Page 134 of The Dragon Warlord
Pushing myself beyond the pain, I force my eyes to remain open so that I can see my dashing rescuer. He’s a bolt of dangerous lightning as he gallops on the tall stead toward me. His sword is out and his long hair flies behind him like a cape, his red jacket flares like they’re his dragon wings.
He’s pure dragon on a hunt right now; all savage, all beast, his sapphire eyes glittering with menace.
With how hard he’s pushing that horse, he’s got to be assisting with a little Elven power. Unless we’ve come out of whatever magical snare we were in.
Gods I hope so.
He barrels straight for the cluster of beasts who have realized they’d gotten in over their stinking heads. They try to run, but it’s too late, and Tristan showers them with fire, sequestering them against the rock face where they’re trapped, knowing that if that fire touches them, it will consume them. It won’t hold them forever. Tristan dives and tumbles off the horse and to the ground, to slash through the manacles around my wrists.
Checking me over, his rage turns from unbridled anger to pure wrath when he sees what they’ve done to me. His touch on my skin cools the pain even though his flesh is bubbling with dragon fire. He heals my face first and when the throbbing in my head subsides, he works on my sliced-up feet.
Tristan’s running on instinct. I’m not even sure he’s him right now. He’s just a vengeful dragon. When he catches their scent on me, he snarls and his teeth snap. That’s when the rest of the clan approaches. Phari is the first to jump off his horse. Tristan doesn’t see any friends right now, he stands in front of me swinging his sword at them, unwilling to let anyone near me.
“I’m all right,” I tell Phari and make the mistake of trying to stand up. Tristan growls at me. I know he won’t hurt me, but it’s a clear command from my alpha to halt my movements and stay where I am.
“Where are they? We’ll finish them off,” Phari says angry in his own way that they took me. He considers me a son. “Whatever their spell was hindering our dragon magic, it seems to have ended.”
“Chain them up. I’m going to make them pay for a long time before they die,” the Warlord commands.
His voice is chilling, and it goes right to my cock. Not because of the promise of torture, just the pure danger pouring off him. That’s what does it for me.
“You, come here,” Tristan says to me, sheathing his sword and gathering me into his arms bridal style. I drape my arms around his neck and curl my face under his hair where I like to best. He’s still covered in muck and grime from yesterday, but I’m able to pick up some of his masculine scent and it soothes my aching bones.
He’s absolutely feral as he treks into the crag of rock where the beasts were headed, and I think I’m about to have one of my most desired sexual fantasies played out. Tristan might be even more wild now than the day he bit me.
We’re surrounded by the gray rockface that’s intermittently dispersed with sarsen stone. The beige rock gleams and twinkles under the hot sun. Tristan places me down on the rock slab with a clear warning in his expression tostay.
Biting my lip to keep from smiling so hard, I wait and watch my beautiful dragon prowl above me.
He sets his sword against the stone slab and does a final check for danger before he removes his red Warlord’s jacket. My cock jumps at the imposing sight of him and I get a fresh zephyr of his scent when he removes his shirt. Sweat glistens across his bare chest and his Warlord tattoo, the Markaytian dragon, flashes proudly.
I love witnessing his primitive nature. It doesn’t know social cues or etiquette, it just needs. Needs to dominate, needs to fuck me, needs to claim me.
His hands paw at my laces and yank my pants down so that my ready cock springs free. I’m already leaking for him, the wet slick running fresh down my legs and come beading at the tip of my cock. He lowers his head to my pelvis and inhales the scent of me. It drives him wild, and he bites my hip, sending a jolt of lightning-hot misery through my groin. I cry out, sitting up and latching onto his head, burying my fingers into his silky hair.
“Tristan.”
“How dare they take you from me,” he says in a grave tone.
“Were you going to tear down the world for me?”
“Who says I’m still not?”
He might with the mood he’s in, but he also might calm down after fucking the life out of me.
Two fingers twist into my entrance, rough and deep. They overwhelm me with sensation. He’s got me panting and begging before we’ve barely begun. “More,” I pant and bear down, fucking his fingers as much as he’ll let me. “I need more.”
I want his cock.
“You know the rules, Omega.”
“Yes, Alpha.” No coming until he says and that’s not going to happen for a while. There isn’t a “no begging” clause, but I suppose it’s premature. I can’t help it when he’s like this. Holding back is going to be hard.
A rhythm happens on its own, with me sliding along his fingers and him moving them in and out. It’s our own dance. The arousal between us is thick enough to drown us both if we’re not careful. A shudder wracks through my body.
When his fingers disappear, I whine like the needy bitch I am right now. I’d hump his leg if he told me to.
He licks, kisses, and nips his way up my body, bunching my shirt as he goes. When he gets to my neck, his teeth sink into his bite mark, the place on my body that belongs to him and no one else. I’m hit with the euphoria of being bitten and my sexual arousal climbs to a new zenith.
