Page 59 of The Dragon Warlord
PART TWO: THE DRAGON
9
Dragon Land Year V
River
It’s gotten bad. Oh Gods, it’s so bad. I don’t know how I’ve found myself here, especially when I’m me.
Sprinting as fast as I can, I leap from the edge of one crevice to another, land in a roll, and then make it onto my feet in time to bolt inside the cave. Pressing myself against the wall, I shove my hand into my pants and grab my throbbing erection. During a hydra demon hunt is the wrong time to get off. I know this. Everyone knows this.
But fuck, Tristan’s bleeding. Not badly. Just enough to set me off and drive me crazy. I want to dive into his sweat-soaked hair and lick the salt off his skin. Gods, I want to put his heavy balls in my mouth and suck them. They’ll be drenched in his scent. Then I’d move to his cock …
Unfortunately, I know what his magnificent genitalia looks like because I’ve seen him stripped naked to be punished enough times.
It’s easy to picture him standing over me, forcing his erect dick into my mouth, and fucking my face with it.
Coming doesn’t take long in the state I’m in, but now I have a new problem. Getting this scent to vanish. Vanishing spells are not my specialty. They’re finicky and difficult to master. I don’t trust that I’d do it well enough to get rid of every bit of scent. Instead, I have no other choice but to wash my hand and my special places with stale water pooled in the cracks of this cave and then paint it in mud. I paint a lot of myself in mud.
Then I catch my breath, disgusted with myself. This is what it’s come to, risking my life for a quick wank. It was never like this before the Warlord stormed into my life.
I can’t be gone for too long. Said Warlord will tan my hide. Hence the sprinting.
We’d arrived back to camp a little worse for wear. The Warlord didn’t have time to heal his wounds from the tussle he’d had with the slippery demon. This one could fly, and it took the Warlord several attempts to subdue the thing. He’d thought he should be able to command it since hydra demons are on the same branch as water serpents and water serpents are a kind of dragon. He wasn’t wrong, but it took him some time to lock onto the creature’s mind.
Rayne taught Tristan how to do that.
He chained it and brought it back to camp and the combination of him controlling that creature with the scent of battle permeating the air was apocalyptic.
I made an excuse that I had to relieve my bladder in a big way and while he couldn’t argue that one, I know he didn’t like me leaving so soon after that catastrophe. The thing slashed the hell out of him, and it gets his alpha brain to thinking, “What if the beast slashed my omega to death instead of me?”
He’ll want me near.
I return to him with my relieved dick. He’s still riled from the violence and full of blood and gore. He doesn’t bother with human niceties. We don’t pretend that we are civil creatures out here or act like anything different than what we are. That’s a bad idea. We’re dragons and we allow our instincts to run free. He grips my face in a bruising grip, turning it side to side, looking for damage.
I go stone still, not moving a muscle, submitting to the inspection. He inhales deeply and wrinkles his nose, cursing in Elvish. I’d know what the words meant anyway, but he’s been teaching me too. “You smell like shite, Riv. What were you doing? Rolling around in a pigsty?”
“Sorry, Warlord.” I don’t give anything away and thankfully he doesn’t press for an answer, wanting to leave my outdoor lavatory habits private. “Shall I head to the lake for washing up?”
“No. Absolutely not. Do I need to remind you of your place, Omega?”
“I could never forget my place, Alpha.” I would love to be reminded of it if I didn’t already know it would light a flare of arousal as quickly as dry kindling. I bow my head. We’re on the battlefield and there’s protocol for that and us.
“Right, come along. I need healing and then we’ll eat. We still have one more of those things on the loose. If we can bring them to His Royal Dragonness by sunset tomorrow, maybe I can save myself a few lashes.”
Just as Tristan doesn’t care for me gone too long, Father isn’t fond of his omega being out of his immediate reach for long either.
“What do you think he does with them?” I ask, following him toward his tent.
“I don’t know, but if it’s what I suspect, I don’t want to know. There’s nothing I can do about it.”
Alone in his tent, I get to touch him again. This time it’s less feral. Feral touches are not better or worse than private and gentle ones, they’re simply yet another kind of touch I get to look forward to.
Removing his jacket, he hangs it on a wooden stand, unveiling his massive muscles. He was already a large man when he came to The Tower, but in five years, he increased in size significantly as he came into his dragon muscles and powers.
“Do you need me to remove the shirt too, Riv? What about my pants?”
Oh, Gods. I don’t want to see him naked. I mean, I do, which is why I can’t see that. Not right at this moment anyway. “No. Ah, I mean, you’re fine as you are, Warlord.”
