Roscrow stood in the hall, finding a dark spot that he managed to tuck his lean, long frame into. He had his shoulder resting on the cool rock, arms crossed comfortably over his powerful chest. His black eyes were lidded, like a lazy panther waiting for his prey to walk by.
It was the middle of the day outside the mountain, so most of the trainees were out practicing with mock battles on dragonback. The hall was mostly empty. A few trainees had the day off for whatever reason, sick dragons, or injuries.
The door to the communal shower room for the females opened, a stream of steam pouring out into the hall, curling in the cool air before it dissipated.
The young trainee strode out, shaking her head, her short hair sticking up in wet spikes. She'd wrapped her towel tightly around her body so she could change in her room since it was too steamy in the shower room despite all the fans and ventilation shafts. She walked barefoot down the corridor, not worried about getting dirty since the place was scrubbed spotless every day.
She gasped when she heard a rumble to her side, glancing over to where the sound had come, her neck having to crane up to stare into the glowing eyes. She immediately noticed his rank symbol on his dragonscale jerkin. Her hazel eyes flicked back up to his black glowing ones. The hungry predatory gaze made her shiver, and she couldn't hold her eyes up, opting to stare at the wall instead.
"C-Can I help you, Commander, sir?" she asked quietly, offering a half hearted salute.
"Perhaps." His voice was gruff. He unfurled himself with a rustle, standing straight and taking the few steps that separated them slowly, like he was stalking her. The trainee pressed herself up against the wall, suppressing a squeal. Roscrow leaned over her, resting his elbow against the wall above her head, allowing her no escape.
A smug smile tugged his lips when she was unable to meet his gaze. Exactly what he was looking for. "Do you have anything important to do today?" His voice was like dark silk.
He could tell the trainee was trying to think of something, any thing, to say to him. His eyes lazily peered down her lean body, covered in the towel, confidently roaming back up to her face. She couldn't think of any thing, really. She'd been hoping for a quiet day to do some reading while her dragon nursed its injured paw.
A small gasp escaped her when she felt the large, warm hand of the commander reach under her towel. His long, callused finger ran along her slit, causing her breathing to quicken, her heart pounding in her chest.
Finally, she managed to gasp a "No, sir." It was nothing more than a breath.
She shivered when she heard the rumble in his chest, like a panther purring with triumph over a kill. "Are you sure about that?"
Her jaw clenched when she felt his finger again slide along her slit. She felt a heat in her face as her cheeks flushed brightly, realizing that she was already moist. The smugly confident expression on Roscrow's face made her wetter still. She didn't even understand why. She wanted to claw at his face, scream, and run away. She already had a love interest, a private who'd just graduated his training and was out on ballista duty. But the commander's overwhelming dominating presence left her knees too weak to run, her whole body tingling, her heart pounding.
Roscrow knew very well she was enjoying his touch. He could feel the wetness of her on his finger. It was even starting to run down her thigh. It was exactly how he liked it, a submissive woman turned on by his purely male dominance. Had she held his gaze when she was walking by, he wouldn't have bothered with her.
He stood straight, drawing away from her, but his eyes stayed on her, unblinking. "I do believe you were headed to your room," he purred.
With a shudder, she slipped by him, her head slightly hunched down, feeling his powerful presence behind her. She almost felt too weak to walk, ashamed of how slick her thighs were.
She jumped when she heard the door close behind her, felt his eyes bearing down on her. Her head was low in deference.
"Take it off." His voice was a low growl, not allowing any disobedience.
With a shudder, she slowly let the towel slip to the floor. She couldn't hold back a soft moan when she felt his fingertips run lightly up her spine. The family crest on her lower back was familiar to him, but certainly not concerning. She gasped when his hand tightened around the back of her neck, spinning her around and wrenching her against his body, his lips on hers with a punishing, dominating kind of passion.
He could feel his blood burning, the pressure in his groin pulsing hotly, begging to be let out of his leather pants. He could feel her body melt into him, her hips pressing against him. He used that against her, his other hand running down her softer body, tweaking a nipple, drinking her moan, and further down, his fingers running over the hard little bud hidden in the folds of skin between her legs. Her thighs were slick, her hips grinding against his hand.