Page 16 of Tristan
This argument is ending with a bittersweet resolution, but I’m proud at how I’ve handled myself.
It’s time to move on. We must consummate the marriage. The moment is getting closer to where I must lose my virginity. That thought begins to dominate over all others and my breath picks up the pace. His free hand begins to smooth over my chest, undoing buttons and pushing aside layers of material—I hardly notice until I feel his hand, warm against my bare skin. I gasp, but my pleasure is short-lived.
“What is this? Why was I not told of this marking?”
His hand traces over the large black, dragon tattoo on the left side of my body. The head is nestled into my neck with its mouth over my collarbone and the open wings flared over my left deltoid. Its body snakes down my left chest muscle and over the nipple—that part had hurt second most when the artist inked it into my flesh. The worst of it, was its tail that whips down over my ribcage and ends halfway down my abdomen. All warlords in Markaytia are marked with such a tattoo at their coming-of-age ceremony. It just so happened that Mr. Control-Freak decided to rip me out of that life, not long after I was named and marked. I wasn’t very well going to peel my skin off—once a tattoo is on it’s on for good.
“This will have to go.”
“I’m not ripping my skin off, Corrik.”
“Rip your skin off? By Ylor, no. I can remove it another way.”
“Elves have ways to remove a tattoo?”
“Yes, and not to worry, it’s completely painless.”
I know I can do it because he won’t expect it. I jump up grabbing his sword with a mighty heave (it’s a lot heavier than I expect), as I force him to flip around, or be stabbed. I won’t kill him, but I am going to make myself heard on this point. “You will do no such thing, Corrik Cyredanthem. This tattoo ismine. If you remove it, there will be trouble between us.” I aim the sword at his throat, my handsshaking with its weight. I doubt I’d be able to do more with it than this. It’s too heavy for me to wield.
Corrik is stunned.
“Promise me.” I know I don’t have much power over him. This is no more than a reckless show. He can grab the sword and have me pinned on the bed in an instant; this may even anger him to the point he will abolish the marriage and the treaty. I don’t think sometimes, I just act, but it’s too late now and I must follow through.
“For now, but you don’t understand.”
“That’s not good enough.”
There’s something in his eyes. He looks scared, not scared because I’m going to hurt him, only scared because I’m holding the sword in the first place—he’s frozen with fear and I realize I do have control, at least in this one moment.
“Fine. I promise. Now put that sword down, before you hurt yourself.”
Hurt myself?He’s just seen my tattoo, the one I earned for a reason. I may have been born with the requirement: the blood of a dragon flows through me as it does my father, but my father would have a new son, before he would hand the title over to someone unworthy. I don’t flash his sword around carelessly, but with purpose; there’s no way I could hurt myself. The very thought is absurd. It is heavy, much heavier than the swords I’m used to. I wouldn’t last with this sword in battle, but my anger is ample fuel for this.
But he’s promised me and that’s enough, so I slide his sword home to the baldric on his back. When I’m unarmed and am facing him again, I can feel the violence peeling off him as he breathes hard.
“That was a mistake.”
“You are trying to tame adragonCorrik. You best take care or you might get scorched.” He’s the one making the mistake.
He grabs me roughly and flips me on my back; I let him. His mouth attacks mine and he tugs hard at the nipple under my tattoo, intending to place his own mark there. He rubs, tweaks, and squeezes it between his fingers. I arch my pelvis toward him.
Lucca always told me sex was the best after an argument with someone. I didn’t understand it then and couldn’t even fathom how that would work, but now, in this moment, I understand completely. I’m still fired up inside, the aftermath of my anger courses through me as it looks for a physical outlet: my husband.
Corrik is an infuriating, dominating ass and I hate him, but he’s a sublime creature. His beauty is otherworldly—I’ve never seen anything like him and I’m certain I never will again. He’s hard and supple and dreamy.
Since when does sex require love?I have a supreme specimen before me; it’s enough to please my cock. His tongue prompts my lips open and I let him inside, allowing his tongue to seek mine, tangling with it. He doesn’t bother with anymore of the buttons on my wedding attire. The thing I’m wearing is a gown after all, and he simply pushes it up to reveal the gleaming silver chastity belt.
I forgot about that. I know he’s expecting to see it, but I’m embarrassed anyway. My cheeks heat and I can’t kiss him anymore. I pull away to watch with morbid fascination. He lifts the chain with the key over his head and dangles it before me. “You’ve remained chaste just for me,” he says. I lost count over how many times he asked me that in the strange book he left me. I don’t know what good it does to continue to state the obvious or is he mocking me? I’m not sure. I haven’t grasped an understanding of the Elf yet. “More than that you’ve taken pleasure only when I’ve allowed it.”
Is this a speech? The kind like when a new building is opened, and a ribbon is cut?
“You’ve been good, haven’t you Kathir?” It’s my Elvish name again. It has a harder edge to it than the other one he’s been referring to me by.
…have you been good? By Gods, his voice. Arousal sings through my groin of another kind. It’s not sexual and yet it’s amazing. I like being asked that more than I want to admit to.
And fuck I remember.
Moments before I put on the chastity belt, I had some fun. I’m sure my wide eyes are what give me away.
