Page 63 of The Dragon Warlord
“It was lovely chatting with you, River.” She waves and the look of shock on his face at hearing his name is epic.
Other than me, only warriors and his family call him by his name. Sometimes, children racing around The Tower will shout his given name until their mothers hush them. Otherwise, they refer to him as “the Warlord’s omega” or nothing at all. It’s not against any laws or graces of good social etiquette, it’s because I made a threat five years ago and no one has forgotten it.
Okay, and maybe I haven’t been all that friendly when people do get friendly with him, but I’m trying to be better about that. See? Better. He had a whole conversation with Lady Felicia. They were even kinda close. Not touching—let’s not get crazy here—but close. It didn’t even bother me.
Much.
River’s head swivels to face me. “Warlord, that’s huge,” he whisper yells into my ear.
“By this time next year, you could probably have a whole day to yourself.”
“Um, yeah. I could. Maybe. If I don’t want to, is that an option?”
“You don’t want that?” I frown. “Riv.” That’s not a good sign.
The dragon lord clears his throat.
“Yes, my lord?”
“Where are the hydras?”
“In the Loramir Caves by your command.”
He nods and I sense something akin to worry before it’s wiped away. “Any casualties?”
“Three, my lord.” It’s the unfortunate lot of armies. You lose people. “I’ll tell the families myself and I accept the lashes for my failure to keep them safe.”
I would be receiving the lashes either way, but I want him to know that I do accept them.
“Add five more for being late,” he says.
“Yes, my lord.”
He stares and I think he’ll say something else, but he doesn’t. “You’re dismissed. It looks like you have something to take care of.”
River’s collapsed into a heap on the table. He’s adorable. He doesn’t normally let loose like this though. “Okay, c’mon, my overzealous omega. Have I been working you too hard?”
My new strength allows for me to lift him over my shoulder, sword and all, and carry him to his room. Carefully, I lay him on his side so that I can remove his weapons and his jacket. He’s still full of dirt and mud. I can’t let him sleep in his own filth, so I begin to undress him, hoping he’ll wake up by the time I have his shirt off.
He stirs, but it’s with his eyes still closed. “Mhm. Yeah, right there,” he says.
What the…? Is he dreaming?”
“Fuck. Your cock is … oh fuck.”
He’s having a sex dream! I’m intrigued at first until it dawns on me that he’s either dreaming about me or someone who isn’t me. I don’t know which is worse. I don’t want it to be either, which is totally unfair.
It can’t be me, can it? We bathed near each other just the other night and not a hit of arousal did I detect from him. I know what his arousal smells like, unfortunately. It’s happened enough times, but it’s a natural thing. If I’d turned him on, it would have been then.
I know because I was. I told him he smelled bad, but he didn’t. He smelled like something I couldn’t place and chalked it up to his man sweat. He needed to get it off him before I pressed him up against something and shoved my cock inside.
A sex dream is a normal phenomenon too, but fuck. I’m jealous. I want to jump inside his head and murder whoever is touching my omega.
Oh, Gods. This is too much. I’m a terrible person. The topic of sex has been conveniently avoided because if no one can touch River without me going ballistic, how can they sleep with him? River assured me he wasn’t very sexual. That he doesn’t masturbate often.
But most convenient of all, he hasn’t been allowed to engage with a partner for all his thirteen hundred years by his father’s decree, so he “doesn’t worry about it”.
Doesn’t worry about it? Who doesn’t worry about sex? I masturbate often. I’ve written several books in my head with the filthiest sexual scenarios known to dragon or Elf—I’m sure—that I’ve stroked my cock furiously to while I’m here.
