They writhed together languidly with their legs intertwined, while Arilla traced sweeping lines of electric pleasure down Typh’s chest and through to her stomach. Short nails dimpled brown skin, causing the dragon to gasp and moan with delight. Beneath Arilla’s skilled human hands, Typh succumbed to the warrior’s gentle urgings and parted her thighs, allowing her lover to send far more intense shivers that ran screaming up her spine. Time had lost all meaning to her; she didn’t know if it was day or night, but atop the narrow cot where they consummated the rekindling of their relationship, all that mattered to her was the woman lying beside her.
Typh’s manicured fingers ran down the lines of knotted flesh that decorated her lover's torso, a grim reminder of her previous failure to protect her human. The scars were impossible to ignore, and while they weren’t exactly off-putting, when she looked at them she was struck with the urge to apologise. She wanted to try and kiss them better, to see if that loving act could somehow take away Arilla’s memory of the pain.
So she did—try at least. The dragon trailed gentle kisses along the length of the historic wounds, and in response, the warrior arched her back and pressed her skin firmly against Typh’s full lips, eager for more. When Arilla suddenly pulled back with a gasp, Typh was worried that she had done something wrong, but her fears were allayed when the warrior stroked her cheek and offered her a gentle smile.
“It’s okay, they don’t hurt. They’re just sensitive,” Arilla said reassuringly, intuiting her concerns and taking the dragon’s hand in hers, which she then placed much lower.
Her lips found Typh’s around about the same time the dragon found the opening to the warrior's sex. Arilla’s tongue flicked into her mouth, while Typh’s fingers thrust into the other woman's vagina. Tight walls of constricting muscles squeezed down around her, and the warrior eagerly bucked her hips, the motion pulling Typh deeper inside of the already slick channel. She’d lost count of the number of times she’d brought her partner to orgasm. The benefits of third-tier had given the warrior an enduring physiology, and as she began to fuck her lover for what could easily have been the thousandth time, the dragon found that she had no complaints about the human’s improved stamina.
Arilla moaned into her mouth, never breaking the kiss while Typh rhythmically curled her fingers inside her human in a familiar series of thrusting motions that still caused the other woman to melt around her. The warrior was content to ride Typh’s hand for a time, truly earning her moniker as the Dragonrider. While the dragon happily reduced her lover to an unintelligible series of “more”s, “deeper”s, and “don’t you ever fucking stop!”s, she took the time to study Arilla’s panting form.
The warrior's body had changed since Typh had seen it last. On the road to Rhelea there had been coats and furs, at Erebus’s palace liquor-stained clothes, and in Cawic… it had seemed impolite to stare. But now that Arilla was truly back, sober, and enthusiastically consenting, it was impossible for the dragon to draw her eyes away from her chosen human.
Her hazel eyes that usually looked so curious were glazed over with lust. Her rounded cheeks, dusted with freckles, gave her a sense of vital, powerful energy. Thick locks of red hair tumbled down past her muscular shoulders to the tops of her small breasts which rose and fell with every one of her panted breaths. Perspiration beaded down Arilla’s stomach, highlighting the firm outline of her prominent abdominal muscles. The surgically thin scars, where Rolf had cut into her, travelled down through the center of her torso, bisecting her navel and carrying on to her waist where it branched outwards into a perpendicular horizontal line.
Muscles at her hips that tapered like a ‘V’ pointed down towards Arilla’s groin, where beneath a thin coating of red hair the woman’s lower lips were flushed with arousal and the constant motion of Typh’s hand. A sheen of fluid coated the dragon's palm, causing the repetitive sound of wet flesh hitting against more of the same, with every thrusting motion that sent her fingers driving deep into the warrior's glistening sex.
As Arilla lost herself to her moaned proclamations of lust, Typh pulled her lips away from the warrior's mouth, planting kisses on pale skin as she navigated lower after a brief detour to nip at an earlobe. The dragon suckled first on her lover's neck, not stopping until there was a danger of leaving a mark, whereupon she resumed her journey south. An erect nipple was practically thrust into her mouth, a reminder that while not fully cognizant, Arilla was very much an active participant.
The stronger woman held Typh’s head firmly in place over her heaving chest and eventually she took the hint and sucked. The dragon rolled the nipple between her lips, squeezing Arilla’s other bared breast with an unoccupied hand. The warrior’s moans intensified, and she made tight fists in Typh’s hair which hurt—not that she minded. The human’s legs wrapped tight around the dragon's, pulling her and her hand into an even closer embrace for several long moments before Arilla’s entire body convulsed amid a loud and unmistakable scream of pleasure.
The dragon removed her hand, fully expecting another pause in their long bout of lovemaking that had seen them both take many breaks to kiss and cuddle. But when the fists in her hair tightened, if anything, causing Typh to squeal with delight, she knew it wasn’t over yet. The warrior then used her grip to slowly lower the dragon’s head down her muscular body, prompting Typh to lick and kiss Arilla’s naked flesh all the way down. She savored the salty taste of fresh sweat on hot skin, and the feel of taut muscle against her tongue. Those achingly familiar tastes soon gave way to muskier and entirely more enticing flavours. Typh’s skill-enhanced perception picked up on every note and nuance in the taste of Arilla’s natural lubricants as her mouth hovered over her lover’s swollen lips.
“Eat me,” the warrior commanded, and in this one instance the Lord Sovereign was happy to comply with human demands.
Typh buried her face between Arilla’s thighs, her lips falling upon the other woman’s clit which she hungrily devoured, licking and sucking with a frantic energy that lasted until a short spike of delightful pain was sent shooting through her scalp.
“Slower, Typh, there’s no hurry.”
With an affirmative humm that set the warrior shivering, she did as she was told, slowing her pace and encircling the sensitive organ with long sensual licks from her tongue. Intermittently she travelled lower, lapping at Arilla’s juices that streamed out from her inner lips, which the dragon enthusiastically nipped and nibbled upon. Freed from their duties, Typh used her hands to stroke the sensitive skin of the warrior's inner thighs, scratching softly with the tips of her painted nails.
Arilla’s level rise had given her a capacity for pleasure that far better matched her rampant desires, although Typh, lacking a warrior's constitution, was approaching her physical limits. Her muscles ached with a fatigue built up over hours, but the satisfied moans and groans from her lover—not to mention her pride—made it impossible for her to even consider stopping. Fortunately, while Arilla outclassed Typh’s human form when it came to strength and endurance, the dragon was an adept mage.
With a little concentration and a trickle of mana, she brought a curved rod of hardened light into Creation. The rounded head of the arcane implement was warm to the touch, and when it slowly worked its way inside Arilla’s vagina, the woman arched her back so dramatically that Typh very nearly lost her place teasing the warrior’s clit. The dragon continued to lick and stroke, while she willed her spell to thrust and swell, filling the human far more effectively than the dragon’s fingers ever could.
Bound only by the limits of Typh’s draconic desires and exceedingly deep mana reserves, the dragon fucked her human senseless. Force and fire were the two aspects that every Sovereign Dragon shared, and spells that made use of these qualities were cheaper and easier for Typh to cast. Throughout her life she had used this natural advantage to defeat her enemies, and destroy any obstacles that fell within her path, but now that she used unyielding force warmed to a degree or two above Arilla’s internal body temperature, the dragon was overcome with possibilities.
She experimented; increasing the rigidity here, the curvature there, the angle of spin and the rate of vibration. The hardened lump of mana that penetrated her warrior’s vagina moved vigorously in a strictly inhuman manner. Arilla’s moans increased, and the woman who professed to only be able to cum with something suitable inside of her, had her conditions met and then some.
Orgasms rolled through the warrior, and from the sound of her cries Typh made a careful note to experiment on herself at a later date, but for now she continued to work Arilla’s clit while the bronze-ranked warrior endured the dragon's loving ministrations.
Time passed, and when Typh finally pulled her spell out of her lover to inspect its final shape, it came free with a wet sucking sound that sent delightful convulsions running through the near-insensate human. The dragon marveled at the irregular construction of the tool she had created, committing to memory the bumps, ridges and curving protrusions that at this point were more springy to the touch than actually solid. It had been a fascinating experience, one she was very eager to repeat, but for now she was content in her victory of outlasting her partner, even if her own needs were yet to be satisfied.
“Pushwritbagsin…” Arilla mumbled incoherently.
“What was that?” Typh asked.
The warrior blinked a few times and let out a slow sensual groan. Her arm fell on Typh’s, heavy as only a strength-based warrior’s could be, and with surprising ease the woman pulled the dragon in for another long kiss. When their lips parted, Arilla leaned over Typh, moving a sweaty leg over to straddle her supine partner, and with her soft human lips pressed against the dragon's ear, she whispered.
“Put it back in.”
The dragon sighed. Maybe she had been a little premature in declaring her victory.
***
“Do you have my money?” the woman asked, appearing out of thin air already seated in the vacant chair opposite the dragon.
The rogue stared at Typh mutely while she waited for her answer. The noble decided to stall for a few moments, while she tried to divine if the human’s ability to go for so long without blinking was a byproduct of a perception skill, or simply an act of defiance. She dearly hoped that it was the former, because if the rogue was already so hostile this early on in their conversation, things were unlikely to go well for either of them.
“I do,” the dragon responded. “But only if you’ve done as asked. If I find out you’ve been slacking off and are here to cheat me—there will be consequences.”
“Is that a threat?”
“Yes.”
Typh let the pause hang heavy in the air, where it sharpened the menace behind her words. The dragon hated rogues with a passion, and while this one had done nothing to harm her, sometimes she couldn’t stop her distaste for the class from boiling over. If she could cast a spell that would banish them all from Creation, she would, but as much as she despised rogues, she couldn’t deny that they had their uses.
This one in particular boasted an impressive array of skills that together left her woefully ill-prepared for an honest brawl, but more than made up for it by making her an excellent spy, and an even better assassin. Perhaps more importantly, any notions the woman may have had regarding some kind of patriotic duty to her high-born betters, had fled the moment the dragon first put gold talents down on the table.
The rogue's unblinking eyes darted to the collection of thick ingots that rested on the flat surface between them, and she actually licked her lips in obvious anticipation. Clearly the rogue had an abysmal natural charisma stat, which should have been less surprising for someone with such a strong affinity for waiting silently in the shadows.
“They’re planning to kill you,” Nightshade said, finally breaking the silence.
“I know that already. You’re being paid to find out how,” Typh reminded.
“They’re looking for adventurers to do the job. After your ‘army’ gets here, but before the attack.”
“Figures. And the offer?”
“Mostly the same as before,” the rogue shrugged. “Adoption into the Traylan line, fifteen thousand talents for each of your heads, and about an acre of prime real-estate within inner Rhelea.”
“And this comes from Lord Traylan?” the dragon asked.
“No,” Nightshade replied, surprising Typh for the very first time. “Lords Melias, Ignatius, and Lady Domine are definitely in on it… the others might be, I can’t say for sure, but Lord Traylan is not involved.”
“Surprising… I’d have thought he’d be the one leading the charge,” Typh mused.
“No, our Liege Lord has barely left his tent since he arrived at the camp. There are rumours circulating that he’s taken an injury healers can’t fix, but personally I just think the old man's given up.”
“You mean to tell me that you don’t know?”
“You paid me to figure out which nobles want to kill you, and how they plan on doing it. He doesn’t want you dead, so I left him alone,” Nightshade said defensively.
Typh frowned at that. It would have been so much neater if Lord Traylan was the ringleader, or at least a conspirator in the plot to see her dead. If she could cast all of the nobles in the same net, her life would be markedly simpler, but one less immediate enemy wasn't exactly the worst news she’d heard today.
“What’s their plan for my army after I’m dead?” the dragon asked, causing the human to shift uncomfortably.
“I’m not exactly clear on the specifics—”
“It seems there’s a lot you’re not clear on,” Typh grumbled.
“But, they’re hiring tamers,” the rogue continued, ignoring the interruption.
“There are tamers in camp? I thought I had every competent adventurer under contract, and I wasn’t aware of any of them. Besides, don't most humans hate tamers? Something about them being too close to their pet ‘monsters’ to be morally decent folk?”
“You’d be surprised how many there are. Most are dual-classed and keep it as their secondary. In part to avoid the discrimination, but also because the skills don’t exactly make them the most durable of adventurers.”
“I’m still not clear on how tamers are supposed to stop my army from butchering everyone out of revenge.”
“The plan—not that it's much of one—seems to be using tamers to lure your horde of beasts into the city to serve as fodder against the horrors. Either that weakens the Monster’s forces enough so that the remaining adventurers can go in and finish it off, or it buys us—them—enough time for the Nauron army to get here,” the rogue explained, with only a single misstep.
You are reading story Dragon’s Dilemma at novel35.com
“You’re right, that’s not much of a plan. Although I suppose it’s partially my fault for underplaying exactly what I’m bringing to the table,” she chuckled, unable to take the threat seriously considering how dramatically it would fail the moment tamers were sent to control the ratling legions.
“And what exactly are you bringing?” Nightshade asked, suddenly curious.
“Never you mind, rogue. I’m paying you to answer questions, not ask them.”
“And if I decide that you’re not paying me enough?”
Typh’s eyes narrowed.
“Do you want to try your luck at fifteen thousand talents instead?” the dragon asked, all too aware that she was sitting alone in a tent with an accomplished iron-rank assassin.
“Maybe I do,” Nightshade warned, and her hands fell inside the folds of her large coat where Typh could smell the sweet stench of poisoned steel emanating from within. “The nobles say that you’re weak. That your fight with the Monster left you injured, and you’ve not yet recovered. They say that it would be easy to kill you, just a single slip of the knife and you’re done. Hardly stronger than a peak-iron mage, and I’ve killed more than a few of those.”
The dragon stared down the rogue, as the woman’s hands found the hilts of her blades.
“That is all true. I’m weaker now than I’ve ever been. If I tried to turn back into a dragon, I would die,” Typh calmly explained, leaning forwards in her chair. “Now, knowing this, do you want to try your luck, rogue?”
Nightshade hesitated, whatever she had been expecting, it wasn’t that. Unsettled, the assassin’s hands fell away from her blades, and emerged once again from the folds of her long coat.
“No. I think I’m okay with what I’m being paid after all.”
“A wise decision, I’m sure. But if you change your mind—”
“You won’t see me coming,” Nightshade stated confidently.
“Maybe, maybe not. You may have killed peak-iron mages before, human, but don’t forget that I eat rogues like you,” the dragon warned.
Nightshade shivered at the threat, and Typh knew that she wouldn’t see the rogue trying to sneak into her tent for at least a couple more nights. But that was the problem with rogues, they were sneaky, and their patience, while rarely used, was easily their deadliest weapon. One day, her wards would be weak, or she’d make a mistake, and if she wasn’t lucky a patient rogue could get to her. For now she was buying the tolerance—if not the goodwill—of every adventurer she encountered, but when her gold ran out she’d need something else to keep their knives from her throat.
An army would do that, but failing that, so too would fear.
The wary assassin snatched her payment from the wooden table, and fled the tent without another word—she was simply there one second and gone in the next, never visibly rising from her chair. Typh waited for a few moments before she closed her eyes and breathed out a long sigh of relief, enjoying the sweet moment of solitude that didn’t last for nearly long enough.
“Do you have my money?” a man asked, appearing out of thin air in the chair opposite her. She looked at him, dressed in a long black coat, reeking of blades and poison. Try as she might, Typh couldn’t stop the tired groan from escaping her lips.
System help her, she hated rogues with a passion.
***
Following a busy day of unpleasant meetings with people who more often than not wanted one or both of them dead, the couple had ultimately decided to relocate to Arilla’s tent for the evening. The twin virtues of the more central location and the warrior’s far nicer furniture made it an appealing choice—the adventurer guards standing watch were just the icing on the cake. The pair were preparing a late supper when, without announcing their arrival, Liam, followed by Tamlin, entered the canvas structure.
Upon seeing the sizzling bacon that Arilla was tending to in a frying pan held over an open fire, the boy practically fell upon it, having to be held back by the healer before he could hurt himself on the scorching metal.
“Calm down, child, have some bread. The meat will be ready soon,” Typh offered placatingly, holding out a plate that contained several small rolls. Tamlin immediately snatched them away from the dragon, and began to noisily funnel the bread into his mouth. Somehow the youth managed to get it all down without either vomiting or chewing his food.
“Gods…” Liam trailed off watching the spectacle with distaste.
“Give the boy a break, he hasn’t eaten in a week,” Arilla said compassionately.
“My magic should have kept—”
“Kept him alive, not full. I’ve used a similar spell before on myself, and from your attitude I suspect that you haven’t tried out its effects personally. The boy is a necromancer, but that doesn’t make him evil, now stop looking for excuses to hate him and just let the boy eat,” Typh commanded.
“That’s easy for you to say, you’re a dragon,” Laim complained.
“I am, and you currently have the privilege of addressing me in a far less formal manner than most. Think, Liam. This is what you asked for, you’re on the team, but if you can’t get over Tamlin puppeteering the dead, then I’ll choose him over you,” the dragon warned.
The healer cast a sidelong glance towards Arilla, who after a moment’s hesitation gave a sharp nod of confirmation, and the man’s shoulders slumped with defeat. He clearly had yet to warm up to the boy, but at least Liam wasn’t trying to actively get him killed.
Tamlin belched, and everyone stared. Typh herself felt the nervous energy that had been building within her dissipate in the face of the all-too-human reaction.
“Even after, I wasn’t sure if I believed it,” the necromancer said wistfully.
“Believed what?” Arilla asked.
“She’s a dragon,” Tamlin clarified, gesturing towards Typh’s tag that hovered above her head.
“What you saw on your trip wasn’t enough to make that sink in?” the dragon asked, amused.
“It was… but seeing things through the eyes of a corpse is very different compared to when using my own,” the boy explained. Uncomfortable shivers spread through the two other humans present as they viscerally responded to Tamlin’s casual blasphemy. Whether the boy noticed, or particularly cared, was hard to say, but after a moment's thought his eyes flared a luminescent green and his class tag appeared above his head. The necromancer let out a low sigh of relief, and Typh saw the tension practically flee from his shoulders. “That’s better… Can I have some of that bacon now?”
“Of course. Arilla?”
Despite what were obviously her best attempts not to react, her lover faltered. Arilla’s breath hitched, and the bacon fell from the pan and into the open flames when she caught sight of the boy's new level. Twenty wasn’t a big number, but it had taken Arilla weeks of effort with Typh’s help, to get her there. Tamlin had done it in one, spreading his influence far past Rhelea’s walls on the wings of dead birds. It was true that he wouldn’t have survived the attempt without Liam’s healing, or Arilla’s protective sword, but witnessing such a sudden level rise when it belonged to a member of one of the dreaded ‘illegal classes’ was still deeply unsettling to the humans raised to fear that which was different.
“Fuck!” the warrior cursed, realising her mistake.
“It’s no matter, the bread took the worst of the edge off,” Tamlin smiled awkwardly, although his good cheer had started to falter once he saw the other humans’ negative reactions.
“Congratulations on hitting pewter Tamlin,” Typh offered.
“Thanks, I would have gotten higher, but I couldn’t rank up without severing the connection,” he explained almost apologetically.
“Do you need any help selecting your skill? It might be a while before your next one.” she asked.
“No. Err… Master? I’ve already chosen,” Tamlin admitted.
“Good, but don’t call me ‘Master’, Typh is fine when we’re in private,” the dragon said.
“Of course, Typh,” her apprentice answered, his eyes falling briefly to her cleavage, on their way to his feet while he blushed crimson with embarrassment. She tried not to frown, as she had no desire to make a big deal out of it, but it was becoming increasingly clear to the dragon that her high charisma score was becoming a problem.
“Well? I believe that’s enough pleasantries,” she said, trying to move the conversation along. “Are you ready to report?”
Tamlin looked at her, and this time the boy had no trouble meeting her gaze.
“They’re here.”
f you liked this chapter, do make sure to rate, review, favourite, and follow as appropriate. Everything you do really helps get this fiction discovered, which gets it in the faces of new readers and keeps me writing.
If you really liked this chapter and can't wait for the next one. I have a Patreon where you can read up to 15 chapters ahead and contribute towards keeping the lights on.
If you want to chat with me your humble author in real-time, or other fans of the series feel free to join the discord .
If you want to help with my visibility and don't fancy any of the above then give me a .
And last but not least, Dragon's Dilemma Book 1: A Sovereign's Scorn, is on sale on