by Alana Khan
What upcoming festivities? I figure Beast will be dancing naked. She made no secret of her interest in his cock, but what part does she think I’m going to play? I didn’t sign on for any lap dances, although the way she’s eyeing me, I think she’d be more than happy to pay me 40,000 credits to dance naked for her.
“I have a suggestion,” she says, her voice raised so all the armed males in the room can hear. “I’ll give my males the rest of the night off if you do as well. I’ll be outnumbered here. One Pinnacle gladiator and this tiny female alone in the room with just me. I think they’ll be safe, don’t you?” She directs this at Shadow who’s taken the lead on the bodyguard duties.
“I’ll have the room cleared of cutlery, just to ensure everyone’s safety,” she cocks a mocking eyebrow.
“If it’s all the same to you, we’ll stay,” Shadow says, standing even taller and spearing her gaze with his.
“Why don’t you go?” Beast asks, his tone leaving no doubt this is more of an order than a suggestion. “You can stay near the doorways if you wish. I think we’ll be fine in here.”
I doubt he wants his fellow gladiators to witness his upcoming humiliating exhibition.
Shadow pauses for a long moment, assessing the situation, then nods his head. All six gladiators exit.
“There, better already,” Tsing croons. “I assumed you wouldn’t want a large crowd for your performance, so I canceled the musicians I’d engaged and decided to use recorded music.”
I’m not sure why I’m here. I’d suggested Zar be the third party so he could intervene if things got weird. Well . . . weirder. But I won’t be of much help if things go south, and I’m certain Beast doesn’t want me to witness this degradation.
“Maybe I should leave,” I suggest.
“No!” both Beast and Tsing protest at the same moment.
Tsing claps and two servants appear. She instructs them to remove the dinner table, pulls her chair even with mine, and settles in to watch the show.
I’m already squirming in my seat, assuming Beast doesn’t want me here and wondering why he told me to stay. When I look up, I see that Tsing has rearranged her toga and exposed her breasts, the shimmering fabric pooled around her trim waist. She has the coloring of a fire opal—pale blue skin with a scarlet glow shining through, especially between her breasts.
“Like what you see?” she asks when she catches me looking.
My gaze flies to my hands jammed in my lap.
“Where did you say you were from?” she asks. “You negotiated like a warrior, now you act like a shy virgin. You’re intriguing.”
I don’t lift my eyes to hers, instead I inspect my cuticles. When I finally gather the nerve to glance up, she sticks out the tip of her tongue, licks the pad of one finger with slow deliberation, and moistens one of her nipples with it. Her finger lazily circles the tight crimson bud while her gaze locks with mine.
“Your shy manner is adorable, my dear. You’d be so fun to play with in bed. Care to join the Beast of Tramachor and I tonight?”
Wait! What? Were the words ‘private dance’ secret intergalactic code for fucking? Did he sell himself for forty grand? What did I miss?
She laughs from deep in her throat, flicks her wrist-comm, and music streams through hidden speakers. I’ve never heard anything like it before. It has a driving beat, something akin to techno, but there are flutes and strings that soften the music and make it even more sensual.
“Your turn,” she says to Beast and cocks her head. After scooting closer, she grabs my hand from my lap and holds it in hers. My gaze flies to her, and I have to admit I feel skittish. I’ve never been with a woman before, and it’s not on my bucket list for the future, either.
“Don’t worry,” she leans closer and almost whispers. “Your lack of interest is clear. I can hold your hand though, can’t I?”
“Uh, yeah?” I feel twelve years old, but she keeps to her word. She does nothing more than twine her fingers in mine, then focus on the ‘show’ which at this point is nonexistent.
When he’s got both our attention, Beast begins swaying his hips to the driving beat. His eyes drift closed, and I watch as he sinks into the music.
The stern look that has adorned his features since the moment I met him disappears. It’s the only expression he’s shown other than pure lust that night in my bedroom. Well, that and the moment of self-loathing after he called that bitch’s name when I was going down on him.
Now, though, his face gives the expression of liberation. I’d thought he would get through this experience by sheer will and determination. He made a better choice—he’s going to enjoy himself.
Since he’s going to have fun during his performance, I decide I will too.
His hips slide from side to side as he dips deeper into whatever trance he’s dropping into. The movement changes, and now his hips are moving in lazy circles. A long series of clockwise, and then counterclockwise circuits.
Perhaps he’s fully where his mind needs to be, because he opens his eyes and looks straight at me. His emerald gaze is sexy, heavy-lidded. Tsing may be paying a fortune for this little performance, but he’s acting as if it’s all for me.
His hands move to span the back of his head, so the half of his chest that’s exposed above his toga stands in stark relief, showing every muscle and ripple of his bared pec as his body gyrates to the pounding beat.
Has he watched videos of Chippendale dancers? Because he’s using all their moves. Now he’s thrusting his cock back and forth, toward us and away.
Even though his clothes are still on, my mouth is already dry from desire. Swirling energy pools in my pelvis.
Tsing’s grip presses my hand more tightly, but I don’t glance to see her facial expression—I can’t tear my eyes from Beast.
Here we go, his fingers are on the sapphire fabric. He undoes the knot at his shoulder, but holds the garment right where it is. He’s enjoying teasing us. There’s a hint of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth.
How odd that the first sign of mirth I’ve seen from him is when he’s doing a striptease.
“I can’t wait for him to take it off,” Tsing whispers to me, “but I think giving direction at this moment will not be well received.”
He removes the fabric from his shoulder, then ties it around his waist. Putting his hands behind his neck, he does something with his abs that makes every muscle in his chest dance for us. I can’t stifle my groan, so I pretend I just cleared my throat.
“Delicious, isn’t it?” Tsing asks. “I’m glad none of us ate too much at dinner. Maybe you’ll relent and join us after his performance.”
I don’t know what makes her think she and Beast are an ‘us’, but I decide not to worry about it right this minute because he’s slowly rotating away from us. Is he going to do a three-sixty just to flaunt that gorgeous body?
The way he tied the toga around his waist, it covers his junk from the front, but it exposes most of his ass from the back.
He is not! I’m shocked when the quiet Beast from Tramachor waggles his butt at us. Doubling down, he bends at the waist, giving us a better view of those perfect glutes. He tightens his buttocks, first one, then the other, in time with the music.
My core clenches in response, mimicking the same rhythm.
He finishes his slow circle and faces us again. After untying the fabric, he holds it out to his sides, waist-high. I can’t see a thing below his waist, but just knowing he’s naked under there ratchets up my arousal.
By the way Tsing is grasping my hand, she must be as excited as I am. I know he can smell female arousal. I absently wonder if he can tell our scents apart.
He’s intimately acquainted with mine. His tongue was lodged as far up my channel as it could reach. He has to know I’m on fire for him over here.
He sweeps the fabric from side to side, making me wonder when it will slip from his fingers or fall to the floor, but he just keeps teasing. He begins another three-sixty, his
movements slow, almost writhing, and I try to catch a glimpse of his dangly bits between his meaty thighs.
Finally, he faces us, smiles directly at me, and lets the rich blue cloth whisper to the floor. Tsing’s harsh intake of breath drowns out the sound of my own soft, horny gasp.
I hadn’t realized, but he had a skimpy blue loincloth under his toga. His bulging package is wrapped up like a present for us.
Now he starts dancing like no one is watching. Here’s a male specimen in perfect shape, and he’s pulled out all the stops. The music’s compelling rhythm increases, compounding the primitive feeling in this room despite the sophisticated surroundings.
He stalks to the fireplace across the room, grabs the poker, and uses it as a mock sword. Swishing it through the air, his face gorgeous in a serious scowl, he returns to us.
He puts the ‘weapon’ through its paces mere inches from us. His shimmering skin stretched tightly over bulky muscle. With him this close, I can see every tendon, tissue, and fiber slide under that luscious green skin.
When he’s done with his weapons display, he slides the poker along the floor toward the fireplace, then stabs me with a sharp gaze. If that glance could talk, I think it would invite me to join him in bed.
Directly in front of us again, he thrusts and whirls and dips to the floor on his knees. After piercing me with his gaze, reminding me of our connection, he stands again. He doesn’t grace the opal woman at my side with so much as a sideways glance even though her pert crimson-nippled breasts are on full display. His full attention is on me and me alone.
I don’t try to interpret what this performance means. Until ten minutes ago, I’d assumed he barely tolerated me. Right now, though, I think if we were alone and I was willing, he’d rut me right here on the polished stone floor.
He walks to the side of the room where he set his chair before his performance, then pulls it in front of us. He’s perhaps six feet away. I can see every inch of his shimmering, metallic green skin. Well, almost every inch.
He jumps onto the seat of the sturdy wooden chair and begins dancing in earnest. First, he faces us, rotating his hips, then he changes his movement and rhythm. Now he’s thrusting, deliberately mimicking the act of intercourse. The moves he’s using are as realistic as if he was inside me right this minute.
I haven't blinked in long minutes. I can’t tear my eyes away. As much as I’m loving the full-on frontal view, I’m wondering what that meaty ass looks like as he pumps an imaginary female from behind.
As if he read my mind, he gives a quick hop and a twirl, and I’m now treated to the spectacle of that talented, rhythmic thrusting ass.
Why aren’t there gladiatorial events for this? This right here would have me tossing every dollar I have at this gorgeous male’s feet.
I can feel him inside me. I never knew my imagination was so vivid, but I swear I can feel his thick cock sliding in and out of me in rhythm with his thrusts up on that chair.
His body is covered with a thin sheen of sweat. Not only can I imagine every pull and push of him inside my channel, but I can imagine my palms urging him on as they press into the hollows on the sides of that sweet ass.
If this goes on much longer I might be the one who yanks him off his chair, throws him down, and ruts him on the shiny stone floor.
He steps off the chair only long enough to move it even closer to Tsing and I. He’s close enough to reach out and touch. Tsing, who’s been holding my hand this whole time, loosens her grip on me. I have a feeling she’s going to quit fantasizing about touching him. I think the moment he pulls that loincloth off she’s going to snake her palm around his cock.
This thought makes me feel like I have lost my mind. I’m incapable of cogent thought for a moment, unable to think in words—only pictures.
I imagine myself choking her until her blue coloring turns the color of black mold. If she touches my male I will kill her.
My eyes flare wide at this thought. Really, Aerie? ‘My male’? Did that thought actually fly through my brain? Kill her?
Oh my God. I have feelings for him. I want to kill another female because I fantasized that she touched his cock. I’ve lost my mind.
He slows down, moving only once to every two beats of the pounding music. He spears me with a serious look. It speaks volumes. If I could read minds, this is what it would say.
‘I can smell you Aerie. I can almost taste your need. Every spin and twirl and thrust up here was to turn you on. This was an apology and an attempt to put us far away from what happened in your room the other night. This is a new beginning.’
And if that’s true? If I’m a mind reader? It doesn’t matter, some logical Aerie in the back of my brain screams. He’ll be dead in twenty-four hours.
At any other time, this thought alone would have sobered me. But it gets buried under the onslaught of lust as he begins to slowly unwind the rectangle of blue fabric he’s artfully twined around his hips and sex.
So slowly.
All the while he doesn’t remove his gaze from mine. Tsing paid 40,000 credits for this, and what does she get for her troubles? Spurned. His full attention is on me.
When there’s one more twist, one more turn before his cock is freed from its sapphire prison, his hand stills. The corners of his mouth tip into an approximation of a smile, then he pulls the scrap of fabric free and lets it flutter to the floor.
He lifts his arms slowly from his sides until they point to the ceiling. I can almost hear the accolades drifting in from ten thousand people in the stands of the arena. He acts as if he just slew six opponents on the buff-colored sand.
Lowering his eyes from the heavens, he spears Tsing with his gaze for the first time since the music began. He grabs his meaty cock and begins to stroke from base to tip.
She reaches a hand out tentatively, unable to refrain from touching, but his lips firm into a straight line as he shakes his head no. Pulling her hand back, she returns to observe-only mode.
He’s slow and firm and deliberate as he works himself. He acts as if he has all night to bring himself to climax.
He fondles his balls, then works the shaft, all with a light touch. His eyelids shutter down and he strokes himself harder, focusing farther up his shaft.
It’s mesmerizing. The look of pleasure on his face. The way his facial muscles tighten and his abdominals contract. He’s breathing harder, little muffled groans escaping him until finally, as if he’s racing to the finish, he leans forward, still standing on the chair only inches from us.
He moans soft as a sigh as he releases onto Tsing’s breasts. His luminescent green come spatters first on one breast, then another.
Even after his orgasm, he continues to stroke himself, slower now, as he watches the Sabron female’s reaction. His eyes, almost savage, don’t leave her.
I’m on high alert. Is she going to take this as an assault? Call her guards?
No. A feral smile lights her face and she purrs with . . . pleasure?
With the pad of her finger, she scoops some of his come off her right breast. A red light, glowing from within her rib cage, shines brighter. Catching his gaze, she sticks out the tip of her robin’s egg blue tongue and licks every drop, then collects some more and sticks her entire finger into her mouth, one millimeter at a time.
“The Beast of Tramachor is a naughty boy,” she scolds as Beast caresses himself with gentle tugs. “I take it you won’t take me up on my offer to join me later in my chambers?”
He shakes his head.
“Very well, you earned your 40,000 credits. I must admit, it pains me that you’re going to waste your obvious talents on this skittish, pale female.” She swipes the light green liquid off her chest once more, sucks it off her finger with a popping sound, and waves us off dismissively.
Beast
I leave the clothing Tsing provided me lying on the floor where I tossed it, leap from the chair to the floor, reach my hand out to help Aerie to her feet, and stride toward the door.
Aerie and I lead the way upstairs, followed by our three gladiator protectors. By the curious looks on their faces, I can tell they’re dying to ask questions, but I give them a quelling stare. I’m not in the mood to speak.
They peel off to enter their room, leaving Aerie and I outside her door.
Her chest is heaving, just as it was in the dining room while she watched me. The intervening minimas since my performance have done nothing to diminish the pure desire on her face or the aroma of arousal blasting off of her.
“That was . . . spectacular, Beast.” Her gaze doesn’t shy from mine.
I nod once in thanks.
“I know tonight, more than any night in your lifetime, you need to get a good night’s sleep. But this place is creepy, I’d bet my life savings—if I had any—that there’s a camera in my room, and I don’t want to sleep alone. Can I join you? Just to sleep?”