11. Elhyor
11
Elhyor
I can’t go back to my room.
I’ve tried.
But when I passed her door, all I could think about was the smell that came from inside and how I wanted to bury my cock inside those pouty lips of hers and pump until she choked on it and cried.
All I can think about is how proper she looks and how much I want to dirty her.
Even without hair, she looks like a doll.
One I want to break.
As long as I break her with my cock deep inside of her.
My dragon is restless, and my energy is buzzing.
Well, there is no he and I. I’m the dragon. But I also know when what I feel is triggered by human emotions or when it’s the dragon’s instincts.
Those instincts are a pain in my ass.
I battle against them and find myself in front of my office door.
That damn golden door.
It’s been painted in gold since my father took over Notre Dame. And every twenty or so years, those damn bats paint it again.
It goes with the myth of the dragons, they say.
Bullshit.
They just like messing with me.
Yes, dragons are hoarders. Notre Dame’s library is the perfect example of that, but it’s not so much gold we’re after.
It’s unusual things, curiosities, precious items.
Like the crown that was inside this very church when we arrived. It is said that it’s the thorn crown of their savior.
I don’t believe in their god, or even in Jesus, but I believe in the power of holy relics, and this crown is what dragon’s hoards are made of.
So, this door is just a joke for everyone. And everyone knows it.
I don’t even bother with closing it completely.
Everyone is eating right now, and other than Brice, no one dares to bother me these days.
I’m a cranky bastard.
Comes with the beastly instincts and the fire.
I’d love to say those are the only reasons, though, but it would be wrong.
I’ve been on edge for the past couple of years because there’s unrest in Paris. There’s unrest all over the world, and it’s not new, but it’s become worse in Paris lately.
It’s not surprising with the way the birds treat the humans, but I can’t take a side or fight. It would be detrimental to what I’m guarding here, and I’m not talking about that thorn crown.
I’m talking about Aléa’s very own oddities.
It is the only reason I accepted Micha?l’s offer.
I need the Libération as far away from my home as possible. War and relics don’t mix well, and I’d prefer if they stop asking me to spear that rebellion, and above all, I’d prefer if Micha?l didn’t end up knowing about it.
Peace. Quiet. That’s what I need.
I slump on my chair in front of my desk and retrieve the paper that vulture stuck to my chest earlier from my pocket.
They all think I burned it, but that’s the thing with fire. It’s so hot that people don’t really look at it.
So, they think I don’t have Micha?l’s list of demands, and now everyone is wondering what the next unhinged thing the dragon is going to do.
I open it, and it’s not the list of demands I was expecting.
Elhyor,
You can’t refuse her now that she’s in your care. Do whatever you want with her, but don’t bring her back to me.
She had etiquette lessons, bedtime lessons, and she’s still a virgin.
Enjoy.
What the hell?
Those words sound like Micha?l doesn’t care one bit about his daughter. He could have gifted me a dog or a mare, and I’m sure he would have sounded more loving.
I’m pissed off on her behalf and I don’t even know her.
My vision blurs and becomes reddish.
Oh shit.
I open my hand and nothing but ashes are left of that hateful paper.
Good.
It feels like I should have burned it the first time, anyway. Those hateful words can’t be those of a loving father… which makes me wonder what she’s been through before arriving at my door.
It was obvious that they forced her to arrive on foot, but what if there’s more?
Of course, there’s more.
I don’t know many women who would choose to shave their head without a very good reason. Not that she isn’t beautiful without hair, she definitely is.
It doesn’t reduce her beauty, not even a bit.
Those dark blue eyes that look like they could swallow me all.
Those rosy cheeks that make her look like she’s blushing all the time.
And those damn plush lips that make me think that she could swallow something whole.
I don’t realize the path my hand has taken until I’m cupping my cock through my pants.
Those damn tits that stretched the fabric of her shirt when she crossed her arm earlier on the roof.
I pop the buttons of my pants open and slip my hand inside my boxers.
And that damn ass that looked so firm and biteable.
I grab my cock and squeeze.
I want to bask in her smell and cover her in mine.
I move my hand up and down and twist.
I want to feel how I’m going to stretch her so well.
I want her taste on my tongue.
I want to feel her come around my cock.
I accelerate the pace…
And my door opens wide.
Fuck.
“Ready or not, I’m coming,” Brice says from behind the door.
For fuck’s sake.
“Could have waited until I did,” I grumble to myself.
I know the bastard will hear it, and that’s the point.
“Put your pants back on, you dirty exhibitionist,” Brice adds as he pokes his head inside the office.
“What was so urgent that you had to barge in?” I ask curtly.
I know I’m an asshole, but I was seconds away from coming and that idiot came at just the right time to give me the worst case of blue balls.
“The Libération is here,” he says as he sobers up a bit.
Well, shit. Back to business.