Chapter 121: I hate you.
~Gwen's POV~
I didn’t answer him. I couldn’t.
I was too far gone now, too lost in the fire eating away at my body. What did call it the last time? Ah... The dragon flame. I move my hands to oversensitive bosom. I began slowly rubbing on them.
The jolt of pain and pleasure was too much. I needed more so I began pulling at my gown. I hear him call out my name but the sound of his voice, the feel of his presence, it only made it worse. Him, just being there and doing nothing to help.
The heat rose between my thighs, deep and angry, tearing at my inside like it was punishing me for my resistance.
My legs trembled as I tried to keep them closed, to keep some dignity intact, but even that small act made the burn worse.
"Don't fight it," Drogon said softly. His voice wrapped around me like a cotton silk, although it sounded dangerous and patient. “It’ll only hurt more.”
I shook my head, biting down on my fist to stop another cry. I couldn’t do this. I wouldn’t.
Anastasia was still in the room. She hadn’t left. She was behind him, silent, heartbroken.
And I was here… falling apart, legs pressed together like I could stop what was happening inside me.
I couldn’t even look at her. I didn’t want her to see me like this, pathetic, needy, trembling like some feral thing. I felt like a whore. No. A slut.
The painful thing is the need. I feel ashamed but I needed him. I wanted him. I wanted all that he was offering to satiate the pain that consuming me.
Drogon moved slowly. Purposeful. His hand ghosted down my arm but didn’t touch, didn’t press. Just the nearness of him made me twitch, made the spot between my legs ache worse, wetter.
"You're burning," he said after a moment. “Your body’s begging, Gwen. And you still deny it.”
"Please," I whispered, though I didn’t know who I was begging...him or myself. I didn't know.
He knelt in front of me, still not touching, still giving me a sliver of space to say no. But I didn’t say anything.
I couldn’t.
Because the next wave crashed through me and I whimpered, my hips lifting without permission, grinding air, the mattress...anything. I didn't know when I had been transferred into a bed.
"You're in heat," he said, voice lower now, darker. “But this isn’t just heat. It’s the bond. It’s me. And it’s killing you to resist. The more you resist, the more it will consume. I can smell how much you need me mate." He snarled out. His eyes red than it's golden-red.
I hated that he was right. I hated that he knew. And I hated that I wanted him to take control.
My gown clung to my skin, soaked through with sweat and arousal. My nipples were hard and aching, the thin linen doing nothing to hide them.
My thighs trembled as another wave of arousal rolled through me, this one stronger; sharper and bitting. I let out a cry, shame in it.
"I need…" I couldn’t finish. The words died on my tongue. My pride strangled me.
But Drogon moved closer, hands finally settling on my knees. His palms were large, hot, but gentle; he didn’t force me apart.
"You need me," he said simply.
I squeezed my eyes shut.
"Say it."
“No…” My voice cracked, lips trembling. “Not like this. Not with her watching.”
There was a rustle behind him. I dared to open my eyes just in time to see Anastasia step back, a pain in her eyes I would never forget.
She reached for the door, hand trembling. But she didn’t leave before whispering, “Live, Gwen. Please.”
Then she was gone. And something inside me broke. I wasn't trying to drive her away. That's not what I want.
Instead of the guilt to eat me up, every single form of resistance in me melted away. I lunged forward before I could stop myself, grabbing the front of his shirt, dragging him down to me, pressing my burning cheek to his chest.
His scent, dark spice, smoke, and damp earth, slammed into me. My body arched, nipples dragging against the linen of my gown and I gasped from the sensation.
I was so wet it hurt. So swollen I could feel every throb, every beat.
“Please,” I breathed, finally giving in. “Please, make it stop.”
Drogon growled. It was low, rumbling from his chest like thunder before the storm.
“You don’t know what you’re asking for,” he warned, his lips brushing the shell of my ear. “Once I touch you, once I take you...there’s no going back. No pretending this bond doesn’t exist.”
“I know,” I whispered, voice shaking. “Just… I can’t take it anymore.”
That was all it took. His mouth crushed mine. There was no patience now. No gentleness.
His kiss was hunger and fire, his tongue demanding mine, stealing the air from my lungs. My hands fisted in his shirt, pulling him closer, needing more, needing everything.
One of his hands slid down my body, over the curve of my breast; he growled again when he felt how hard I was through the fabric and then lower, lower until he was gripping the back of my thigh and settling me into his lap.
The gown bunched at my hips. I didn’t care.
I was already grinding down against the hard length of him, panting, whimpering, my wetness soaking through both our clothes.
“I can smell how much you want this,” he groaned, his lips dragging along my throat. “You’re dripping for me.”
“Don’t stop,” I begged, clawing at his back, trembling as his hands slid beneath the gown, pushing it higher.
He growled again when he saw I wasn’t wearing anything underneath.
“You wicked little witch…”
And then his fingers were inside me, parting me, stroking me, and I nearly sobbed from the contact. It was too much. It wasn’t enough. My hips bucked against his hand, and I whimpered.
“I hate you,” I whispered.
“No,” he murmured, his voice smooth almost like an addictive poison. “You hate that you love this.”
He was right.
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