by Alisa Woods
Akkan
Broken Souls 7
Alisa Woods
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Dot Com Wolves
* * *
Claiming Mia (Book 1)
Saving Arianna (Book 2)
A Christmas Wish (Book 3)
Riverwise Private Security
* * *
Jaxson (Book 1)
Jace (Book 2)
Jared (Book 3)
Wilding Pack Wolves
* * *
Wild Game (Book 1)
Wild Love (Book 2)
Wild Heat (Book 3)
Wild One (Book 4)
Wild Fire (Book 5)
Wild Magic (Book 6)
Fallen Immortals
* * *
Kiss of a Dragon (Book 1)
Heart of a Dragon (Book 2)
Fire of a Dragon (Book 3)
Chosen by a Dragon (Book 4)
Seduced by a Dragon (Book 5)
Touched by a Dragon (Book 6)
Loved by a Dragon (Book 7)
Marked by a Dragon (Book 8)
Claimed by a Dragon (Book 9)
Of Bards and Witches: Leonidas’s Story (Book 10)
Fallen Angels
* * *
A Deadly Sin (Book 1)
Guardian of Light (Book 2)
The Sin of Wrath (Book 3)
Seraphim (Book 4)
Prince of Shadow (Book 5)
Tempted: Tajael’s Story (Book 6)
Kiss of an Angel: A Christmas Story (Book 7)
Legal Magick
* * *
Ever Strange (Book 1)
Mercy Strange (Book 2)
Verity Strange (Book 3)
Broken Souls
* * *
My Dragon Lord (Book 1)
My Dragon Keeper (Book 2)
My Dragon Mate (Book 3)
My Dragon Bodyguard (Book 4)
My Dragon Lover (Book 5)
My Dragon Master (Book 6)
Akkan (Book 7)
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Akkan (Broken Souls 7)
Copyright © April 2020 by Alisa Woods
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission from the author. For information visit: Alisa Woods
Cover by BZN Studio
Akkan (Broken Souls 7)
He trains imperial concubines in the arts of the bedroom...
I visit the grand harem of the Ottoman Empire once a year. The eunuch guards would behead me if they could. To be fair, they don’t expect lovers to fly off the balcony and into the night.
Being dragon has its perks. Like playing in Nuriye’s bed.
But it’s been ten long years of waiting—it’s time to return home to Greece and claim my soul mate.
If only the fates will allow it.
Akkan wants one last night of pleasure before risking his heart with a return home, but a runaway servant girl who saves him from the guards also complicates his plans… and may be just the thing he needs most.
Akkan is a backstory after-novella for the Broken Souls series. He is the main character in My Dragon Master (Broken Souls 6), and this is his story.
Author’s Note
Akkan is the hero in My Dragon Master (Broken Souls 6), and this short backstory novella transports us back to the Ottoman Empire to see how Akkan's journey began. I hope you enjoy this additional insight into his character!
* * *
-Alisa
Chapter One
Nuriye’s tongue slides across the tip of my cock.
“A little faster,” I say in Persian, the softer, literary language of her people. “Don’t be timid,” I add in the more-official Turkish of the Ottoman Empire just so she knows I mean business.
She smirks, flashing those deep, dark eyes at me, then she attacks my cock with her full lips and mouth, petite hand gripping me with surprising strength to show me her enthusiasm.
I sigh to let her know the pleasure she brings.
I’m instructing an imperial concubine in the ways she might please her sultan. Nuriye’s beauty is already a standout in the harem—I don’t need to bed every one of them to know this, although, over the years, I’ve made my way through the ranks. The Topkapı Palace isn’t the bastion of security it pretends to be. To be fair, the eunuch guards hardly expect lovers to fly up to the balcony and bed the sultan’s favorites. Being dragon does have its perks.
Nuriye takes me into her mouth then deep in her throat, and my stifled groan from the unexpected change of pace is real. “Not too soon, moosh-am,” I chastise, lightly, accidentally slipping into my native Greek on top of the Persian endearment—this gorgeous creature is summoning a tightness in my groin that’s challenging all my hard-won control.
She lifts her head. “Moosh? Am I a little mouse?” She’s offended by such a sweet endearment when I should be training her to impress the sultan. “A moosh will not bring the sultan to his knees,” she complains. Nor would that raise her through the ranks of the court ladies, I imagine. “I’m not taking this risk to be flattered, dragon man. What of your promises? How do I enthrall the sultan enough to become Gözde?” Gözde—the Favorite—is only one rank up from a common court lady. Above that is Ikabl—the Fortunate. And for only a select few, Kadin—the wives. Nuriye is nothing if not ambitious.
I slip my hand to her lovely cheek. She truly has unparalleled beauty, and that will take her far. Those wide eyes and thick lashes and that pink-kissed mouth that’s all the more ruddy for its work on my cock… I have no doubt Nuriye will one day be Valide Sultan, the Queen Mother of the Harem. I’m just a step in her plans in a world that does not properly value women for all the assets they have—their minds, as well as their beauty—preferring to enslave them than give them any chance to shine. The likes of Nuriye will fight that system all the way to the top. If I were free to pick my mate, she’s the kind I would want in my bed for a lifetime.
The sultan doesn’t deserve her.
“You are my moosh,” I say, dragging my thumb across her bottom lip. Her mouth is busy pouting at me while her hand continues to stroke me. “But for the sultan, my training will make you a delight that’s impossible to resist.”
She narrows her eyes, but I can tell she’s pleased with this sweetness as well as the promise. Love isn’t a thing imperial concubines get to enjoy often—or even the torrid, one-night fling we’re having. And I plan to have her enjoy much more before we’re done with our “lesson.” But for now, I guide her mouth back to my cock. “Take pity on me, moosh-am. I’ve been in the mountains for a year, no women at all, much less ones with your rapturous beauty.” She lavishes attention on my cock with renewed vigor, and I groan my pleasure in response. I slide my hand into her hair, guiding her gently, using my inarticulate sounds and whispered Persian curses to let her know when she gets it just right. None of these are lies I’m telling. I’ve truly been in seclusion—the high mountains of Tibet, living in a cave with a yogi of the most rigorous discipline, more than any I’ve studied under so far—and this first orgasm upon release from my self-imposed exile was guaranteed to be fast. Nuriye and I have the whole night, and I’ve only just begun my seduction. First are the promises of training for advancement, ones eagerly sought by her and easily delivered by me. Next, the lessons in how to pleasure herself. She deserves that much. A woman like her won’t find that with the sultan, and it’s too dangerous to seek it anywhere else. After that
, the thorough enjoyment of each other’s bodies will occupy us until dawn. My reputation in the harem must precede me, with how easily she let me into her bed. I only visit the palace once a year, between my retreats to Tibet and into the arts of the mind, but I’m sure it’s been enough to light up the whisperings of the harem, building stories of the dragon man who flies in, seduces a dozen court ladies, and then disappears.
But it’s been a decade now of such things—time to return home. To Greece. To my home lair. I’ll finally be among my own kind again. And, if the fates have lifted their curse upon me, my soul mate will be waiting. This visit to the harem in the heart of the Ottoman Empire will be my last.
I plan to enjoy every moment.
Nuriye takes me deep again, and the pleasure is mounting. “Twist your hand as you stroke.” I hear the strain in my voice, and as she follows my instruction, the peak rushes at me. I go inward, loosening the tether between Nuriye’s enthusiastic working of my cock and the response of my body to her ministrations. My breathing slows. My awareness expands. All my training with the yogis makes this state as natural as the breathing itself. And I’ve practiced coitus reservatus—the art of control in orgasm—but only with my own hand, a thing which complicates the entire endeavor. With Nuriye, I float in that pre-orgasmic state, no danger of tipping over because of my own stumblings. She keeps me there, in bliss, and I keep control. I’m enjoying it so much, I don’t sense her frustration until she pulls away.
“I am goh at this!” she exclaims.
“You are a marvel at this,” I breathe, barely coming back to my senses. “Please continue.”
“What is the use?” She glares at my engorged cock like it has personally offended her.
Only then do I understand. “It is a dragon way,” I lie. It has nothing to do with being dragon and everything to do with being me. “Our endurance is legendary. It has nothing to do with your skills, sheereen-am.” I lay on the endearments as I prop up and give her a soulful look. In truth, I should be practicing my coitus reservatus when actually engaged in coitus with her—she’ll not have a complaint then, I imagine—but that is also dangerous. “Come here.” I beckon her back with an outstretched hand. “Let us try again. I am dying without your touch.” Which is definitely true.
She’s sullen, but she takes my hand, and I pull her to my chest. The silk layers of her blouse have become disheveled with our activities, but she’s still covered. I kiss her lightly on the neck and nuzzle her there while slipping my hand into her blouse. Her breast is firm, and her nipple responds immediately to my touch.
“I have so many things to teach you,” I whisper against her skin. She smells delightfully of rose water. “Pleasures which will surprise you.”
Her hand glides along my bare chest, feeling every contour. “It is your pleasure that matters.” By which she means the sultan’s pleasure. Or literally any man she beds. And she’s not incorrect, in a sense, but she’s terribly wrong.
“Ah, but not to me.” I guide her hand back to my cock. “Pleasure should be shared. The heights which can be reached alone are small and empty. It’s only through mutual pleasure that we can reach the peaks the mystics dream of.”
She’s stroking me again, drawing that tension back into my sacral chakra, right at the base of my cock. “Are you a mystic, then?” But the tease is back in her voice, so all is well.
“When your hands are upon me, yes.” I nip at her breast through the silks of her blouse. Since I’m done with instruction now, there’s no need to hold back. “Pleasure me, Nuriye.”
She pulls in a breath as I bite a little harder. My hands gather up her skirts, slowly hiking them as she vigorously pumps my cock. I’m racing closer, everything tightening with her attention. She senses it and returns to using her mouth. I groan as she bobs, her fabulous lengths of black curls tickling along my belly and thighs. I put one hand to her head, encouraging her, while the other slips under her skirt, seeking the curve of her bottom.
I can’t do much more than hold on as the orgasm rushes up and engulfs me. I groan through it, long and deep, and release into her eager mouth, pulsing and pulsing until I’m done.
When she finally lifts her head, wiping her mouth, there’s triumph in her dark eyes.
“Yes, that was very good,” I say, lazily, the torpor of the orgasm gripping me for a moment. Not as good as it could have been, with the delay, the endless bliss, that I hope to someday share with my soul mate. All my time with the yogis was not about sexual nirvana, but it’s been no small obsession on my part, training for that time when I’ll be joined spiritually and sexually with my other half. “And now, it is your turn,” I say as I flip her back on the bed. It’s practically a playground in size and dripping in netted curtains, so we’re shielded from anyone’s view—not that there’s anyone in her apartment to see.
I burrow under her skirts, and she laughs lightly, almost playfully. I’m reminded how young she is—probably no more than eighteen. My twenty-six years feel like an eternity longer, and yet, I’m still a child compared to most dragons in my lair. Unmated. It’s unusual for a dragon to remain unpaired, much less unmated, for so long… but then my story has been an unusual one for a decade.
I work Nuriye’s undergarments from her body and cover her lovely thighs with kisses. The loose float of her silk skirts is fun for a moment, but I decide the full glory of her body should be revealed. I emerge from the depths to find her eyes sparkling as she peers at me.
“What are you going to do, dragon man? Kiss me under my skirts?” The way she says it makes me smile—she has no idea the pleasure I’m about to bring.
“My name is Akkan.” I take her hands and bring her up to sitting on the bed. “And I believe the time for clothing has passed.” I’m already naked, so clearly, I mean her. She smiles as I remove one layer after another—there are several, form-fitting over her breasts and free-flowing around the rest of her, held loosely or tied with ribbons. It’s like unwrapping the loveliest of presents. The silks drop away, revealing the light olive of her breasts, the delightfully deeper brown of her nipples. With her refined features, she could be Turkish or Persian—hard to say, despite the dark eyes and locks. She’s a slave, so she’s not a Moslem like most in the city, as the law forbids them being enslaved. But beyond that, she could be from anywhere in the Anatolian peninsula or beyond, perhaps even Venice or the Caucasus. The harem draws from all over the empire.
Nuriye gives me a saucy look, sweeping my still-resting cock with her gaze, then leaning back on the pillows behind her.
“You are in no condition to ravish me, Akkan.” Yet her body is offered up to me as if she thinks she’s taunting me.
“I’m not here to ravish, moosh-am.” I start at her toes and sweetly kiss my way up. “Have you not heard the stories of me?” I reach her belly and pepper it with kisses.
She’s smirking down at me. “The court ladies say a night with the dragon man is one of endless pleasure. Perhaps it was a different one.”
“Perhaps.” But I hold her gaze for a moment longer, just to let her know she’s wrong. Then I slide one hand to her breast and the other under her bottom, letting my tongue find its home between her legs. Her first gasp is satisfying in a way that makes me almost smile too much—I can’t do a proper job of pleasuring her while grinning like a fool. But that quickly fades with the second and third gasps and her sudden clutching at my head.
“What are you…” Then she arches as my tongue flicks across its mark. Her delightful cursing is a reward of its own. I release my hold on her breast, truly just to anchor her anyway, although I do enjoy the firm feel of it, and concentrate on my work. She’s squirming and soon crying out as her delicate body shudders under my touch. I wonder if it’s the first true orgasm she’s had—I suspect at least the first by someone else’s hands. I brace one arm around her back, to hold her still, then continue to torment her, bringing my fingers in to substitute where my cock longs to be. For it’s now as stiff as when she
was working it herself. She cries out with the thrusting my hand is giving, clawing now at the sheets instead of my head, arching her sex into my mouth. When she comes the second time, it’s with a full-body convulsion that’s shaking those sweet thighs I kissed before. She cries out so loud, I’m forced to lurch up and cover her mouth with my hand. The other is still pumping, still riding the wave down with her, but now I’m peering into her eyes, smirking at the wildness in hers, and keeping her quiet until she’s in control once more. As her body settles, the danger of her cries summoning a contingent of the eunuch guards passes. I slide my hand from her mouth. She’s still silent, but her breathing is ragged, and the look of astonishment on her face is richly gratifying.
I’m not beyond gloating. “Or, perhaps, I am the one.”
Her eyes light up, and I can see the calculation. We have all night. We’ve only just begun. And I do indeed have things to teach her—things she didn’t, even with all her intelligence and cunning and ambition, have any idea the pleasures of. And this isn’t just a thing that will advance her place in the hierarchy—this makes life incalculably sweet and worthwhile all by itself.
For a moment, I regret having to give up nights such as these. But only for a heartbeat—I know all this pales compared to what I’ll find in my soul mate’s bed.
Nuriye’s hands slide up my bare arms to my shoulders. “Akkan.” She breathes my name with pleasure. “It’s a name I will remember.”