Free Love in the Time of Dragons by MacAlister Katie Page B

Is everything all right?” he asked.
    “Yes!” Baltic answered through gritted teeth.
    Kostya looked pointedly at me.
    “Baltic’s man parts are angry, and I was seeing if there was something I could do to ease the pain,” I explained, not wanting him to think me wanton.
    Kostya’s expression went absolutely blank. Baltic ran a hand over his face, clearly trying to maintain a grip on his formidable temper. “It’s not like that. She wanted to see if she had seriously hurt me. I told her she could look for herself to see that I wasn’t.”
    “I see,” Kostya said in a voice that sounded as if he were choking. “I’ll just leave you to that, then.”
    He disappeared. A roar of laughter came up from below that had Baltic swearing under his breath as he shoved the fur down again. “For the love of the saints—get on with it, woman!”
    “Very well.” I lifted his shaft, looking for signs of injury, but saw nothing. Despite the knowledge that I was renowned in the village and by folk of the keep as a healer, I couldn’t help but feel wicked as I touched him. I was no stranger to the sight of man parts—the male villagers frequently wore short tunics that left little to the imagination when the wind was high, but my mother had kept Margaret and me from bathing visitors, as was the common custom. Baltic’s parts were . . . interesting. “You don’t appear to have any injury,” I added, suddenly feeling a bit breathless. I let his stones slide slowly from my fingers, and was surprised by both the sudden hitch in his breath and the fact that his shaft began to harden.
    “You are becoming aroused,” I said, looking at it.
    “I’d have to be dead not to. Are you stopping?”
    I trailed my fingers down the length of his shaft. It was gaining in stature, the skin of it sliding like the softest silk over a piece of polished ivory my mother kept in her sewing box. “Do you want me to stop?”
    “Hell, no.”
    I continued to lightly run my fingers down it. “How much bigger will it grow?”
    A short, pained-sounding bark of laughter escaped him. “I’ve never measured it. Why do you ask?”
    “Idle curiosity. That part is pushing back. Is it supposed to do that, or did I damage it?”
    “It’s supposed to do that.”
    I slid one hand underneath the shaft, stroking it like I would a cat. Baltic groaned and closed his eyes, his hips rocking forward. “I’m enjoying this,” I told him, feeling a sense of pride in the fact that I could arouse him with my hands.
    Eyes of purest black regarded me, shimmering with something I couldn’t put a name to. His lips quirked. “So am I.”
    “It seems rather monotonous, however,” I said after a few minutes of repeated stroking. His shaft was fully aroused now, and I marveled to myself that he ever fit it into his codpiece.
    “There are . . . variations . . . you can do,” he said in a choked voice.
    “Oh?” I looked down at the shaft. “Changes in pressure and speed?”
    “No. Instead of your hands, you could use your mouth.”
    “You’re jesting,” I said, staring at him in disbelief.
    His lips quirked even more. “I thought that would shock you.”
    I eyed his shaft again. “I’m not shocked. I’m just a little taken aback. If I were to use my mouth, that would give you pleasure, too?”
    “ Chérie , if you were to use your mouth, I would probably spill my seed within two seconds of your tongue wrapping around me.”
    “It’s a sin to spill your seed outside of a woman,” I said, parroting Father David, the priest at our keep.
    “That is a human belief. Dragons do not hold with such foolish dogma. If you weren’t a silver dragon, I would be happy to do as you suggest.”
    I touched the very tip of him with one finger. A bead of moisture had formed there, a tear that glistened as I spread it about the head of his shaft. “I don’t wish for you to bed me, if that’s what you are implying.”
    “Why not? You seem to enjoy touching me.”
    I