I drop onto the bed, crushing my throbbing cock into the mattress. I roll over and groan, the blanket covering my middle tenting up still. Slamming my fists onto the bed, I curse silently.
“Sorry, Mommy,” Illadon’s voice says.
I love my son. He is as great a treasure as Calista, but damn his timing. Could he not sleep a bit longer? Is there nothing even in my own home I’m able to control? A few moments alone with his mother is all I wanted.
“It’s fine,” Calista says, but I hear the exasperation in her voice.
I grit my teeth, ball my hands in the sheets, then roll over and climb out of bed. My pants aren’t where I left them. Anger flashes hotly across my vision, and I do my best to tamp it down. I look around the room, but nothing.
I toss aside discarded clothes and finally find them up under the bed frame. When I pull them on, my cock is still hard, but now my son is up. Calista won’t help with it, because her attention will be tied up with Illadon.
Maybe Sverre and Jolie would have a play date? That might buy us an hour or two of alone time. Alone time, a distant memory.
I wish I’d never agreed to let all her ‘friends’ move into my City. How much simpler would our lives be if it were only the three of us?
The room is a mess and I need to take my mind off my throbbing dick, so I work to set it to rights. I pick up the discarded clothing, Calista’s, as I only own two pairs of pants, and even that seems excessive. When I walk out with an armload of laundry, Calista is in our kitchen preparing food for Illadon.
“What broke?” I ask.
“Morning, Daddy!” Illadon says excitedly. “I was making breakfast. I was doing great. It was going to be perfect. I wanted to serve you breakfast in bed. The pitcher was slick, though. Sorry, it slipped. Now Mommy says I can’t make breakfast for you. Or me either, I guess. This sucks, I’m able to. I can do anything I set my mind to.”
I walk over to my son balancing the fine line between anger and pride. If nothing else, my cock isn’t dominating my thoughts any longer.
I tousle his hair and tug his head around by grabbing his horns. He laughs and struggles against my wrestling.
“It’s fine,” I say.
I look to Calista and instantly my cock stiffens. She’s so beautiful. Her long hair is tousled, sticking out in wild places, bunching around her perfect face. The sheet she’s wearing is slowly slipping lower, barely covering the soft brown nipples that top her heavy breasts.
Have they gotten bigger? A little?
She looks up and gives me a wan smile, shaking her head. “I’ll need to craft a new pitcher.”
I nod my agreement and go to put the laundry in the woven basket she’s made for the purpose of holding the items that need cleaned. I stare at the wrinkled pile of clothes in the basket. Neat. Organized. In its place.
A place for everything. It’s satisfying.
When I turn around, I examine the living space. Toys and random objects lie strewn about, destruction in the path of my son’s flittering attention. I deliberately walk around the room and pick up each out-of-place thing, firmly putting it back where it belongs. When I finish, I walk over to Illadon who is taking the last bites of his breakfast.
The counter around his plate is littered with crumbs, beads of water where he’s spilt his drink, and dirt. I stare at the offending mess then look at my son.
“Illadon,” I say. “You are making a mess. A male should take care of his own area. Do you expect your mother and me to clean up after you?”
Illadon stops chewing and looks at me with wide eyes. He shakes his head back and forth but doesn’t speak. Calista stops what she is doing and turns back to us.
“Then clean it up,” I bark, pointing at the mess around his plate.
“Yes, Daddy,” he says, his voice soft, eyes no longer meeting mine.
He sets down his food and slides off the stool, walking into the kitchen to retrieve a rag.
“It’s fine, Illadon, I’ll get it,” Calista says.
“No,” I say, glaring at my treasure. “He must learn to care for himself. He can contribute to keeping our home in order.”
“He can,” she says, stepping towards me and placing a hand on her hip. “But he will do so because he wants to, not because you’re controlling him.”
“There is nothing wrong with control,” I growl.
Calista opens her mouth to say something more, but she stops herself and snaps her mouth shut instead. She tilts her head, eyes narrowing as she studies me. She closes the distance until she has one hand on my chest and the other cupping my cheek.
“Ladon, what is it?” she asks.
Illadon is behind the counter dividing the kitchen area but I see him peek around the corner watching with blatant curiosity.
“I want to help you,” I say. “Order, control, these are good things.”
“Yes,” she says. “But this isn’t like you.”
I stop myself from a fiery retort. Her hands are warm against my scales, so I focus on those and breathe. The bijass is still close to the surface. Anger comes too quickly, but it’s more than that, isn’t it?
“I don’t know,” I say.
“My love,” she whispers. “If you don’t know, what is it you feel?”
“Danger,” I say, exploring the sensations and feelings that won’t form into words. “As if we’re on the precipice of something terrible.”
“Is it the disease?” she asks.
“No,” I snap. “It’s not what was, it’s something coming.”
“Okay,” she says.
“Let’s leave,” I say suddenly. “Now. Pack our things and go.”
“We can’t go,” she says.
“Why not? What holds us here? I will make a life for you and for Illadon far from here. It’s the way it should be, we don’t belong here in this dead husk of a City. This isn’t natural.”
“Ladon,” she says, shaking her head. “You’re not yourself. It’s probably unrest and upset from the illness. That’s all. We’re all fine. The City is great and we’re getting better all the time.”
I grab her arms and squeeze, trying to force her to understand.
“No!” I say. “It’s not. We need to… leave. All these people, Rosalind, Visidion, deciding what we’ll do next, what’s important and what’s not. This isn’t right. We can go.”
“I’m not leaving here,” she says, defiantly jerking herself out of my grip and taking a step back.
Her face is clouded with anger, her head tilted up, lips pursed tight. She meets my glare with one of her own, staring me down. The dragon rumbles but I can’t force her to understand. Anger burns through my veins, but there’s nothing more I can do or say.
“Calista, please,” I say, trying the one path left open.
“No,” she says, shaking her head. “All our friends are here. Our families are here. I’m not leaving them for a feeling you have. I’m sorry, I love you Ladon, but no.”
An emptiness opens up in my soul, and it feels like I’m being pulled towards a destiny we’re not prepared to face. Something terrible is going to happen. I have to protect my family. How do I make her understand?