Mercy Of The Dragon

Kerkira approached the bedding. The slayer, naked and bound with cord to his pallet, continued to sleep. Kerkira swallowed hard. Ja’darien was beautiful in repose. His perfect form was seemingly at peace. His full lips softened to a half smile. High brows arched over expressive eyes.

On the ridge above the ravine, those emerald eyes had revealed more than fear and hatred. Passion and lust. Even if Kerkira hadn’t scented the sweetness of his essence, he’d felt the heat radiating off Ja’darien. Ja’darien’s engorged cock had pressed against his tunic. The arousing fluids dampened the protective cloth and sent shards of pleasure unfurling within Kerkira’s dragon—awakening the man.

“How do I make you understand?” he whispered to the sleeping slayer. If only Ja’darien had realized he’d destroyed his destiny with his rage against dragons.

Kerkira had stripped him of clothes upon arriving at his lair. His mate was for his pleasure and the need to roam hand, mouth and cock over the muscular perfection was increasing with each passing moment. Instinct to mate, to claim him—to mark him—was overwhelming. But so was the need to discipline the slayer, to punish him with painful pleasure.

As he had tied the intricate knots in the rope, binding Ja’darien to the bed, Kerkira’s clawed hands had trembled.

“You will never slaughter another Drac,” Kerkira vowed. Ja’darien’s destiny was to serve and Kerkira would see to his instruction. “For the pain and death you’ve rained upon my species, your submission to me will be total and complete.” His eyes narrowed as he visualized a submissive Ja’darien accepting Kerkira’s power and learning to take pleasure in punishment. Ja’darien had been fighting against his true nature. A dragon’s mate was always submissive. “However, it may not always be pleasant.”