Treasured by the Dragon

Ch 23: Servant

I begin with the waistcoat.

He's about two feet taller than my five-foot stature. I might have to stand on my tiptoes to undress him completely. However, it also means I can't see his face while unbuttoning his finely tailored vest.

With only a firm chest to look at, it's easy to imagine him as a mannequin and nothing more—especially with how cold his form is.

Despite the fireplace roaring, he lacks any warmth. He's not frigid, but he is...unsettling.

I've either gotten used to the Firehearts acting as strolling heaters or I simply never appreciated the warm-blooded attributes of humans. Whatever the case, the absence of ambient warmth surrounding Irving is disquieting in a way I can't fully explain.

Despite knowing everyone in this castle, except myself, can transform into a dragon, it is Irving's body temperature that really solidifies the fact he's inhuman.

I finish up with the buttons, and though his gaze is patronizing, he does roll his shoulders to help me slide off the waistcoat. I know many a noble who wouldn't bother lifting their arm to help with pulling off a sleeve.

I gladly accept this fragment of courtesy. It may not be much, but it helps soothe the boiling in my stomach.

I hang the garment in the wardrobe and then consider my next moves. I'm in no hurry to reach for his waist, but his shirt is tucked into his pants and should be long enough to cover his more intimate areas. Since I've heard some men go without undergarments, I'd rather work down there with a potential shield in place.

"Sir, please sit down so I may remove your boots."

I wait for him to tell me it's my job to undress him, and that he will not make my task easier. However, the lengthy dragonith takes one long stride over to the edge of Cephias's bed and sticks out his foot.

Resentment knots in my throat when I see him upon the mattress that has hosted unbound pleasure for Cephias and I. But I swallow it down and proceed with removing his boots and socks.

"Please stand, sir, so I may remove your trousers."

"No."

His answer is light and his smile challenging. As angry as I am with him, a part of me is more pissed with myself for assuming he'd continue to be accommodating.

"It will be difficult—"

"You can manage."

He is perched at the very edge of the mattress and leans back with his arms stretched behind him. With his weight on his palms, it shouldn't be that hard to tug his trousers down.

However, he'll have quite a view of me as I do it.

Whether I bend over him or kneel on the ground, the picture he'll be presented is not one I'd like to give to just any man.

After a moment's thought, I step over to the side of his leg and then settle myself down on one knee. I hear him chuckle as I navigate my way around his traps, but I keep myself steady.

I'm done playing the shy, terrified princess when we both know I'm not.

I use the very tips of my fingers to pull his belt from his buckle so that the least amount of me is touching him at any given moment. Then, with one powerful tug, I relinquish the leather belt. I rise to my feet once again to stow the accessory away and to get a moment of space before contesting with the buttons of his trousers.

Back beside his leg, I watch his taut stomach rise and fall beneath his shirt. I try to match my breath with his, so I appear just as calm and unconcerned. I also say a small prayer to the gods, asking them to make this process quick and painless.