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Part 1: The Dragon's Hoard

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Oh. Yes.

I must have made a noise that indicated affirmation, because he shifted in a way reminiscent of an alligator, rolling on to its prey.  Quite suddenly I was trapped under his body weight and his teeth nipped at my ears and throat. His skin was cool where it touched my hot flesh.  His breath sent shivers down my spine. 

I never much understood all those romantic songs that talked about a desire to be possessed until I met Valentine.  Now, I wanted him to take me, own me… devour me.

As his mouth swept down to envelope mine, my lips parted hungrily.  But, Valentine would not be rushed.  Maybe it was a cold-blooded dragon thing, but morning sex always began tortuously slow.

Not that I was complaining.  As he moved to straddle me, I let myself marvel in the cleverness of his tongue as it slid into my mouth, teasing lips and teeth and sending more shivers along my arching back.  I wrapped my arms around his broad shoulders knowing I could dig in with my nails as hard as I wanted.  His skin was like stone, almost unbreakable, but I raked my fingers down his side, trying to prod my sleepy dragon to action.

He merely broke our kiss to give me a wicked, ‘ah that’s how it is’ smile.  Then, he moved to nuzzle my neck, nipping every so lightly at the sensitive skin there.  I could feel myself getting hot and wet under his torturously slow attention and I squirmed and moaned desperately.

When he turned his attention to my breasts, I forgot everything, even the annoying sensation of coins sticking to our hot, sweaty skin.  As I squirmed under his touch, the money clunked softly as a small fortune rained to the carpeted floor.

My hands pulled at hair and my nails attempted to scratch, but he took his time licking and teasing and suckling.

Ravished.

It was another one of those ridiculous words I always thought stupid, or, at the very least, hyperbolic to the extreme.  But, at this moment, with his delicate, sharp bites on my stiff and aching nipples I felt it.  I would have given in to wild abandon and screamed if we didn’t have a roommate, and even so I found myself hissing obscenities, demanding to be fucked, now, hard, only much less articulate.  “Fuck me, oh god, oh,” being about as clear as it got.

Thankfully, Valentine seemed to understand. 

#

A tortuously slow, but exquisitely satisfying hour later, a small fortune clattered to the floor as I left a trail of pennies all the way to the shower.

After I’d showered, dressed, and pulled three Euros and a dollar thirty-seven out of the drain, I sat down at the breakfast table with our roommate Robert.  Actually, Robert owned the house and Valentine and I were lodgers.  Robert was an atypical computer programmer—clean-cut, well socialized, and extremely fabulously dressed.  This morning he was in a crisply ironed, white button-down and a tie that managed to match his gentle hazel eyes.  Robert and I had forged a friendship through an online game and, when things fell apart for me in Chicago, he’d offered me a place to stay until I got back on my feet.

He was a really awesome guy—

--who apparently was as fed up with Valentine’s habits as I was starting to be, “It’s got to stop, Alex,” Robert said, moving aside the seventh set of salt and pepper shakers on the table to give me a stern look.  “I think he’s got some kind of compulsion.  I mean, I love shopping with the man. He’s got a real eye for beauty and quality, but… damn.  Thank god ‘Hoarders’ was cancelled or we’d be the next ‘very special episode.’”

“I know,” I said miserably.

Robert picked up the silver saltshaker and admired it.  Clearly an antique, it glittered alluringly in the early morning light. He set it back down gently, “Plus, I don’t know how to say this, but I think…  I think maybe he didn’t exactly pay for all of this stuff.”

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