Wolf Princess Sold to the Dragon King

Guinevere placed both palms flat onto the mattress on either side of Maddox, and tried to push herself up.

Her torso made it approximately two inches off his body. His arms clamped down. Steel bands. Zero give. The laws of physics were firmly on his side.

”Are you going to let me move?”

”Haven’t decided yet.”

”Maddox.”

”The answer is evolving. Current trajectory says no.”

She huffed against him. His dragon purred so loudly he was fairly certain she could hear it through his ribs.

”What do we usually do in the mornings?” His question was casual. Conversational. Not at all the energy of a man whose dragon was feeding him the question like a lawyer coaching a witness.

”Interesting. Your heart rate just went from seventy to ninety-four,” he commented, and the grin was audible.

The noise she made was somewhere between a groan and a laugh and it was his new favorite sound on the planet.

He moved.

The flip was fast enough to be disorienting and slow enough to be deliberate. One arm braced behind her head, the other at her waist, and he rolled them in a single, fluid motion that put her back against the mattress and him above her.

His weight settled over her. Hips between her thighs. Forearms framing her face. The position was proprietary and unapologetic and his body locked into it with the confidence of a man who had been here before, even if his brain couldn’t supply the specific receipts.

He kissed her forehead. Slow.

Then her left cheek. Her right cheek. The tip of her nose. The space between her eyebrows. Her temple. Her jaw. The corner of her mouth.

He had done exactly this two weeks ago. Same sequence. Same deliberate avoidance of her lips. Same devastating patience. The man had no memory and the same playbook.

A laugh broke out of her. Real. Bright. The kind of laugh that lives in the chest before it reaches the throat, the kind that can only be startled out of a person who has been holding themselves together so tightly that joy catches them off guard.

”If I’d known face kisses got that reaction, I would’ve woken you up like this,” he said in between kisses.

A sound left her throat that was half laugh, half something else entirely. She felt the effect of it immediately. His mouth paused against her skin. His grip tightened. Whatever that sound was, it had landed.

He pressed his lips gently to the mark on her neck.

She winced for a second. It was definitely bruised.

He pulled back immediately. His thumb found her jaw and tilted her face toward his. The playfulness was gone.

”Will you let me take care of you, Gwen?”

Gwen. This version of Maddox had already shortened her name. He had also asked her this exact question two weeks prior.

”What is it, baby?” he asked, studying her face.

She hadn’t realized her eyes were welling until they were. He caught a tear with his thumb. She didn’t want to tell him that he’d said that exact same thing to her.

”Was that question rhetorical?”

It was the first thing that came to her mind. The exact response she’d used the first time. Word for word. And the fact that he would never know that, that the echo existed only inside her, was the loneliest thing she’d felt since waking up.

He laughed. The sound rumbled through his chest and into hers and her wolf pressed forward so hard Guinevere’s vision blurred at the edges.

He rolled off the bed, picked her up, and was through the bathing chamber door before she could point out that her legs worked. They did work. He didn’t care.

He turned on the faucets, still holding her. A talent.

He set her on the counter. Stepped between her legs. Turned her chin with one hand and went still.

She watched his face change. The playfulness left first. Then the color. It took her a second to understand that he was looking at the bruise, and another second to understand how bad it must look based on how bad he looked seeing it.

His thumb hovered over it without touching it. His jaw worked once.

She could see him doing the math. Every calculation was making his jaw tighter and she needed to stop that before he spiraled into guilt that would ruin the best morning she’d had in a week.

She gently put her hand on his wrist. ”Hey, Maddox. It’s okay.”

He looked at her, surprised.

”Wolves heal fast. It doesn’t hurt,” she added. It did hurt. A white lie. He needed it.

Unbeknownst to her, he had also zeroed in on something else with the bruise. Something he wanted to ask about, but was holding off because, from his vantage point, she had just relaxed and he wasn’t going to be the reason that stopped.

So he swallowed it and refocused.

”It looks like I hurt you.”

”You didn’t.”

”It needs salve and a cold compress for the swelling.”

Her lips twitched. ”Dragon venom’s a bitch.”

She said it to lighten the mood. It worked.

He let out a resigned laugh and pressed his forehead to hers.

”Hearing a wolf say the word bitch—”

She whacked him before he could finish his sentence, but she was smiling.

His fingers found the hem of her chemise. It was a small, very short one that she assumed he’d put on her, which shouldn’t have embarrassed her, but it did.

She didn’t flinch when his hands found the hem. He pulled the chemise over her head. Slow. Careful. The silk whispered across her skin and her hair fell around her shoulders and the candlelight turned it gold and he forgot, for one full second, how breathing worked.

His hands found the lace at her hips. His thumbs hooked under the waistband and he dragged them down slowly. Not because the moment required slow. Because his hands had decided on a speed and his brain had lost the vote.

The lace cleared her thighs. Her knees. Gone.

He exhaled through his nose. Once. Controlled. The exhale of a man running numbers on exactly how much restraint he had left and not loving the math.

The vein in his neck was doing something she’d never seen it do and his jaw was clenched tight enough to crack a walnut.

”Close your eyes if you need to,” she said lightly.

”My eyes are fine. My blood pressure is the problem.”

He tried to unhook her bralette next. Keyword being tried. Failed.

His brow furrowed. His fingers recalibrated. The clasp held its ground.

She let out a single laugh that made him freeze.

”What?”

”Would you believe me if I told you the first time you did this you used scissors?”

Maddox didn’t respond, returning back to the task at hand in deep concentration. It took three seconds before he finally was able to get it unclasped.

”The scissors were the right call. Past me was a strategist.”

He stepped back and took her in. Her cheeks heated under his stare. Even if he had his memories, she always blushed under his stare.

His pupils went black. Gold rimmed. Then a darker gold took over. His chest expanded on an inhale that didn’t seem to end. He held it. Held it. Let it out through his teeth. His hands flexed at his sides. Open. Closed. Open. The internal negotiation between the king and the creature was visible and neither side was winning cleanly.

”Maddox?” she asked softly.

He shook his head once, snapping out of whatever daze he was just in.

He picked her up off the counter. Bare skin against his forearms. Her arms looped around his neck without thinking, and the ease of it told him her body had made this trip before.

He lowered her into the tub. Slow. The warm water rose around her, and she sank into it with an exhale so deep her whole body loosened. His arms slid out from under her. Wet. Reluctant.

He knelt beside the tub, hands gripping the edge. The level of concern on his face through the steam was the most adorable thing she’d seen him do since not being able to unclasp her bra.

”Are you getting in?” she asked.

The question was innocent because he had always done that, since their first one. But it landed differently than she expected. She watched surprise move across his face, followed by something else. Like the concept of sharing a bath had never crossed his mind until right now and he was deciding in real time that he wanted to.

She regretted asking about three seconds after it came out, which was approximately two seconds too late. She didn’t need a mirror to know her face had turned the color of a pomegranate.

”Did I? Before?” he asked slowly.

”Yes.”

The enthusiasm with which he stood up was the least consistent thing she’d ever seen.

”Well, if you insist.”

”I didn’t insist.”

His briefs hit the floor and he was stepping into the tub behind her before she finished her sentence.

”Your blush begs to differ, Wife.”

She settled against him, fitting the way she always fit. Spine to chest, her head below his chin, his arms locking around her waist like the position had been engineered for exactly two bodies and they were both present.

Behind her it sounded like a groan that he cut off. She wasn’t sure if he meant that or if he noticed how they fit together. But she had, and missed it. She swallowed hard and blinked before the noticing could turn into something visible.

His dragon started to purr so deeply the water rippled.