Page 145 of The Dragon Warlord
“It’s a fine arse.”
“It is.” He steps closer to me. I’m still taller, but not by much.
He’ll never be more cunning than I am. With quick movements, I spin and pin him to the wall, attacking his lips with Elven-style viciousness. Taking the time to play with his teeth, I trail my tongue over the sharp dragon incisors and then kiss him deeply until he’s panting. I draw his thickly muscled leg up to wrap around me and all his power becomes mine to harness in an instant.
Even better. It’s going to be even better than before. Anyone can control someone weaker than they are. I’d rather collar lightning and have it at my beck and call.
“Glad you didn’t forget who owns you first.”
“Never.” He’s breathless.
I pull up his gown enough to smack the side of his bare arse. “Get to bed.”
River appears from behind the screen as Tristan glares murder at me. “Thought you had a special good night for me?”
River bites his hand to keep from laughing at his alpha’s churlishness.
“Right. Thanks for reminding me,” I say with all the deviousness I intend. “Lay over the bed and display your arse for me.”
“Cor!”
“Now.”
He mutters a bunch of Elvish curses under his breath as he lies on his stomach, but he pulls the nightgown up, exposing his plump round arse for my attention. I don’t use anything but my hand. It’s all I need to make him writhe and scream in agony. I turn his arse a lovely shade of red as I make note of all the other things I’m going to do to it.
“Are you going to behave yourself?”
“Yes, sir.” He turns his head and winks. “Most of the time.”
* * *
Tristan
Alot happens in several months and this time it’s hard not to count how much time has passed at The Tower. It’s harder not to wake up and think I’m meant to ready myself for another day on the training fields.
I catch myself missing it there.
Alone time is a rarity for me these days, but I find myself with an errand in town and decided to slip away, not wanting to pour my morose and confounding thoughts onto anyone until I’ve figured out how to articulate them. I end up walking into one of my favorite pubs in Mortouge, thinking that a pint of elderberry mead might be able to offer some good advice.
I am recognized, but it’s not like in The Tower where people bow for me constantly. It is customary to bow for the Crown Prince Consort, but it’s a pub and the sorts that hang out here aren’t particularly fussed with rules that I’m not going to enforce right now.
Before I have the chance to acquire mead, an old Elf catches my eye because I know he’s not an old Elf at all, at least not in the sense one typically thinks when that phrase is conjured. He’s at the back, sitting at a table, shrouded in darkness.
He beckons me over to him and I have no other choice but to obey him. Standing before him, I know what he wants.
“Are you going to make me bow before you? Here?”
He sneers and though his face is employing a glamor, it’s reminiscent of the dragon lord I know too well. “What do you think?”
“But it isn’t necessary.”
“Besides the fact that itisnecessary, I like it. Do it now or I’ll make you.”
Sighing, I swallow my pride and bend the knee, reminding myself that we’re surrounded by Elves who are just going to assume that we’ve got something kinky going on and not think too much of a man bowing before another man in a pub. “Greetings, my lord.”
“Hello, Warlord. Rise and take a seat.”
There’s already a glass of mead set out for each of us. Guess he was expecting me.
