“Higher,” she gasped.
“Show me.”
She reached between her legs, sliding her fingers through the folds. I almost couldn’t take it, the sight of her delicately jeweled fingernails moving against that intimate female flesh. She dipped a finger into herself. “Here,” she sighed.
I followed her finger with mine and she dropped hers on a groan of pleasure, pushing her ass back so my finger moved deeper into her channel. So tight, hot, and slick. She made those mewing sound, circling around my thick finger, her muscles clenching. My cock had begun to pulse, so close to coming, urging me to plunge into her. But it was so much thicker than my finger. No wonder the women screamed so.
“You’re so small and tight,” I said. “It will hurt.”
“It will expand,” she said, breathing hard and pushing herself against my hand. I couldn’t help myself, I stroked her slickness, loving the way she moaned and undulated.
I guided my throbbing cock to her entrance, withdrawing my finger. She still looked so small and delicate compared with me. I hesitated.
She pushed back, enveloping the head of my cock with her slick heat. My vision went black at the edges. Unreal how it felt. “Just do it, my wolf,” she commanded, steel in her tone. “Take me.”
I plunged into her and she screamed, rearing up off the desk. Freezing, I waited for the guards to rush in and cut me down, my pants around my ankles, buried to the hilt in her, my weapons out of reach. Lia made a sobbing sound, collapsing back down, shuddering.
“Lia?” I asked.
“Don’t you dare stop now,” she grated out. “Finish it.”
I had to anyway, the animal urges taking over. Grasping her hips, I plunged into her, backing out only enough for another thrust. I gloried in the way her body clasped me. She held on to the desk, the orchid ring on her finger seeming larger than ever, glowing with its own light.
I finished fast, the climax more wrenching than any stoked by my own hand. It gutted me, convulsive and consuming, dizzying. I released her hips to slam my palms on the desk on either side of her, so I wouldn’t crush her. Seated deeply in her, I rode out the last few pulses, struggling to draw harsh breaths.
Lia moaned, a different sound from the ones she made in pleasure. Chagrined at my thoughtlessness, I pulled out, hearing her hiss of pain as I did. I stepped back and pulled up my pants to soak up my spilled seed. “Did I hurt you?”
She levered herself up, laughing throatily. “Some, but I was braced for it. You could have gone at it more gently,” she observed with some rue, turning to face me. “I didn’t get to climax, of course, but I didn’t expect to. All in all I’m fine.”
My pants wouldn’t fasten again and I fumbled at the catches, glad for the excuse to look down. “I’m sorry, Lia.” Still she’d known I was a brute.
“Don’t be,” she said sharply enough to make me look up.
I stared at her, feeling stupid on top of brutish, still clutching my pants together, while she leaned against the desk at ease in her glorious nakedness, smooth, slim body silhouetted by that cloak of black hair. Despite my words—and my intentions—I’d barely looked at or touched her at all. I’d lost my head much as I did in battle. Maybe whatever made men gentle and good lovers had died in me, burned away by the fires of Vurgmun, choked by the chains of slavery.
“You’ll do better next time,” she said more gently. “Don’t look so stricken.”
“Next time?” I echoed.
She tossed her hair back impatiently. “Yes. Though I suppose you don’t have to if you don’t want to. The marriage is consummated. It’s unlikely you planted an heir in me, but possible. If you prefer not to repeat this experience, you can wait a few weeks to see if your seed took, but then you’ll need to visit my bed again. I will require that of you.” She sounded steely and regal, her eyes flashing and face composed. But I began to read her better and saw something else in her eyes—hurt? And not from the way I’d plundered her body.
I’d bungled that. I needed to not bungle this, too.
“I want a next time. And a time after that. As often as you’ll have me.”
She tilted her head, smiling slightly. “Yes?”
“Yes.”
“Then why are you putting your pants back on, warrior mine?”
Because I’m an idiot apparently. “Next time is now?” I clarified. At least I’d asked enough stupid questions already that I could hardly do worse.
“I don’t know that I’ll be ready for more actual fucking, as I’m quite sore,” she allowed with a smile. “But there’s a lot we can do besides that. I believe you owe me an orgasm.”
I toed off my boots and kicked off the pants. “I believe in fair play.”
“I knew I liked you,” she purred, then bent to remove her shoes. “My feet hurt, too. Let me get these things off, then we can clean up and discuss my compensation.”
31
“Let me start on my debt,” Con said, and knelt at my feet, nimble fingers picking at the knotted cords.
For a man with big, rough hands, he was surprisingly deft. I’d expected him to be clumsy in touching me, but no. He’d done his best to be gentle, even when he’d been mindless with lust. It wasn’t his fault entirely that the deflowering had hurt. I’d been so exceedingly careful since girlhood to make sure nothing stretched my vulva. Even before I began my menses, I’d learned that Anure would expect my woman’s passage to be pristine and tight enough to bleed. The emperor had a reputation for enjoying the pain virgins sometimes felt. I’d saved it for him, that pain and blood, all for naught.
My first time with Con would’ve been far more pleasurable if my passage had been more accommodating. Though, to be fair, he was a big man all over. He’d likely stretch any woman to the point of pain. Judging from gossip, that length and girth would provide me with considerable pleasure in the future.
Until then, I wasn’t above playing on his guilt to get my satisfaction in other ways. If we were going to be tied together, then we should try to find pleasure in each other. Once he knew my true nature, he might not want to touch me again, so I’d better take what I could until then.
I slid my fingers into his dark hair, enjoying the sight of him at my feet as he tried to relieve me of the shoes. He grunted, half in acknowledgment of my touch—and partly in frustration at the laces.
“Who tied these knots?” he demanded.
“My ladies are accustomed to tying and sewing me into my costumes so they’ll last without needing repair. Usually they just cut them off at the end of the day.”
“Ah.” He rose easily from his crouch, muscles flexing, then strode to his weapons belt, withdrew a dagger, and returned.
I enjoyed the view as he did—both the rear and the front. A big man without the slightest softness on him. Scarred, yes, especially on his back, probably from lashes endured while he was a prisoner. A chilling thought. Certain he wouldn’t want me to mention it, I focused instead on his impressive shoulders. His chest in particular bulged with muscle built from swinging that rock hammer he spoke of so fondly. And that bag of rocks. His abdomen rippled with toned muscle, too. His buttocks tight and thighs powerfully muscled.
I’d never expected to physically enjoy my husband. Really, in any way. I’d seen Anure and though some called the emperor handsome, I’d always found his puffy dissipation repulsive. An unexpected gift then, this man fate had thrust into my arms.
Con got one shoe off, grunting in triumph, and set to work on the other. I leaned over and traced along the thick muscle of his neck, then settled my palm over the hard bulge of his shoulder, squeezing, enjoying the surge of wet heat between my thighs. He stilled under the touch, as he had before when I caressed him, reminding me of an abused animal waiting to see if they’d be petted or beaten. Con had gone somewhere inside for a while there, too, a place of terrible memories.
I knew enough of Anure’s soldiers and guards—and the “perks” of their jobs overseeing the downtrodden of the empire—
to guess at what Con had witnessed. Con might not have wanted to give me details, but Anure’s tactics varied little—always the most cruel and degrading to those who dared resist.
“There,” he said, dropping the other shoe and looking up.
I raked his hair back from his strong face, caressing his cheek, giving him some of the tenderness he likely hadn’t received in his tortured growing up. “You are a gorgeous man, Conrí,” I told him.
He looked even more arrested, his golden eyes full of doubt and suspicion. “I know I’m scarred and ugly,” he replied, terse, even a little angry, as if he suspected me of taunting him.
I shook my head, staying very serious. “Scarred, yes, but ugly? No. Didn’t you see how everyone was looking at you tonight? They all hope to lure you to their beds and parties, to find out if your stallion’s build delivers on its promise.”
His mouth quirked, uncertain. “Does it?”
“Oh yes.” I let him hear the delight in my voice. “But you’re all mine.”
The smile deepened and he wrapped his hands around my ankles, sliding rough palms up over my calves. “I think you are all mine,” he countered, a wicked gleam sparking to life in his eyes.
“What an excellent arrangement,” I purred, feeling the hard edge of unsatisfied desire surge up in me, letting him urge my thighs apart.
He bent to kiss the inside of my knee, then the other, pushing them wider and opening me to his gaze. I loved seeing the hardness in him peel away, giving me glimpses of the man beneath the armor. At the moment his face lit with curiosity, and lust. So much desire I felt, as if I could feed off it. He flicked a glance at my face, assessing, then made a sound of satisfaction.
“Show me what to do.”
Obligingly I spread my legs for him, anchoring my heels on the edge of the desk, so I sat on it entirely, my sex open. Having him look at me was a delightful and unexpected spice. Perhaps I’d grow inured to it, but no man had ever seen me there—and he had never looked at a woman that way—so the discovery added a titillation that had me even needier. “Do you want more light?” I asked.
He glanced up at me, wry and surprised. “Yes.” But he didn’t take his eyes off my face, studying me. “Do you like me looking at you?”
“I do,” I breathed. “Very much.”
“Good.” He gave me a half smile. “I think I will never tire of looking.”
That made me catch my breath, my heart giving a little thud. Who knew I’d turn out to be so vulnerable to such simple things? Picking up a small candle in a shallow saucer, I set it under the rising angle of my thigh, its flame warm on my skin. Leaning back on my ring hand, I used the other to touch my sex, parting the folds though I hardly needed to.
He watched, gaze fixed and hard with growing lust, the flickering candlelight playing on the sharp angles of his face.
“Outer labia,” I said, showing him. “And inner. The vulva you know already.” His mouth quirked but he didn’t take his gaze away. Just to tease him a little, I dipped my finger in and out, ignoring the sting of the recently abraded tissues. It felt good, too. I might be wrong about not having him inside me again. Con wrapped a hand around my ankle, squeezing in warning. Ah yes, with his fuse so short, best not push him so far just yet. I trailed my fingers up, pulling back the hood over my clitoris. “The point of most acute pleasure.” I stroked it in demonstration, my hips arching and a groaning sigh escaping me.
“I touch it like that?” he asked, his voice rough with answering need.
“Yes. Gently. It’s sensitive.”
I held myself open, inviting him to try, but he hesitated. “Mouth and tongue would be softer,” he offered, glancing up at me and down again. “I’ve seen that done. For men. Does it work on women?”
“Oh yes. But I haven’t washed.”
“It’s my seed and your fluids. I don’t care if you don’t.”
“I don’t care,” I said, then gasped as he took my thighs and put his mouth on me. Maybe because I’d gotten so wound up without satisfaction, but I convulsed at the sensation. His jaw silky on my thighs, mouth rough on my sex. He ran his tongue along the folds, so much stronger than the delicate lapping of my ladies’ tongues. When he fastened on my clitoris, sucking hard, I screamed.
This time he didn’t falter. He also didn’t let up, flicking his tongue on my turgid bud and sucking, then nipping lightly. I groaned his name, pleading, and he tightened his grip on my thighs, holding me in place for his mouth and finding the rhythm to drive me wild. Unable to hold myself up, I arched back, crying out my pleasure.
The orgasm grabbed me like a fist, wringing my entire body as I thrashed in his unrelenting grip. It seemed to go on forever, my cries escalating until I went rigid for a long and endless suspended moment.
Then I collapsed, boneless, staring sightlessly at the ceiling, swimming in a languorous sea of stars.
* * *
When my mind roused and I could think again, I opened my eyes to find Con bending over me, stroking my cheek with tenderness. He smiled when I did, a warmly open expression from him—and one that made a dimple in one cheek, softening the stern lines of his face. I reached up to touch the boyish dimple with a fingertip, wondering if he knew he had it when he smiled just right. I wasn’t going to tell him. Instead I’d save the knowledge for myself, so I’d always know when he was truly happy.
Perhaps I’d pretend to myself that I was the only person he showed it to.
“I’m guessing I did it right,” he said, filled with male pride.
Tempting to mess with him, but I suspected he might be too fragile on the subject still. “The best, my Conrí,” I murmured, cupping his face in my hands and drawing him down into a deep and drugging kiss. I tasted myself on him, and him on me, the muskiness of shared desire, as he returned the kiss with sweet intensity. I felt as if something I’d held tight inside unfurled.
His cock thrust urgent against my thigh, and I smiled to myself. A vigorous lover indeed.
He groaned and pulled away. “Perhaps we should try a bed.”
“All right,” I agreed, sitting up and groaning, too. Though not in the same way. The table had been hard and Con was learning, but he’d been rough. My body ached, and I’d have bruises in the morning.
“Let me,” he said, and lifted me into his arms, carrying me like a bouquet of flowers. “That way?”
“Yes.” I wound my arms around his neck and savored the sensation of being held so easily. “I’m not too heavy?”
He snorted and gave me a disbelieving look. “My bagiroca weighs more than you.”
“Well, it is full of rocks,” I noted.
“Door,” he said, and I reached down to turn the handle.
“Whereas I am made of flower petals and sunshine,” I informed him loftily.
He whistled, long and low, turning in a circle to take in my bedchamber. It’s a lovely room, crafted to be the sanctuary of kings and queens. Ringed in nearly a full circle by open, arched windows, it sits on pillars sunk into the sea, so it seems to be an island, floating between ocean and sky. My ladies had made up the bed in black silk, scattered with white and gold flower petals, the candles in the sconces round the room now burning low and amber.
“Pretty,” Con said. Then went to a window, still carrying me, and peered out. “Not very defensible.”
I had to laugh. “You should know by now that Calanthe’s defenses are not in being a fortress.”
“No,” he agreed. “You going to tell me about those?”
“Yes,” I replied, matter-of-factly. “Tomorrow. We’ll have to start making plans for Anure’s reprisal. But not tonight.”
“Tomorrow is soon enough.” He laid me on the bed of petals, his hands wandering over me in rough and gentle caresses. I arched into it, purring with pleasure. “Are you too sore?”
“Let’s find out.” And I drew him down to cover me.
By the time we slept, we’d thoroughly eliminated every bit of tension. I curled into him, as if I�
��d always trusted the bulwark of his body, and he wrapped around me. I fell asleep to the sweet sense of his lips against my forehead.
32
“Arise, Your Highness. The realm awaits the sun of Your presence.”
I struggled from the depths of a sleep so profound and dreamless, I couldn’t quite make sense of the whispered words. I blinked at Ibolya, who bent close to the bed, her face concerned. Then I glanced at the sun, risen quite high, and the slumbering bulk of Con beside me. Then back at Ibolya. She was the only one in the room.
“The Glory?” I asked quietly.
“Waiting outside the door. She’s so excited, but we weren’t sure…”
And clearly, Tertulyn hadn’t been there to advise or she’d have been the one waking me. I sighed for that. She’d have to be found today, and I’d have to ask her difficult questions. I didn’t look forward to that conversation. All these years she’d been my best and closest companion. I buried the sting of betrayal that she’d abandoned me on one of the most important mornings of my life.
I only hoped that her absence didn’t bode a far worse betrayal.
Con stirred. Then leapt from the bed, stark naked and looking about wildly for a weapon he didn’t have.
Ibolya lowered her gaze, heroically keeping a straight face. “Good morning, Conrí,” she said. “I apologize for startling you.”
He relaxed fractionally, though his fingers still curled, twitching for a weapon to grasp as he scanned the otherwise empty room. Finally his gaze rested on me, bemused and chagrined.
“I didn’t think to warn you.” I didn’t say that I’d never expected to sleep so late. I sat up fighting against the unaccustomed tangle of the long hair wrapping around me. The glue had loosened in the night and the wig sat askew. I tried to straighten it, wishing I’d warned him about that, too, but we’d had so little time for explanations. He narrowed his eyes, noticing. I sighed mentally. I’d been bold about declaring that he’d have to know my true nature, but facing the moment of telling wasn’t so easy to face. Such a lovely night. The best I’d slept in years, maybe ever.
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