Page 144 of The Dragon Warlord
“The student has become the teacher. It’s a saying for a reason. Even with the same information, someone can come up with a new conclusion because everyone thinks differently.”
Hmyta pads his way over to the children and noses his way in between them, looking for attention. He’s become a real family cat. If he gets any more comfortable, could we rely on him to save Tristan?
I peer over to my dragon-Elf husband who has grown significantly in size, skill, and maturity. Also, he’s been doing a lot of the saving these days. Maybe he doesn’t need us to save him anymore?
River is in his lap. River is always in his lap. Having fought the ancient magic of their bond for so long, it must be a relief to finally give in and act on all the impulses they’re filled with. I imagine it to be like the same luscious sensation of giving in to sleep at the end of a wearying day.
Together they are an enigma. I often find myself watching them and their curious way of interacting.
“Maybe you’re right, Cor,” he says, yawning. The man is fighting sleep, his eyelids wanting to flutter closed, and we’ve all missed him so much that none of us can bring ourselves to end the night. Tristan has once again managed to weigh himself down with tasks, claiming he can slide right back into the roles he holds here. He’s exhausted himself.
I have not forgotten that while only weeks have passed for us, years have passed for him. He’s going to be rusty and that means he won’t be as efficient. He’ll still try to do what he used to, and I suspect it’s already wearing him down. We’ll just have to have another family night tomorrow.
Snapping my fingers gets his attention. “Whoa? What? Where’s the fire?” he says, reaching for the sword on his back that’s not on his back. For once, he left it by the door. As the story was told, he didn’t go anywhere without it in “Dragon Land” but he doesn’t need it strapped to him all day every day here. He’s hesitant to part with it, but we’re attempting to convince him that he can relax now that he’s home. He’s not a Warlord on permanent watch even though he thinks he is.
“You’re going to bed,” I declare. “Come.”
He crushes River to him and River latches onto his red jacket—another thing he rarely takes off.
“I’m not planning to part you two, but I am making sure you make it to the bedroom.”
“It’s just over there,” Tristan says, standing up with River and keeping him close.
“I want to say a special good night. All right kids, say goodnight to Daddy. I’m taking him to bed.”
Tristan scowls at me. He knows what I’m doing. I’mputtinghim to bed. Yes, I’m making a point, but it’s one that needs to be made. He’s in charge when he’s in Dragon Land, but he isn’t here and that’s never going to change.
And I take back what I was thinking before. Tristan does still need saving—he needs to be saved from himself.
Bayaden catches my eyes with his and we have a silent conversation. He’s saying that yes, he’ll put the kids to bed together so that we can fuck. It’s my turn to rail him though. He’d better fucking remember that.
Alrik steals Tristan and rests their foreheads together as Tristan grips his face. “Good night, Lala,” Alrik says. “Please get some good sleep.”
“I promise, Master. Love you so fucking much.” They rub noses.
Awww. How adorable, but it’s not what Tristan needs right now. “Tristan,” I hiss.
“I’m coming,” he snaps.
I’m going to spank him in a minute.
River is amused, but he says nothing.
Ushering them into River’s room is like herding cats with plenty of stalling to say goodnight to the children, but I get them there. Without being told, River gathers night clothes for himself and Tristan. I doubt they wore night clothes much this time around in Dragon Land, but River gets cold here, and Tristan too when his blood isn’t warm. River heads behind the dressing screen to change while Tristan does so in front of me and I take my fill of my husband’s body as he changes into the white night gown.
He's bigger everywhere and I mean everywhere. His chest is more barreled, his lats are wider, his biceps are the size of Mortougian watermelons.
He’s got a dragon-sized cock.
His skin is delightfully tanned to the deeper olive it was when I first met him from long days in the sun, which means someone hasn’t been wearing his shirt to practice. Naughty, naughty. But it’s not my rule so I couldn’t give a fuck.
“Like what you see?”
His voice is deeper too. He’s much older now. Not the young twenty-something-year-old he was when we met. I suppose Tristan is in his forties now. A strange idea, but I like it. His physical appearance hasn’t aged in any way, but he carries himself differently. With more confidence. With conviction that only develops over time.
“Fuck, yeah. I can’t wait to have you again. Or maybe I’d like to take a ride on that cock of yours. It’s something I’ve grown a taste for lately.”
“Bayaden?” he says with a raised brow. “I saw you checking out his arse earlier.”
