Page 107 of The Dragon Warlord

I recall the wild way his eyes burned and how strong his scent was. More slick runs from my arse and I use it to wet my dick some more, careful to only gather slick and not press my finger inside. I want Tristan to be the first thing that enters me. I’m moaning now, the sensations overwhelming me, plus the thought of Tristan the animal taking me when he’s more dragon than human or Elf.

Aching beneath him, I’d beg for it. I would submit, but I’d put up just enough of a fuss to coax more and more savageness from him. He would bite me some more, overwhelmed with the need to mark me. I’d flip and scratch my nails down his back so all would know my claim on him too.

That would rile his dragon’s blood into punishing me. His teeth would sink into the fresh bite, and I’d be powerless to do anything but take the brutal fucking—

“Oooooooh!” I cry loud and long. Pearly white dragon come shoots from my cock, into my pants and I lay breathing, craving my alpha. Wanting my kinky fucking fantasies to be real.

That’s when I catch the waver in the awareness. Tristan. Fuck. I was so enthralled …

The door to his room opens and I can see the moment the scent of my depravity hits his nostrils. His pupils dilate. His hands clench. The scent of his arousal fills the air and though I’ve just come, I’m locked in the spell of it again.

He’s frozen. “Have you been misbehaving, my naughty, naughty, Omega?”

“No—yes. I don’t know.” My heart beats in my throat.

He breathes carefully, but he hasn’t moved. Should I do something? But then he begins removing his jacket, slow at first, and then with a final flourish, he whips it off and hangs it by the door.

Drakon, he’s brilliant in nothing but his tight black trousers, tall boots, and white poet’s blouse. His many leagues of hair whip around him. One of his swords is strapped to his right hip. It’s my job to remove his jacket, boots, and sword. He’s already taken my jacket service away from me … I rise up to climb off the bed so I can help with his sword.

“No. You stay there,” he says.

I halt and push back onto the bed. I’m forced to watch with jealousy as he unbuckles the scabbard and sets it down in the wrong place. My nose wrinkles of its own accord.

“Where does it go, Omega?” Tristan asks.

“In the closet, A-Alpha.” There’s a shudder in my voice. The level of dominance pounding through him is in the air. I’m going to get hard again soon if he keeps that up.

He obliges me and leaves my view to set the sword in the closet. He takes too long in there and when I hear his resigned sigh, I know he’s composing himself. Finally, he leaves the closet. He’s holding a small tawse.

I cringe. “Warlord?”

“I’m going to punish you.”

“B-But, can’t it be with your cock?”

He remains by the closet, shaking his head. “Take those trousers off, and your pants. Ball them up and toss them to the other side of the room.”

In other words, where they won’t infiltrate his senses as much. It’s a desperate move. My scent is already thick through the room.

I do as bid, maintaining eye contact. I might be a crazy person, but I can’t wait for the kiss of his tawse. I want anything he’ll give me even if it’s punishment for a sexy crime. I’m proud of myself for masturbating in his bed while thinking dirty thoughts about him.

My cock is hard now with come fast drying over my blond pubic hair. It won’t be hard for long when that thing’s applied to my arse, but at least Tristan can see what he does to me.

“Lay face first over the bed, feet flat on the floor.”

I bite my lip to keep from laughing. He can’t look at it. I’m not even going over his knee, so that my cock won’t be pressing into him either. “Yes, Alpha.”

Before I’m flipped over, I catch the sight of him crossing his arms. “Since when did I find myself with a cheeky omega?”

All right. That was annoyance in his voice. Tristan might be a brat himself, but a bratty mate of any kind is the wrong pairing for him. In an odd twist of fate, he demands Alrik-level obedience. It’s perfect for me. I like to obey. I love strictness. I want to be held to an impossible standard.

“Sorry, Alpha.” I take the position.

Finally, he travels over to me and smoothens the tawse-free hand over my arse. Then he lays the first stripe.

I hiss.

“Am I to understand you couldn’t wait for me, Omega?”