The Dragon's Match

XXXI

"He's rather cute, don't you think?"

"Aëghan, why would you think I would want one of these creatures as a pet? I can barely tolerate the cat, and let us not start on Millie's creature..."

He merely grinned, holding out the pup to her. Despite her ornery words and scowl, she took the little thing and cradled it protectively to her bosom. The pup squirmed and made a lamentable trilling noise, but quickly seemed to settle against her warmth. "I did not pluck it from its mother, if that's what you are thinking," he told her wryly. "He had a broken leg, probably from a fall which they are oft known to do, and his litter had already departed the area, leaving him alone and vulnerable."

Her expression softened substantially. "He had a broken leg?" She studied him expectantly.

"I healed him, of course."

A small scoffing sound escaped her at that, and her gaze lowered to consider the tiny creature in her arms. "Yet you refuse to do anything about the marks on your back."

"Those, my little cat, I wear with pride." His grin was unrepentant. If Lillian Adams was cool and composed as a representation of her role of leadership in her society, in his bed she was wildly uninhibited and prone to falling apart at the first touch of his lips.

And he couldn't get enough of her- of the sounds she made when she was overcome by desire, of how her body writhed through climax after climax- and he was wholly in awe of her, however many times she rose to his challenges to sustain herself longer each time. She may temper her emotions, actions and responses outside the bedroom, but there was an untameable and insatiable side to her that matched his own.

She had appeared shocked and mortified when she had seen the abrasions that had welted his skin at her doing, even more so when he had threatened to not wear a shirt when tending to several matters in the forest the next few days.

But it was somewhat astounding to him how urgent the need for her had become. It was almost constant, his state of arousal, and Lillian had no qualms matching that need. In truth, they spent most of their time tearing at each other's clothes, if they had even managed to put any on at all, and there was not a chamber within the ruins that he hadn't taken her.

He wished he could blame his carnal need for her on just that- lust, desire, and little else. He wished he could differentiate between the devotion he felt for her and the ever-burning desire coursing through him. But it was an effort in futility and he felt himself losing the inner battle against his common sense.

He had countless hours to rationalize it all while she slept, as he kept silent sentinel over her. Normally, she fell asleep on her stomach, her arms tucked under her pillow and her face turned to the side as she nestled against him for warmth, and it was in these moments, as he stroked the warm skin of her back and memorised the contours of her flesh- of everything that made her, her- that a peculiar sort of harmony befell him and everything was right in his world. It was during these hours that the cogs of his brain worked, that he endeavoured to rationalise how he felt about her, or how he attempted to convince himself that he couldn't feel anything for her.

The more he tried to rationalise how doomed their situation was, that he couldn't possibly be nurturing a blossoming love for her, the more she proved him wrong.

It became apparent after their first night together that Aëghan could no longer maintain that their relationship was intrinsically sexual. Not when she ventured into the village and began to befriend his tenants- his people- and when that wasn't enough, she took it upon herself to catalogue their needs and desires for their impending relocation. He had yet to definitively decide upon a land or property that was suitable, and without provocation Lillian was doing just that.