Stil , al these were long and complex steps that one must take to secure themselves a dragoness. An average, everyday, run-of-the-mil dragoness.

Then the Cadwaladr females had come along and that al seemed to change. Since taking their place beside the Northlanders to fight the Irons, the Clan females had been known to f**k whom they liked, when they liked. After a particularly rousing battle, a Cadwaladr female might simply grab the tail of some unsuspecting Northland male and drag him off to a quiet alcove somewhere. None of this the Northland males minded in the least. But it was what happened afterward that they did not favor.

For once done with males, the She-dragons wanted nothing more to do with them. Although, if the male made a good impression, she may tel her kin and the male may find himself busy nearly every night between battles. Which would be fine . . . if the Horde males didn’t have a tendency to get attached to females. Nothing was worse for them than to get lost in the scales of a female, only to find out the next morning the She-dragon wouldn’t even talk to him. Sometimes wouldn’t even acknowledge him. And gods forbid a male got a little pushy. A little demanding. The She-dragons, Vigholf had quickly learned, watched out for each other. A dragon became a little too pushy or demanding and he’d find himself on the wrong side of a Cadwaladr She-dragon attack. A “Tea and Kick Party” they al affectionately cal ed it. It was never pretty and it was hard for the male to ever get his reputation back among his own kin.

Vigholf had seen Rhona dish out quite a few of those attacks in the name of one of her cousins or sisters. She didn’t like pushy males, which was why Vigholf had never been pushy. Or at least not very pushy. Not extremely pushy, anyway. Just . . . sort of pushy. But only to keep Rhona safe.

The question for Vigholf, though, was what did he do now, with Rhona in his arms, her human body pressed into his? Did he hold off, wait to see if what she was feeling went beyond the mere physical?

Or perhaps he should shut up and let her grip his c**k the way she was doing now.

Vigholf closed his eyes, let out a breath while Rhona kissed a line across his jaw until she stopped and pressed her forehead against it.

Yes, al good intentions would have to wait. At least for a little while.

His eyes closed, his breathing shal ow, Vigholf’s whole body tensed when she gripped his cock. Al those muscles going rigid. Taut, as if just one thing, one touch, one move would have him snapping like a tightly coiled line.

Rhona squeezed and air rushed out of him. Then his hands were on her, lifting her up, turning, and shoving her back into the closest tree. He pinned her there with his body, his mouth searching out hers and finding it.

Rhona returned his kiss, enjoying that desperation she’d never seen from him before. Because he was a Northland warrior dragon, desperation was the last thing one ever saw from Vigholf the Abhorrent. Unless, of course, it was the desperation to kil you. Never a good situation to be in.

And yet, even with his desperation, she could tel he was holding back. Afraid of what? Scaring her off? She had no desire to stop him from what he was doing, to push him away as she’d been doing for the last five years when she’d just thought he was being a pest. An annoying pest who had an unhealthy obsession with her spear. But that was yesterday, last week, last month. And this was now.

Knowing and understanding Vigholf’s strength of wil , Rhona knew she had to make what she wanted clear to the dragon. Yet she’d never been one for a lot of words. Especial y during f**king. So she gripped his hand—marveling at the size of the fingers tangling with her own—and led that hand under her leggings and between her thighs. She pressed his fingers against her and released him, leaving the rest to him. Praying he wasn’t as oblivious as some of his kin could be. As sometimes he could be—especial y when it came to horses.

His hand relaxed and for a moment she thought he was going to pul away. But his fingers curled, teasing, gently scraping, and then he pressed his middle finger against her clit, making smal circles against it.

With her legs wrapped around Vigholf and his other arm holding her up, Rhona was free to grip the tree behind her. She dug her fingers into the bark while Vigholf stroked her. Making her wet and squirm. He took her mouth again, silencing what had become persistent whimpers. When she moved her hands from the tree and wrapped her arms around his neck, he pressed hard against her clit, stil making those damn little circles.

She ended up screaming into their kiss, her legs tightening around him, and her body shaking as Vigholf made her come with those ridiculously large fingers of his.

Before she even finished, her leggings were torn from her and before she could say a word, think about anything but how long it had been since she’d come like that, she felt his c**k pressing against her, then in her.

She gasped, her arms tightening around his neck. Never before could she remember being so grateful to have a c**k inside her, ramming its way through stil -pulsating-and-grasping muscle. The entire time he never stopped kissing her. That demanding, desperate, and oddly sweet kiss that had her knees shaking.

His hands slid under her now bare ass and gripped her tight, holding her steady while he dragged his c**k slowly out of her, both of them groaning at the feel of it.

Then Vigholf was plunging back in, Rhona unable to stop the little squeal that came out from him fil ing her up, nearly stretching her out. Gods, was it her imagination or had a c**k never felt so good before? It was true, it had been a while, but the gods be damned, this felt so good.

And Vigholf’s inordinately large body keeping her pinned to that blasted tree . . . aye, that felt really good too.