Total pages in book: 47
Estimated words: 43557 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 218(@200wpm)___ 174(@250wpm)___ 145(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 43557 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 218(@200wpm)___ 174(@250wpm)___ 145(@300wpm)
“Uhm. I….er… I don’t think these bandages are going to work,” I say lamely. “Maybe there’s some other way I can make you feel better?”
I can’t believe I just said that! It tripped right off my tongue without even bothering to ask my brain, an arch suggestion of obvious sexuality.
“Oh yes, what’s that?” He hasn’t moved at all. Hasn’t done anything to either accept my fumbling overtures, or reject them either.
“You tell me.”
Okay, that’s a better response. It could be taken sexually, or just generically. My ass is still covered from the potential humiliation of what I’m doing here.
He chuckles softly and reaches out to me, one finger under my chin, looking into my eyes with his knowing dragon gaze. “I think I had better take care of you,” he purrs, his voice deep and rolling in a way that makes each and every sound wave resonate through me, finding the sensitive parts of my being and making them vibrate in time with his essence. Suddenly, being this close to him isn’t just kind of hot. It’s like a whole new existential experience. I feel like a different person entirely. I feel hot and melty and soft.
“Take care of me?” I almost whisper the question.
“You have a wound as well, remember?”
“I do?” I am momentarily confused.
He smiles slightly, as if I am a very silly girl. “The burn under your chin.”
That has been smoldering away since it happened, but I’ve been so hopped up first on adrenaline, and then with desire, that I barely even felt that little source of pain anymore.
“Oh. Yes. I forgot.”
He leans forward, reaching for the med kit and a tube of burn cream. I shrink down a little, becoming somewhat covered by his body, the rippling planes of his sculpted abdominals suddenly coming to a stop very close to my face. The tip of my tongue extends and makes contact with unwounded, scaled flesh. Just for a brief moment. I bet he won’t even notice. He tastes slightly salty and metallic, but not in a bad way. He tastes like minerals and strength, and fire.
Zayne pulls back to sit up, the tube of burn cream looking comically small in his oversized hand.
“Did you just lick me, Lyric?”
His use of my name snaps me out of whatever erotic reverie I’ve been in and plunges me into another vat of intense feeling. Oh no. I have been terribly naughty.
“Uhm,” I grin a little. “Maybe?”
Zayne
I am in trouble. She is in trouble. We are both in serious trouble. I can feel the attraction between us. I am drawn to her. I’d say it is because it is my job to care, but it is far more than that. When I acted in her defense and took the blow that was little to me, but potentially lethal to her, I felt a surge of affection for her. I felt protective not merely because I had to be, but because I deeply wanted, and perhaps even needed to be.
She’s mine.
She’s on her knees in front of me, hurting in more way than one, but her eyes are gleaming with need for me, and I can scent her desire quite clearly between us. Pheromones are lifting off that delicate skin of hers in their millions and making their way into the air to waft about my face and senses like a sexual soup.
I have one rule, and one rule only in this line of work: don’t sleep with the client.
It’s a simple enough rule, and one I have never had any problems following until now. But this woman is wicked and brave and bold, and also sweet, and alluring, sensitive, and perhaps even submissive. She seems to enjoy her place between my thighs. She is practically curled up between them like a kitten who insists it belongs there.
“Are you hungry?” I ask the question gently, tipping her head back. I could have asked her to lift her head or guided it up with a finger. Instead, I wrap my hand in the dark hair at the back of her head and use that firm and sturdy grip to tilt her head back, exposing her throat and holding her in place.
Like any kitten, she briefly squirms and then settles softly into place as I begin to dab the cooling, soothing, antiseptic cream on the burn she gave herself.
“Not for food,” she says, implying other appetites.
“I’d say you’re more than hungry,” I purr. “I’d say you’re ravenous. Perhaps even starving.”
With that, I use my grip to shift her slightly so she is no longer between my legs, but instead my shin is now positioned between her thighs. When I pull her up and forward, I raise her up enough that the apex of her legs, that sensitive human crotch, becomes the fulcrum where the weight of her upper body is dispersed. She is sitting on my knee, you might say. Or you might say that her sex is grinding against my upper thigh with every motion she makes.