Page 15 of The Dragon Warlord
The Warlord had no dragon titles to begin with, other than his surname, Kanes. Since Father gives Tristan his name and titles as his alpha, he decided that only Kanes would be recognized because it was his dragon surname.
Tonight, the Warlord wants me to try sleeping in my room, which is next door to his. It was his idea, one he can change at any time, but he’s being stubborn and so he suffers this afternoon with the thought of being away from me.
“Is it within my power to request a new servant?”
New servant? Has he lost his mind? It’ll look like I can’t take care of him. “It is, Warlord.”
“You don’t want that though, it’s upset you.” We’re sorting out his closet for the fifth time. There isn’t a lot to do in his room, but he refuses to leave it while he’s this volatile, so he’s been dreaming up stuff to do.
“I’m supposed to serve you, Warlord.” I’m insistent this time. He’s not comprehending all the fallout because he doesn’t know it exists. “I would love the opportunity to serve you.”
He runs a frustrated hand through his long black hair. “I just need a little time,” he says. “Please. The thought of you going all that way down to the kitchens without me … I can’t handle it, but I promise to get there.”
I wish he would believe how much I loved his possessiveness. If he can never find a place for me among his men, I could live happily buried in his covetous clutches.
I can’t have it both ways, I suppose. If I want to luxuriate in those kinds of feelings, he’ll have to get a servant for a little while. “A servant can be arranged.”
His limbs let go of the tension they were holding. “Good. As I said, I need to eat three times a day.”
He’d told me about that. The different relationships he has with each of his men are interesting. Elvish customs are interesting. He has a Master and slave dynamic with Alrik. It was customary for Tristan to give him a gift of his body before the wedding that would last until their wedding and Tristan gave him his mouth. The tradition opens the door for fun and kinky games, but the commitment to the gift is a symbol of Tristan’s commitment to Alrik. The care Alrik would have taken with such an important gift would have been a symbol of Alrik’s commitment to Tristan.
They had some ground rules Alrik set for safety and functional reasons. Tristan’s supposed to have three meals a day and can have unlimited water and anything he might need for health and medical reasons.
“Would he hold you to that under the circumstances?” I’d asked him.
“No, but I need to do it,” he’d answered, his eyes brimmed with tears. “I feel like he’s with me.”
It felt important to the Warlord so I left it at that and silently vowed to make it easy for him.
“When we head down to make arrangements, I’ll make sure … unless you’d like to do it, Warlord?”
He stiffens and his jaw tightens, but he nods. “No. You can. Let’s try it. I need to work my way out of this dependence.”
Once he’s happy with his closet, although I don’t know what’s different than when we began, we make another trek down to the kitchens. It’s the same. Dragons bow for him, some shaking, as they murmur the prayer of thanks for him. Pewter rushes forward again and I check in with the Warlord to make sure he still wants to do this.
After a nod of approval, I speak with Pewter about the Warlord’s preferences and work out a schedule. It’s one that won’t work once he takes his place on the field, but hopefully, our bond will have settled by then and we can create a semblance of normal.
As soon as we’re out of the kitchens and into the hallway, I’m pressed into the wall. It happens again—my cock hardening.Fuck.I was sure my body wasn’t good at this. I was sure I was asexual. The Warlord is proving that wrong. There is no way he can’t smell my arousal, but he can choose to deny it.
My skin prickles and I want him to take me here. Rip off my clothes. Show everyone that I’m his.
It won’t happen. If his reserve snaps, I’ll stop him because he’s not ready and he’d hate himself. I’m not supposed to stop him. I’m supposed to let the Warlord do as he pleases with me. When he’s ready, I’m happy for him just to take me. Until then, it would be a mistake.
Aside from all that, there are his men to consider. We haven’t talked much about them, but from what he has said, it’s safe to assume he’s beholden to them in some way and it would require at least a conversation.
For his sake, I hope he’ll exercise control. For that reason, I don’t assure him. He needs to walk that journey without knowing he has a net. He needs to be able to trust himself most of all.
I open my neck for him, the purest sign of submission there is. There is an element of the bond that demands it, but it’s not as simple as that sounds. It’s not a this or that phenomenon. With me in the role of omega, I’m pulled to be submissive, but I was always going to be submissive anyway because it’s part of my personality. It’s simply amplified because of the bond.
His nose trails over his bite on my neck. It doesn’t belong to me. I have been forbidden to touch it. Thinking of that gets me harder and curiosity strikes me. What would he do if I touched it?
“What mischief are you dreaming up, Omega?” His breath is hot against my neck.
“Nothing I would do. It was just a passing thought, I promise.”
“Surely, you know I’m not going to let it go at that.” His sharp dragon teeth poke and prod at the bite, but they don’t sink inside.
Right. I exhale and gather the strength to tell him. “I wondered what would happen if I t-touched your bite, Warlord.”
