by Kelly Hunter
The sexual attraction between them hadn’t gone away, for all their business-based interactions. It simmered between them, thick and syrupy. Every glance, every pause, a study in denial.
For both of them.
‘You know what I really want tonight?’ he asked, and her brain helpfully supplied the perfect answer.
Me! You want me! Please take me!
‘A toasted cheese sandwich.’
Or—or she could feed him. He wasn’t even looking at her. ‘That can be arranged,’ she offered hospitably. ‘Anything else?’
Me! Pick me!
‘I wouldn’t mind if it came with a glass of wine and some background music that I don’t have to listen to as if it’s the finest thing I’ve ever heard.’
‘You didn’t like the music gala this evening?’
‘I liked it well enough but I was tired. Maintaining the fiction that I wanted to be there took more effort than usual.’
An honest response that painted him in a less than perfect light. A rare occurrence for this man who’d been trained from childhood to never show weakness or reveal any thoughts that could be used against him.
‘Sit. Please.’ She had music, food, and an excellent cellar full of wine on hand. ‘I can feed you.’ Cross off another scene on the pleasure wheel as done. It wasn’t the sex scene she craved, granted, but it was progress.
‘We can call for food,’ he said.
‘No!’ Just...no. ‘Does it matter who prepares it? I have a fully stocked kitchen. Why not let me put supper together?’
‘You don’t have to. That’s not your role.’
‘Always so hung up on roles.’ He had no idea how much it pleased her when she was able to put her training to use and serve him. It wasn’t a hardship. It was her pleasure. ‘Many people take great pride and pleasure in being able to put food on the table and invite others to share it. It happens I’m one of them. Sit. Please.’
Please.
Sera didn’t wait to see if he did her bidding, but when she returned he was sitting on the sofa in a different place to usual and the picture at his feet was that of people sharing a meal.
The wine she returned with was the best in the cellar and she knelt at his feet to pour it, faltering only when she went to hand it to him and found him watching her with hooded eyes that burned with a hunger that had nothing to do with food.
But he took it from her with a quiet, ‘Thank you,’ and if his fingertips touched hers, well, he’d said he was tired and it wasn’t exactly light in here tonight with the moon behind a sky full of clouds. It wasn’t warm in here either, beneath the glass dome, but he didn’t seem to notice. Sera wanted to pretend that the tremble in her fingers as she released the wine was because of the cold, but self-deception had never been her friend. She’d shivered at the merest touch of his hand.
He said nothing more as she rose and turned some music on, soft and soothing.
He had his eyes closed and his head resting against the back of the sofa when she returned with the food. She’d brought extra: a small plate of honeyed pastries and a bowl of nuts. Sliced melon. Not a lot. Not a feast to make a person groan at the thought of eating it all.
‘I hope some of that’s for you too,’ he murmured.
‘It is.’
‘Don’t kneel at my feet, Sera. It might be what the picture shows and your courtesan training demands but I couldn’t stand it.’
More weakness from him tonight, and he was deliberately letting her see it. She didn’t know what to do with it. How to process it. So she sat and helped herself to some melon and then a glass of wine and sipped.
‘You don’t drink.’ He was watching her, eyes still half closed.
‘It’s not that I don’t drink at all. Sometimes when the vintage is very fine, I do.’ She lifted her glass to the light and hid behind the poise the Order had instilled in her. Her relationship with alcohol was complicated. There was the way her mother had abused it. The way it lowered inhibitions and let devils in, false confidence in. But there were other things about it that deserved consideration. ‘I learned about wine as part of my training. If you were to ask me to rank different areas of study, I’d put my study of wines and winemaking somewhere near the top, mainly because it’s proven surprisingly useful. Everything from making small-talk with the high-flying wine aficionados of the world to tweaking wine selections for different charity functions so that the chefs are happy, the drinkers are happy and the hosts are not paying a fortune for it.’
He smiled and she wished he wouldn’t, because it made her glow on the inside. Such a whore for his attention.
‘And is there a wine to go with toasted cheese sandwiches?’
‘There is, and we’re drinking it.’
His smile widened. The glow inside her ignited and morphed into an open fire surrounded by a hearth.
In a family room.
‘How are the owls?’ he asked as he reached for a sandwich.
‘They have names now,’ she told him, taking on the mantle of conversation while he ate. ‘Tomas and Claudia had lunch with me on Wednesday and we chose names then. I did notify your secretary Claudia was coming, and Tomas with her. I always ask permission to have visitors and provide details.’ No exceptions.
Augustus shrugged, seemingly unconcerned. ‘Some details stop at my secretary, especially if they’re of no concern. How is Claudia?’
‘She misses the freedom she had in the mountains.’
‘Is that why she spends so much time with the falconer?’
‘There could be another reason for that.’ Augustus raised an eyebrow and this time it was Sera’s turn to shrug. Far be it for her to lay Claudia’s heart bare, although she had a fair idea where it lay. ‘So, the smaller of the two owls is the male. His name is Orion. His larger companion is Ara, his mate, and he indulges her shamelessly. Their enemies are other owls of the same species and the occasional falcon. They’re very adaptable and tend not to make their own nests, preferring instead to use nests abandoned by others, or make do with a man-made structure. Orion will fly down and perch on the trapeze on occasion, the better to see what I’m up to. He then reports back to Ara, who likes to pretend my activities are beneath her notice.’
‘But they’re not?’
‘I’ve seen her watching me. She’s more interested than she lets on.’
He’d finished the sandwich and was washing it down with wine. He looked more closely at the label on the bottle and then back at her.
‘From the cellars of the Order of the Kite,’ she said in answer to his question. ‘They have quite the collection.’
‘So I see. I know so little about this Order of yours. I have historians researching it, of course, but there are no experts to be found. Not amongst anyone I can get hold of.’
‘What would you like to know?’
He snorted softly. ‘Start at the beginning.’
‘Of the history of the Order? It’s over two thousand years old and began as a way for women in positions of power, or women close to men in positions of power, to connect and share journeys. They created a mountain retreat, a place of learning. Alliances were forged. Daughters were positioned for particular roles within the world order of the day. Was a particular ruling court strong in trade but weak when it came to the comforts of its people? Who, from the pool of women available, was best placed to effect change? Occasionally, a ruler would reach out and request someone with particular connections and skills. If the Order could accommodate them, and it was perceived as being in their best interest to do so, they would.’
‘Did the women of the Order ever have individual agendas or did they serve a higher cause?’
‘I’m sure many have had their own agendas over the years. Politics is everywhere, and the Order is not immune. But on the whole I’d say the quest for balance, peace and prosperity guides all
our members. I think of us as a benevolent force rather than a disruptive one.’
‘I hate to break it to you, Sera, but taking up residence here in my palace and worming your way into my life and my thoughts...it’s disruptive.’
‘Am I not helping?’ Pain lanced through her chest and she clamped her lips shut on a barrage of protest.
‘In some ways you are. In other ways you’re not helping at all.’
She didn’t know what to say to that, and he didn’t seem inclined to elaborate. Instead, he leaned back with his head against the back of the sofa and stared at the stars as if they had failed him.
‘I was fourteen when I finally found this room,’ he offered quietly. ‘I’d been looking for it for years. I could see the dome from the sky, but the passageway to get here was boarded up and the room was out of bounds. Forgotten, until Moriana and I found it again and made it our own.’ He pointed with his wine glass towards the platform halfway up the wall. ‘We used to sit up there and shoot arrows into pumpkins down below. We damaged so many arrows when they struck stone instead of the target. I don’t think we had a straight arrow left between us by the end of it all. I know we damaged the walls and the floors but I didn’t care. Told myself I was striking back at the source of my discontent. The palace. The Crown. The expectations that rode me like a second skin. Be worthy. Don’t fail. Perform. I was the Crown Prince—I had to perform. Everywhere except for here. There was no judgement here. I could curse and roar and take risks I could never take elsewhere. When I was in here, I could fly.’
Suspicion bloomed swiftly. ‘You used the trapeze?’
‘It’s just a swing,’ he offered mildly.
No safety net, half-rotted rope. No training. Dear God. ‘And the adrenaline rush the first time you used it?’
‘Pretty big.’ He snorted softly. ‘I thought this room would no longer feel like sanctuary once you claimed it. Figured if I stayed away my problem with you would go away, only I keep turning up at your door and you keep welcoming me in, offering me anything. You’ve no idea how much I want to claim you, and to hell with self-restraint and leading by example and kings not having courtesans in this day and age.’
‘You could.’ Her hands shook with the force of her need as she set her wine on the small side table. ‘You could do that.’
‘I’d make it so good for you.’ He had a voice tailored for sin and seduction and lips that beckoned, even when his words were cruel. ‘Treat you like a queen.’
‘I don’t want to be a queen,’ she said, but he was drawing closer and she wasn’t moving away.
‘We all do things we don’t particularly want to do.’ He brushed his lips against hers and she opened for him instinctively, her tongue coming out to meet his. He slid a gentle hand beneath her hair and cupped the back of her neck, his thumb brushing the skin just behind her ear as he tilted her head where he wanted it and claimed her lips once more. Her eyes fluttered closed.
It was a kiss to get lost in.
When they broke it several years later, he rested his forehead against hers and drew a ragged breath. He ran his hand across her shoulder and down her arm to tangle her fingers in his. ‘Last chance to tell me you don’t want my hands on you, Sera. Because this is going to complicate things.’
‘I want this.’ She’d never for one moment not wanted this, from the moment she’d laid eyes on him. ‘I crave this,’ she whispered, and took the initiative and straddled him, a knee either side of his hips, and slid her hand from his the better to bury both of her hands in his hair. ‘I can make it good for you too. So good.’
His shirt had to go. Hers too, and he helped her with that, in between a dozen deep and drugging kisses. Breathing was overrated. His tongue curled around her puckered nipple was not overrated, and then he closed his mouth around it and sucked and she nearly came from that alone. His hands dug into the globes of her behind as he ground up against her, and she gave herself over to sensation and arched into the hardness of his erection and let her head fall back and her hands guide his head towards her other breast.
A soft grunt punched out of her, and he groaned and his hands tightened on her.
Moments later, she was on her back and seeing stars, real ones shining through the glass-domed roof, and Augustus was lifting her legs and removing her shoes and stripping her naked.
She’d been taught what to do, how to please, but she was too caught up in sensation to do any of it.
He started with kisses and gifted them everywhere. The tender curve of her shoulder, the hollow of her armpit and the curve of her breast. Her ribs, the jut of her hip. And then he lifted her leg and started again at her instep and worked his way up. The back of her knee—who knew that would be a go-to zone for squirming? The flesh of her inner thigh. Higher. Black eyes glittering as bold fingers paved the way for his mouth.
She was gone the minute his lips closed over her and his tongue flicked. Whatever this was had been weeks in the making. Every fight, every glance, every moment of pregnant silence between them had been a stroke towards this, and it was wingless flight and fall without a safety net and utterly overwhelming.
It still wasn’t enough.
‘I need—’
‘I know what you need,’ he growled. ‘And I need a condom.’
‘I’m protected.’ She opened hazy, glazed grey eyes and caught his face between both hands. ‘But there’s physical protection to hand if you want to be sure. Be sure.’
She slid out beneath him and crawled naked towards the orgy picture of the pleasure wheel offerings, reaching down to push at something that snapped open, a formerly hidden drawer at the very bottom of that part of the sofa. ‘What size?’
What size? His brain struggled for clarity until she held up several packets.
‘Not that one, not that one, probably this one,’ she said, reaching down and plucking a packet from a well-ordered tray. ‘You seem rather well formed.’
‘You seem rather well stocked.’
He had to laugh. He had to stalk, and push her down on her stomach and start kissing her all over again, even as he reached for the packet in her hand. He hadn’t kissed his way down her back yet and that was an oversight he aimed to correct. She was so responsive, so very ready to melt into his touch and give herself over to him. And his need to take was so very big.
He took his time, calling on every bit of the control that had been drilled into him since birth. Don’t lose it. Don’t let go. See to the other person’s need first because that was service and above all a king served his people. Don’t be greedy or entitled.
Give.
So he gave and gave but she gave it all back and they fed off each other and when he finally breached her, slow and sure, it felt like sliding his soul home.
He stilled, murmuring nonsense against her lips, and she surrendered, eyes never leaving his face as she asked for more.
He took her to the edge, time and time again.
And then he ruthlessly tipped her over the ledge and followed and gave her everything.
CHAPTER EIGHT
‘DOES IT HURT?’
Sera couldn’t believe how gentle Augustus was being as he bathed her, every stroke of the wash cloth a caress, the water soothing on her skin and the lowlights in the sconces making shadows dance on the walls. He’d been born to care for people, this King, even if he did it from behind self-imposed walls. Get behind the walls of the man and he was overwhelmingly responsive to passion and possession and taking overwhelmingly good care of the woman in his arms.
‘It doesn’t hurt,’ she assured him as he dragged the wash cloth slowly over her centre folds. She’d been a virgin, yes, but her life to date had been an active one and penetration hadn’t hurt her the way she’d been warned it might. If the lover was careless or in too much of a hurry.
Augustus had been neither.
‘I liked i
t very much,’ she offered and thought to win a smile from him, but he didn’t smile.
‘Guess you’re in the right profession, then.’
Her smile faltered. ‘I guess so.’
‘Sera—’
But she didn’t want to hear what that roughened, sex-soaked voice had to say next. Didn’t want to spoil this night with politics or reality or the sure knowledge that she was never going to get to keep this man on a permanent basis. She told herself she didn’t want to keep him. That what he’d given her was enough. That she could still walk away from him with her heart intact.
She tried to believe it.
She put her finger to his mouth to silence him, and when he put his hand to her wrist and drew her finger away, she replaced it with her mouth. ‘There’s more we could do,’ she whispered against his lips. He’d been tender with her but she knew there was more. The fingers at her wrist tightened. ‘You know there’s more you could teach me.’
‘Eager.’
‘I’ve been waiting a long time.’
‘For me?’ This time when he caressed her folds the wash cloth was gone. ‘Or for sex?’
‘All of it. I didn’t expect to want you as much as I do. I could kiss you for hours.’ No one had ever told her she’d feel like this. ‘Soft and gentle.’ Because he had been so very, very gentle with her. Taking care of her pleasure before his own. Reining himself in. ‘Or not. Let’s try not.’
He claimed her lips with his in a punishing kiss that she returned in full measure. Slick-scraping and filthy, it sent a lightning arc straight through her. And the passion grew.
With a rough fist in his wet hair, she dragged his lips from hers. ‘You’ve seen me dance with swords. You know I’m not going to break.’ She knew where she was going with this and it was like stepping off a ledge with a trapeze swing in hand and no knowledge at all of where they might land. ‘You know we’re not going to be able to have this for ever, but we do have tonight and I want you inside me again, cursing me because you’ve never had it so good. Ride me till you scream. Or I scream. Take me apart and put me back together again with a piece of you in me.’ He was on board with every loaded word, if his glittering, hooded gaze and his iron-hard erection was any indication. ‘So do me a favour and this time don’t hold back.’