Page 112 of The Dragon Warlord

“The object of my pain and affection is here,” Tristan says, dusting the hair off my face. “May I go?”

Father huffs. “Get out of my sight, but you’re taking the day off. If I hear a word that you’ve stepped out into the field—”

“Yes, my lord. I’ll do anything at this juncture to get out of here.”

I can’t stop smiling Tristan’s way. “I’ve taken care of everything. There’s no need to go down anyway.”

“Good. See, my lord? We’re like one dragon. My second is an extension of me.”

“Get out!”

We don’t waste time lollygagging, but he stops me before we get too far. “Wear this.” He removes his jacket and drapes it around me.

“You can’t be serious. I’ll look ridiculous, Warlord.”

“Now I know how Alrik feels. Put it on, Omega.”

I put it on and vow not to play into any more of my father’s foolishness. “I apologize for that, Warlord. I—”

“His Royal Dragonness put you up to this. I know you can’t refuse him, but I’ll remind you that I’m your alpha. I’ll be reminding him too. He’s overstepped.”

I know it’s wrong—because he’s truly upset—but I love the alphaness he’s exuding right now. I want to bathe in it. I want more of it.

He presses me against the wall, sliding a hand into the jacket and around my waist. Our noses touch as he inhales my scent. His hardness digs into my thigh. We’re still in the hallway that leads up to the dragon lord’s throne room. Anyone could see us, but it’s quiet today.

“Why must you be so damn tempting? Don’t fucking do it again, River. You belong to me, not him.”

Well … he’s never said that before. He’s always insistent that I still belong to my father and in a sense, I always will, just the same as any other dragon, but my father’s previous ownership of me dissolved when Tristan bit me.

“Yes, Warlord.”

He takes my hand. “Come.”

As if I’d say no to that. His hand is warm in mine and I’m all kinds of hot all over—because of my inner dragon, because I’m in love, because I crave my alpha like I need blood in my veins.

There’s a firm squeeze and then he drops my hand, realizing we’re in public and satisfied that he’s staked his claim. It wouldn’t matter, of course, it’s perfectly acceptable for an alpha to be with his omega in any way at all.

Tristan’s not ready.

But I’m wearing his jacket. No one else gets to wear the Warlord’s jacket. That’s got to be a step.

I walk beside him and head to his war room—not his chambers—where he blasts the large doors open to expose the edge of the mountain. He sits on the long, cushioned bench and pulls me down with him. He nuzzles his lips against my neck and my cock is alive with interest. I’ve never had so much trouble calming myself down. Now, it’s every ten minutes at least.

“How was your morning?” he says.

I want to tell him it was mediocre at best without him, but I don’t want to push him. “’Twas a good morning, Warlord.”

Even better now.

“As you saw, I was stuck with His Royal Dragoness.”

The energy within Tristan is seething, aching for a way to release. I take a breath. He leads and I follow. That’s what I want. I have no desire to lead anything with Tristan—even a conversation—but maybe he needs to know that I’m willing to talk about anything.

“If there’s anything you think we should talk about—”

“I don’t.”

Ouch.Okay. I nod over his head.