shifter Paranormal Dragon Romance) (The Fire Dragon Series Book 2) Read online

  Dragon Bitten

  Shifter Paranormal Dragon Romance

  Amy Faye

  Published by Heartthrob Publishing

  If you want news about new novel releases, you can sign up for my mailing list here: http://eepurl.com/cmQY05

  Here’s a preview of the sexy love story you’re about to read…

  I found myself back in Seth's room before I knew what I was doing, and I ought to have regretted it. I knew that it was stupid, wrong, and that I shouldn't have given him that much. Not so soon after giving him an ounce of forgiveness. He's bound to get the wrong idea. Hell, I'm bound to get the wrong idea.

  But he is so damned convincing, and I wanted to let myself be convinced, even if I should have known better. And I should have. But oh, God, did I want to make the mistake, and here I am, his strong arms wrapped around me, my legs wrapped around his waist before we've even gotten around to taking our clothes off.

  I want to feel his skin against mine, to feel him moving inside me, to be his again. To be taken by him. Seth knows all this. He knows without me telling him, and that's part of what draws me to him.

  But I tell him anyways. "Oh God, I needed this."

  He responds by taking my throat in his mouth and kissing roughly. Then he bites down hard, and I let out a moan in surprise. A pleasant surprise.

  His hips rock forward, and something very hard and very big presses against my mound. Teasing me. Tantalizing me. He does it again and I can feel my breath quickening.

  "You like that?"

  "Fuck," I answer. I don't know what to say. It's not enough, but it's a step in the right direction. "Yes."

  His body felt unspeakably good against mine. His arms dropped lower, cupping my ass and squeezing. Like I was just some kind of whore that he could take as he pleased. And I shivered because I knew, deep down, that maybe I was. And maybe I liked it.

  When his hand comes back up, his fingers find the hem of my shirt and take it with them, up and over my head. It's lost an instant later in a heap on the floor. His shirt joined it a moment later, and then a moment after that, my bra made the top of the pile.

  His head dipped even as his hips moved up again and rocked pleasantly against my groin again, and took one hardening nipple between his lips. Then between his teeth. He squeezed and pulled, and my breath caught in my throat. I squeezed my eyes together and let out a long, low, throaty moan.

  "That's it. Like that."

  My fingers dug into his hair. He was more than satisfied, though, with my breasts. He stood up underneath me, his hands cupping under my ass and holding me up, and then turned and dropped my weight hard onto the couch. I bounced a little bit off the cushion and in that instant of uncertainty he was grabbing me again.

  This time he didn't waste his time with kisses or caresses. He found the button on my jeans and pulled it open roughly and then put a hand down on my belly to stop any resistance. The other hand found my zipper, pulled down, and then he caught a fold of my jeans, around my knees, and pulled down. The jeans protested for a moment before going where he pulled them.

  Then he dipped down and started to use his mouth on me. The movements weren't intended for my pleasure. He moved his tongue quickly and sharply, and like trying to paint a wall in a hurry. Every little movement sent an electric pleasure down my spine, though, and before I could stop him I was already starting to tense up from pleasure.

  He didn't waste time taking his own pants off. He undid the button of his trousers and worked the zipper quickly. He was inside me in a single rough thrust. I could feel a little orgasm start to blossom in me with just that one; the tension in my gut continued to build, though, as he moved more.

  I needed this. I'd missed it every night. Every night that I could hear my boss trying to be quiet about his 'private time' with his pocket twink. I wasn't being quiet, though.

  "God, fuck me," I called out. Almost shouted. He did exactly that, moving his hips harder, harder.

  "You're so fucking tight," he managed through gritted teeth. He took a grip on one of my arms and used it like a leash, pulling me onto him to match his thrusts.

  "Hit me," I said. "Slap me. Hurt me. Fuck. I'm so fucking close."

  There was a loud pop, and my head rocked to one side. I didn't feel the pain until a second later, blossoming out until it melded with the feeling of his cock ramming into me. Exactly the stimulation I needed. I let out a moan and then he moved harder still, fucking me deeper. Fucking me into oblivion, it felt like.

  I don't remember closing my eyes, but I remember my vision being completely blank. Sightless. I could hear my own voice, timed to the slap of flesh on flesh. I could hear his voice, too. "You like that, don't you?"

  I tried to tell him that I did, but it came out as a long, wordless, throaty moan. Then he gave me exactly what I wanted. Exactly what I needed. I felt him twitch inside me and then I felt the warmth of his seed spreading through my stomach.

  If you want news about new novel releases, you can sign up for my mailing list here: http://eepurl.com/cmQY05

  1

  I don't know when it started, and I don't know when I started to tell myself that it was all okay, but I know the exact moment that it ended. I was in the bathroom, doing what I always did when Kyle was working. I was hiding and pretending that I wasn't terrified of him, and of the people he had coming around.

  It was easier that way. I don't like to think of myself as someone who's afraid. And maybe I'm not. But I know that when Kyle gets into a mood, he's not generally keen on listening to reason, and I'm not big enough to make him listen.

  I'm not big enough to leave, either. The only option I've got, like it or not, is to let it happen and hope that I don't end up in worse trouble than I'm in already. That Kyle never suddenly decides that he's going to play a game that involves taking a bat to my head instead of his fists.

  So I get the warning that there's someone coming, and I go to take a bath. It's what I always do, and I get a lot of baths. I hope that this time it's just some pothead, like Eric or Craig. They're almost bearable. But too often, these days, Kyle's selling the hard stuff. The 'get yourself killed one of these days' stuff.

  The voice this time is different. I don't recognize it at all. Kyle's voice rises. "Get the fuck out of here, man!"

  Whoever is on the other side of that door says something back to him. Says it really quiet, really confident. Like there's nothing in the world worrying him right now. Like he's not afraid of Kyle, and he's not particularly concerned about pissing him off.

  "You need to get the fuck out of here, now, or else," Kyle says. There's a touch of shrillness to his voice, like he's panicking and he's panicking bad. Good for him, I guess. I just hope that he can avoid shooting the guy, because that will just bring the cops down on his head.

  When the cops come around, it's my turn to lie for him. I'm not going to question his orders. Not after the first few times. I'm an idiot for dating him in the first place, but I'm not such an idiot that I'm going to let myself get killed standing up to him.

  I feel like I'm going to throw up. "I've got a gun," Kyle says. By the time he says that, it's always too late to have said it. He pulls it out first. Shows it to them. There's no reason to tell them you have a gun when you can point it right at them. They know by then. Then again, Kyle was never the brightest guy.

  The gun goes off an instant later. I expect another gunshot, but I don't hear one. I dip deeper in the water until my ears are under. It hurts, and they fill with water that I'll need to get out someho
w later, but it muffles the noises in the other room.

  There's a thump. Another thump. And by this point, my heart's beating so hard that I'm afraid it's going to pop out of my chest.

  The door opens. The lock was just a little click-button, and you can open it with a bobby pin. Anyone who wants to can get in. So my first reaction is to cover up. Cover my whole body.

  "Are you with him?"

  "Please don't hurt me," I say.

  I don't recognize the man standing in the doorway, but he's tall and has an almost alien beauty to him. As pretty as a woman, but he's got an almost perfect body. I stifle a gasp as he steps in.

  "That's not an answer. You sell drugs?"

  "I can't stand that stuff," I say. It's impossible not to recall that I'm still sitting here, covering myself. "I wanted him to stop. I wanted to leave."

  "Why didn't you?"

  "I couldn't," I tell him. I don't expect the guy to understand.

  "Or he'd hit you?"

  "He'll hit me anyways. If I left, he'd kill me. Had to. I knew too much, and he couldn't stand to let anyone stand up to him."

  The guy lets out a long sigh. "I was afraid of that."

  "You're not going to hurt me?"

  "No, I'm not going to hurt you."

  There's an instant where I'm not sure whether or not to believe him.

  "Promise."

  "Look, do you want to get out of here?"

  "I really shouldn't…"

  "You really should. You want to be the only one around when he wakes up?"

  I do the math in my head. I've got nowhere else to go, but he's right. The minute that Kyle gets up, I'm going to be in a world of hurt.

  "I'm not wearing any clothes," I say, dimly. Suddenly I understand Kyle saying 'I've got a gun' when it's plainly obvious. He doesn't seriously expect me to climb out with him standing there… right?

  "Yeah, I know. I'll wait outside. But if you want out, this is your chance. And don't try anything, alright? I've got eyes in the back of my head."

  Then you should close the door, I think. But I don't say it. I wait a moment as he turns his back and climb out of the bath, toweling myself off in a hurry. The water wasn't hot any more, but the air in the apartment was.

  I dress quickly and silently, and then we're on the way out. He gets into a car, and then looks confused when I slide in next to him.

  "You got someplace else to go?"

  "No," I tell him. "So let's go."

  "You drink?"

  "What do you know about Kyle?"

  "So you do, then."

  "Socially," I tell him. I leave out the fact that 'socially' means frequently, and with precisely the sort of people I don't want to get drunk with.

  "Good. I know a place."

  The place isn't nearby, I discover. It's not one of Kyle's usual haunts, and not even a place I've heard of. And the stuff he drinks is expensive. Too rich for my blood, frankly, but I don't refuse it. I wouldn't refuse it.

  And as it turns out, the expensive stuff is what I should have been drinking from the beginning, because for the first time in a long time, I actually feel like I can drink my worries away.

  Which might be how I ended up at his apartment an hour later, stripping his tee-shirt off to take in the ropy lines of muscle beneath.

  2

  I shouldn't be here. I know I shouldn't, and the fact of the matter is that I'm not really interested in thinking too hard about it.

  His lips trace a line down my collar bone, to the place where the two of them break. Then he starts to trace down further. I push his head where I want it to go. Right to the good part. His lips find my nipple and press a kiss, then open to spread around and suck in.

  He starts moving his hands but I swat them away from me. I'm going to take this at my pace. I'm already making plenty of mistakes here; I'm not going to make the mistake of being someone's little play-toy.

  So I push him back, back, back. My eyes scan the room until they find a lazy-boy, and I move him onto it, push forward a little more, and then I'm up on top of him. In his lap. And then he bites down on my nipple, and I tug at his hair gently.

  "Oh, that's good."

  He does it again, and I like the way it hurts. I rub my hips forward. I take charge. Our skin presses together and he feels hot. Even overheated. And I'm not going to complain for a second.

  Then he moves to my other breast and does the same delightful, same delicious things to that one. I let out a low gasp. "God, yes."

  His hips rise to meet mine as I roll forward against him. It presses his hardness up into my core, hinting at what's going to come next. Practically telling me, and it's everything I want. Everything I need.

  Then I pull him off of me, using his hair like it's a handle, and I stand up. I pull him off the chair.

  "You're going to lick my pussy, and you're going to like it," I say. He smiles, a toothy, aggressive, almost mean look. And then he starts working my pants down.

  I don't know what I was expecting, of course. Seth hooked his hands into my jeans, pulls them down over my hips. "As you wish," he says. I should have known right then, but I didn't. If I had, I might have told him 'no,' and I'd have regretted it.

  He got down between my knees, still giving me that look. That wild, hand in the cookie jar expression that I'd almost gotten used to over the past hour and a half.

  Then he took my legs over his shoulders, leaned in, and–

  "Oh fuck," I said. He'd gotten the wrong hole, and I didn't know whether or not to tell him because it was fucking hot. He would know, right? "That's, uh–"

  He pulled away and I let out my breath. Breath I didn't even realize I'd been holding. "You got a problem?"

  "Isn't it… you know…"

  "You let me worry about that, babe," He said, and then he leaned back in and squeezed my legs tight with either hand and dug in. My body started tensing up immediately. Tensing up for more reasons than one. I'd never let anyone near that. Not since I started having sex.

  It was a new frontier, and dear God was I missing out. One finger started to rub my clit, hard and fast. It was like his tongue was multiplying everything else that was happening to me. The feeling of his finger brushing across me, across my most sensitive places, was like a lightning bolt hitting me square in the chest, and I could feel myself tensing up hard.

  When I let my thighs loose around his head, he pulled back.

  "You liked that, huh?"

  "Fuck," I said. It was the only word I knew to describe what had just happened.

  "You ready for what comes next?"

  I don't think I am. I think I'm not. But I think I want it, whether I'm ready or not.

  "God, please." I don't know what I want. But I think he knows what I want. I think he knows better than I do. So when he pulls open a drawer in a side-table, and starts squirting something onto his fingers, I don't ask questions.

  He works one into me. It's ungodly slow, and every little movement even before he dips a single inch into me is sensitive. Like it tickles, but I'm not laughing. I let out a low moan and try to ease him in faster. He doesn't let me, holding my chest down to the seat of the chair.

  Then another inch, and another, and then I feel him wiggle inside me and it stretches in the most impossibly great way. My body starts tightening back up, but I hear his voice through the haze. "Relax."

  He starts to pull out, and then when he starts to ease his fingers back in, there's another, and I let out a voice that's not entirely pleasure. It hurts, a pain that I've been chasing for as long as I've known how good a little hurt can feel.

  And then he starts moving those fingers inside me, and I can only imagine what it's going to be like when he uses his cock. I don't have to imagine very long. The bottle's back in his hand before I know what's going on, and he poured it on his cock like he'd done this before.

  Then he took a grip on me, the crease of my hips, and lined himself up, and then started in. Very gently, at first. Not gently enough. No
thing could have been gentle enough. But then again, it wasn't rough enough. It should have hurt more. I wanted it to hurt more. Because the more it hurts, the better it feels. And I need to feel good. I need to feel impossibly good.

  And then he's all the way inside, reaching in so far I can feel him tickling my brain, and I am feeling good. I'm feeling impossibly good. Then he starts to move, and I realize that I'm not even halfway ready for what I've got. It hurts. It hurts so bad. It hurts so good.

  "Oh god, faster," I beg. He's moving slow. So slow. And I want more. But he keeps going slow. Keeps smiling at me like he knows something.

  "Say please," he says. His thumb's at my lips, and I take it into my mouth.

  "Please, Seth, fuck my ass," I beg.

  And then he moves harder. Faster. Somewhere between orgasms five and six, I feel him start to jerk against me. Start to twitch inside me. And then I feel him start moving harder. Faster. And I feel something delicious and warm and moist fill me up.

  And then I lose myself in the delirium of another orgasm and overwhelming feelings, and he pulls himself out of me.

  3

  I don't like waking up. Every morning since before I remember, I felt that way. I thought that Kyle was going to be different. He was motivated, he was smart, and he was doing things. The things he was doing, of course, were all the wrong ones. I didn't learn that until later, though.

  It turns out, a drug dealer boyfriend can make pretty good money, but what he can't do is deal with people who aren't addicted to drugs. It turns out that a man who knows what he's about, knows what women want, knows how to get women.

  Turns out that a drug dealer who knows how to get women isn't going to have a whole ton of discretion about who he gets. And odds are good, he's not going to have a whole lot of good judgment about where he brings them once they're got.

  So when it was my parents, it was one worry, and then when it was Kyle, it was a whole rainbow of worries, but I've never wanted to wake up. Today's no different. I wake up like I'm digging my own grave, slowly but surely. And then I start to remember, and then things just feel worse.