Page 15 of Davoren (Dragon Master Daddies #1)
T he stone beneath my bare feet sang a different song now—not the cold indifference I'd known as human, but a warm recognition, as if the keep itself acknowledged what I'd become.
Each step away from the ceremonial chamber sent new sensations cascading through my transformed body, the golden lines traced across my skin pulsing with their own inner fire.
Every breath brought more information than my mind could process—the lingering ozone from the transformation, Scarlet's amber-and-linen scent fading as she departed through a different passage, and underneath it all, Davoren's presence like smoke given form.
He moved ahead of me with that predatory grace, not looking back, knowing I would follow.
Had to follow. The bond hummed between us, a living thing that made disobedience feel like trying to tear off my own skin.
But it was more than magical compulsion—my new body craved his proximity with an intensity that made my human desires seem like pale shadows.
We descended through corridors that seemed older than the rest of the keep.
The walls here were rough-hewn, bearing the marks of claws rather than tools.
Dragon work, from before he'd learned or cared to shape stone with precision.
My fingertips traced the gouges as we walked, and I swore I could feel the fury that had made them, centuries of loneliness carved into volcanic rock.
"Here," Davoren said, stopping before what looked like an unbroken wall of volcanic glass.
The surface reflected us both—him still perfectly composed despite what we'd just shared, me naked except for the tattered remains of silk that clung to my hips, the golden lines of my transformation glowing like embedded stars.
He pressed his palm against a section that looked identical to every other, and the glass began to melt.
Not shatter, not slide—melt, revealing a space behind that couldn't exist according to the keep's architecture I'd memorized.
The lift that waited there was barely large enough for two, its walls made of that same volcanic glass, polished to mirror-smoothness.
"After you, little one." The words rumbled through the bond as much as the air, and my body responded before my mind could form opinions about the wisdom of entering such a confined space with him.
The moment he followed me in, I understood my mistake.
Or perhaps it wasn't a mistake at all, but another form of the discipline that had already begun.
The lift was small enough that avoiding contact was impossible.
His chest pressed against my back, solid and radiating heat that made the golden lines on my skin flare brighter.
Every breath I took brought his scent—smoke and spice and underneath it something wild that my new senses recognized as fundamentally dragon, fundamentally mine.
The lift began to rise with a violence that surprised me, acceleration pressing me back against him fully.
My body, still learning its new sensitivity, interpreted the contact as lightning made flesh.
Every point where we touched sent cascades of sensation through nervous systems that hadn't existed an hour ago.
My nipples hardened to painful points, and wetness gathered between my thighs with embarrassing immediacy.
"Your body knows what it needs," Davoren murmured, his breath stirring my hair, sending shivers down my spine that had nothing to do with cold.
His hands came to rest on my hips, steadying me against the lift's movement, but the touch felt like brands even through his controlled temperature.
"Already so responsive. The transformation made you exquisitely sensitive, didn't it? "
I couldn't form words, could only nod as the lift continued its rapid ascent.
Through the bond, I felt his satisfaction at my response, his arousal building to match mine.
But underneath it ran something else—intent, purpose, the focused determination of a predator who had already caught his prey and was now deciding how best to devour it.
"You trespassed in my private sanctuary, little one.
" His voice had dropped to that register that bypassed thought entirely, vibrating through the bond directly into my core.
One hand moved from my hip to trace the golden lines that spiraled down my arm, the touch light but devastating.
"Entered spaces meant only for my bonded mate before the bond was sealed.
The Pact is complete now, but the rules of our dynamic must be established. "
"I didn't know—" I started, but his finger pressed against my lips, silencing me.
"Ignorance doesn't negate the transgression.
And if I'm honest—" his voice carried amusement now, dark honey poured over steel, "—I left that door open specifically so you would trespass.
So I would have reason to show you exactly how discipline works between us.
Disobedience requires correction, even when it's orchestrated. "
The lift shuddered to a stop, but he didn't move immediately, letting me feel the solid wall of him against my back, letting the anticipation build until my skin felt too tight, too hot, too everything.
When the doors finally opened, the scent hit me like a physical force.
Jasmine and musk, the same oil I'd sampled earlier, but warmed now, intentionally prepared.
The air was thick with it, making my head swim and my core clench with need I couldn't fully understand.
We stepped directly into the dual-natured chamber I'd explored, but it felt different now—charged, waiting, alive with possibility.
"The discipline side first," Davoren said, guiding me with a hand on my lower back toward the wall of restraints. Each step made me more aware of my nakedness, of the wetness between my thighs, of the way the golden lines on my skin seemed to pulse in rhythm with my heartbeat.
He moved with deliberate precision to one particular section, reaching for something I'd noticed earlier but tried not to think too hard about.
The collar was exactly as I remembered—deep blue like the dress he'd chosen for me, with silver clasps shaped like tiny dragons biting their own tails.
The dragon-scale lining caught the light, iridescent and impossibly smooth.
"This marks you as mine," he said, turning back to me with the collar held between his hands. "My Little. My treasured one. My fierce girl who needs guidance and boundaries and the kind of care that comes with correction."
He stepped close, close enough that I could feel the heat radiating from his skin, and lifted the collar to my throat. The first touch of dragon-scale against my neck sent sparks through every nerve, and I couldn't suppress the whimper that escaped.
"Perfect," he murmured, fastening the clasps with careful fingers. The fit was exact, not tight enough to restrict breathing but present enough that I'd never forget it was there. The dragon-scale lining was warm against my skin, almost alive, as if it recognized what I'd become and approved.
When he stepped back to admire his handiwork, I saw my reflection in the volcanic glass wall. The collar looked like it had always belonged there, the deep blue a perfect contrast to my skin and the golden lines that decorated it. I looked owned. Claimed.
His.
"Now then," Davoren said, his smile dark with promise, "let's discuss exactly how your trespass will be addressed."
His hand on my lower back guided me deeper into the discipline side of the chamber, past the wall of restraints that seemed to pulse with their own eager energy, toward something I'd only glanced at before—a padded bench that looked like an altar to everything I was about to become.
The construction was deliberately dual in nature, like everything in this room—black leather that had been worked until it was soft as silk, stretched over a frame of polished obsidian that caught the light and threw it back in rainbow fractures.
The height had been calculated with precision, designed to position someone exactly where they needed to be for correction.
"Over the bench, little one." His voice carried that rumbling authority that made my knees weak and my will dissolve like sugar in rain. "Palms flat against the leather."
The command moved through me via the bond, not quite compulsion but something adjacent to it.
My body wanted to obey even as my mind scrambled for some shred of defiance, some proof that I wasn't completely lost to this new existence.
But my feet were already moving, carrying me to the bench with the inevitability of water finding its level.
The leather was warm against my palms when I placed them flat, warmer still against my stomach as I bent forward.
The position was simultaneously vulnerable and oddly freeing—my back arched, legs spread for balance, presenting my backside in a way that should have mortified me.
Instead, the golden lines along my skin flared brighter, as if my transformed body recognized this position, craved it even.
I heard him move to the table of implements, each footstep deliberate, letting me hear him consider options.
The sound of his fingers trailing across different tools made my breath catch—wood, leather, that crystalline material I couldn't identify.
Then a pause, a soft sound of satisfaction, and his footsteps returning.
"This will sting, Kara." He stood behind me, and I could feel the heat of him even without contact.
In his hand—I could see it from the corner of my eye—was the volcanic glass paddle I'd admired earlier.
The surface was polished to mirror perfection, edges carefully rounded, the handle wrapped in what looked like drake leather.
"Your new body is resilient, but exquisitely sensitive.
Every sensation will be amplified, transformed. "