The Dragon's Match

XXIII

XXIII
＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚ ˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

Lillian blamed the shock of her ordeal for her actions, yet the feel of his large, long-fingered hand splayed against her scarred flank was so utterly thrilling she felt powerful and giddy for it. There was a tremble of restraint and resistance in his fingers right before he settled them against her skin, covered by her small hand.

At her back, his hot abdomen clenched and shifted, the water rippling against the edges of the tub, and she was very aware of the hard pressure of his arousal pressing against the soft flesh of her backside.

"What test is this?" he groaned, his chin dipping so that his lips brushed against the shell of her ear, sending waves of excitement coursing down her spine. "How am I to exhibit control to regain your trust if..." his words trailed off, a serrated and agonised breath leaving him while the fingers splayed against her ribs flexed once, twice...

He couldn't possibly know it, but he endeared himself to her with just those words alone, and she turned her cheek towards him, his lips dragging across her skin. It was his open, uninhibited reactions to her that had bolstered her to initiate her bold offer.

For no man had ever looked at her the way Aëghan Dranora looked at her, the way she had caught him throughout the morning when he thought nobody would notice- as if she were the only living thing worthy of adoration, as if a deep and dark craving had rooted in his very soul that only she was able to satiate. It was a heady feeling to realise that she provoked such a response from a male who was notoriously popular amongst fae and human women, a man who was so achingly beautiful her breath caught whenever she chanced to look upon him.

And even though his deception cut deep, his reasons mirrored her own about their compatibility at nurturing a courtship, and he was relinquishing his control of the situation to allow her full autonomy, which was something she was silently revelling in.

Aëghan made her feel beautiful and wanted, despite her scars, despite years of being construed as cold and unapproachable, and her body came alive with that knowledge, leaping upon every nuance of his actions towards her as if starved and desperate.

The tip of his forefinger stroked the underside of her breast in a light and fleeting caress that she unconsciously arched into, her spine curving. Every nerve in her body seemed to focus on that slight movement, her breasts breaking the surface of the steaming water to reveal her hard and aching nipples.

"I'll not beg it of you," she told him, gasping at the next slide of his finger that snaked with tantalising slowness along the curve of her, teasing... torturous.

"Not today," he agreed with another languorous stroke that made her toes curl and her breath hitch. "But perhaps one day soon you will."

It was in that moment she knew he had regained his wicked and usual composure, for his hand swept up to encompass the breast he was torturing, cradling her in his palm with an appreciative squeeze while his other hand spanned her waist, pulling her flush against him. Excitement unfurled across her skin, her breath catching as every hard contour of his chest and abdomen pressed against her back, the unrelentingly hot and solid bar of his cock seeming to pulse between them.

"A duchess never begs," she managed to breathe, earning her breast a decidedly firm squeeze. His fingers brushed over the turgid peak of her nipple before capturing it between his thumb and forefinger, toying with her almost leisurely and absent-mindedly.

"I happen to believe that, with enough incentive-" his voice was dark and promising against her ear, his hand dropping across her waist and stomach to settle on the ridge of her hip, his long fingers dipping ever so slightly- "you can be provoked to."