The sound was low. Not loud enough for her to hear. The private amusement of a man who has found something funny. Who has found a dragon — an ancient, powerful, imperial dragon — muttering in her sleep about an itch.
He walked forward.
Into the hair. Into the bushes. His hands went to the lips. The pussy lips. The labia. He parted. The hair — the thick, long, silky hair — moved. The lips — thick, full, the inner flesh visible — opened. The opening — the vaginal opening, the entrance — was visible. Wet. Not from arousal. From the steam. From the heat. From the moisture of the cave. The flesh was pink. Healthy. The inner walls glistened.
He entered.
