Not a Dragon's Standard Virgin (MF)
[Siren Classic: Erotic Historical Fantasy Romance, shape-shifters, HEA]
Sacrificial virgins are so sixteenth century, but unless Isabelle finds a man to take her innocence, she’ll likely be next.
For Isabelle Andersen, being a virgin in a dragon-plagued Scottish village is dangerous. Potentially the next dragon sacrifice, Isabelle’s only solution is to lose her innocence, and fast. All she needs is one handsome stranger she can coax into bed, but Lochmore Cott doesn’t get much in the way of visitors.
Jonarrion Swiftwind has sworn off virgins. The last time he took one to his bed, his family paid the price for his lust at the hands of her demon-possessed father. He’s made it his mission to destroy all demons. Nothing distracts him from killing this demon until lovely Isabelle offers him tea. And her virginity.
Just one night of passion makes Jon realize he doesn’t want to let the independent beauty go. But will Isabelle accept him when she discovers the only real dragon in her village…is him?
A Siren Erotic Romance
Isabelle damn near dropped the pottery flagon she’d cleaned when the stranger stepped inside her father’s tavern.
Glory be! I have never seen such a beautiful man.
He stood tall, even taller than Angus MacLeod, the blacksmith’s son who stood at exactly six feet. Dark-brown hair hung, braided at his temples, with the rest pulled back to the base of his neck with a leather thong. Brilliant blue eyes the color of lupine flowers looked out beneath dark arching brows and long lashes. His neatly trimmed beard framed a generous mouth beneath a slightly flattened nose that looked as if it had been damaged in a fight and healed incorrectly.
Isabelle trembled with his intangible power, reveling in the sight of his masculine beauty. His rugged features made him look mysterious and dangerous, sending a feminine pulse straight to her womb. If ever a man existed to whom her virginity should be given, this was him.
Oh, aye, and now all you have to do is ask him. Her gaze swept down his body as he pulled his plaid off his head and surveyed the great room. William MacLeod, the only elder still left in the Careless Wench, stood talking with her father, and the stranger strode toward them with the sinuous grace of a warrior. He reminded Isabelle of the stories she’d heard about William Wallace of old. The sword sticking up over his left shoulder and the chainmail shirt confirmed it, but so did the way he moved.
She sighed a little as he gave her a view of his broad back, and she had the odd urge to see if it was as heavily muscled and powerful as she guessed.
Bloody hell, lass. Focus on what you’re doing.
“Welcome to the Careless Wench, good sir. Are you lookin’ for a pint?”
“To be sure, but also for a warm bed. Have you one of those as well?” The stranger’s voice painted images of comfort, contentment, and far more lustful things in Isabelle’s mind.
“Well now, I may have one for you at that. Isabelle!”
She set down her cloth and straightened her skirt before answering her father’s summons. She could feel the violet gaze of the stranger on her, and it made her skin tingle, but she kept her own eyes on her father’s chin.
“Have the extra rooms been cleaned since our last guests?”
Isabelle wanted to snap at him that of course they’d been cleaned, but that would only irritate her father. Usually she liked nothing more than to needle the philandering prick, but she made herself play the dutiful daughter in front the elder and the stranger. She wouldn’t give them a reason to select her for the Virgin Sacrifice until she’d secured her ineligibility.
“Aye, Father, they have been cleaned.” The beautiful warrior met her eyes, and everything heated as if she’d caught on fire. How could one look do that to her?
“Very well.” Her father narrowed his eyes and grunted with suspicion, but he turned to the stranger with a smile. “There be a free room at the top o’ the stairs that should suit you well enough. Say five coppers a night with supper.”
“Done.” The warrior reached beneath his plaid for his belt pouch, but his gaze returned to Isabelle. “How much for a bath? It’s been a long road between them.”
Oh, Lord, why does the idea of this man bare tease me so?
“Three coppers, four if you want some of my wife’s special soap cakes.” Her father always pandered Elizabeth’s soap cakes for no other reason than to get extra money out of people. They were good, though, and her stepmother made them from fresh herbs, improving everyone’s smell. “They cause a healing, they do. Best soap cakes in the Highlands, I warrant.”
The warrior chuckled, and his laughter sent a shiver up her back. He could laugh like that around her any time he pleased. The timbre of it made her think of the texture of the richest velvet sliding against her skin. She clenched her teeth as her womb tingled, and she shifted her legs to relieve the ache. Dear Goddess, perhaps she’d already become no better than a brazen hussy if his laughter could get her wetter than a soft Highland rain!
“Four coppers it is, if I can have it tonight.” The warrior’s brilliant blue eyes fastened on Isabelle as he smiled, creasing the edges of his mouth upward. She wanted to kiss them.
When they broke apart the second time, her pussy ached, and Jon’s eyes blazed with lustful intent. Before she’d met him, such a look would have frightened her, but his expression only sent more excitement flooding her body and clenched her legs together to allay the pressure building there.
“This needs to be off, now.” His voice was no more than a growl, and Isabelle shivered with delight at its sound as he pulled her chemise over her head.
“Hellwinds, you’re so beautiful.” Jon paused long enough to sweep her body with his cerulean gaze before he stepped up to her and took one turgid nipple into his mouth.
Searing heat hit her awareness just before the tickling pleasure tightened her peak, and Isabelle grasped his shoulders to hold herself steady. Holy Mother Mary, how can his mouth feel so divine? She arched her back as he pinched the neglected nipple between his fingers and suckled hard, blistering pleasure flooding her pussy with juices.
He sat down hard on the bed, and she followed him, grinding her wet core against his rough thigh. Oh sweet mercy, the sensations of his leg hairs on her pussy completely derailed any focus she had, and she keened a low wail. More, more, more. She rode his thigh, wanting and needing, something undefined until now. Must have more.
Jon pulled back from her breast with and smiled with lascivious intent. Isabelle answered him with a moan and a harder grind on his leg.
“That’s it, sweet Belle. Rub your pussy on my thigh.” He steadied her hips with his hands, but she still couldn’t find the right movements to relieve the pressure.
“Can’t find it. Need more.” She squeezed her eyes tight and writhed harder.
“Perhaps this would help.” Jon pressed his hand against her mound and strummed something hard. Pure, fiery pleasure slammed through her and shot her into bliss, streaking across the starfield she saw behind her eyelids.
“Yes, Jon, yes. Yes, yes!”
Isabelle cascaded through soft clouds of delight until she came to a soft rest against Jon’s chest, panting as if she’d run to the Loch and back. “Oooohh.”
A warm chuckle beneath her ear made her sit up slowly and look into Jon’s lupine-blue eyes. Arousal still glowed in their jeweled depths, and she blushed to realize she’d found her pleasure without him. Well, not completely without. He lifted his hand from between her legs and licked the juices off his fingers with a saucy grin.
“You’re far sweeter and responsive than I ever thought you’d be, Belle.”
“You mean ‘wanton.’” She tried to hide her face from him, but he forced her chin up.
“Nay, responsive. There’s nothing to be ashamed of here. Every woman should enjoy this intimacy as much as you did.” He brushed her lips with a chaste kiss. “You’re beautiful when you come.”
“Thank you.” She tried to scoot off his lap, but he clamped his hand to her hip to hold her still. “Is that it, then? Have you taken my innocence?”
A rumbling growl masquerading as a chuckle sparked another flush of pleasure. “Oh, my sweet little virgin, I haven’t even begun to take your innocence.” He rolled her over his side onto the bed and came down on top of her, his head level with her breasts. “We’ve simply warmed you up and primed you for more. But I intend to make certain your education in the art of pleasure is complete before tomorrow morning.”
Boldness surged from some wanton portion of her, and she raised one eyebrow. “Are you, now? And how will you do that?”
He released her so fast she barely saw him move into the center of the room. He whipped off his kilted plaid and stood naked in the light of the lamp, stealing her breath. His cock jutted out from a nest of dark curls and rose in a gentle curve with a mushroomed head. Despite its large size, her mouth watered, and she fisted the bedsheets to keep from reaching for it, to run her hands over it. She licked her lips, and Jon groaned.
“If you keep doing that, I may not be able to resist the need to feel your mouth on my cock.”
“Doing what?” Isabelle never took her gaze from his hard flesh.
“Licking your lips with that hungry look on your lovely face.”
“You want my mouth on your cock?” Why did that idea leave her shaking with want?
“Aye, more than you know.” He returned to the bed and knelt beside it, looping one of her legs then the other over his shoulders. “But first, I’m going to give you another dose of release so you’ll be ready for my cock when it’s time.” His breath tickled the wet hairs on her pussy, and more juices flowed between her legs. “Will you trust me to give you more pleasure?”
She bit her bottom lip in consideration. “Will it also bring you pleasure, Jon?”
The rumbling growl pushed sweet agony through her again. “Beyond human comprehension, Belle.”
“But what about your cock?” She wanted a chance to experience that marvelous organ. Something about it called to her, begging her to touch and lick it.
“I will give you that in time.” He stroked a hand over her thigh, starting the pressuring building in her womb. “Shall we start the next lesson?”
“Aye, please, Jon.”