by Sara King
When it was over, he stared at the ceiling, panting. Between his knees, Victory giggled.
Astonished, he lifted his head to look at her.
“Head back,” she growled, though there was a smile on her lips.
A little anxious, he obeyed, once again examining the ceiling as she explored his body. He heard her fill the pitcher, then felt a hot flood of water across his chest as she rinsed his seed away. Then he felt her hands start moving on his shaft again.
Oh gods, he thought. I can’t possibly…
All thoughts ended when he felt her lips touch his head. His entire world narrowed to the way her tongue slipped out, licked his shaft, the way she took his manhood in her warm, moist mouth and suckled.
“Oh,” he whimpered, gripping the rim of the tub to keep from sliding into the water. It was all he could do to keep from moaning, and the strain of keeping his body still for her was akin to moving the Gorgarian Cliffs with his mind. He whimpered as she traced her fingers down his shaft and cupped his balls. He swallowed and tried to keep his hips in check as she pumped her hand down his shaft. He gasped and felt the pressure surging within him again as she worked the head of his manhood with her tongue, suckling.
Thinking about what would happen if she didn’t remove her mouth, soon, made him tense. He was not willing to revisit that upon her. Not yet.
“Victory,” he whispered. “I can’t…”
He felt her grin around his member.
“Sounds familiar,” she whispered. But she released him.
Dragomir breathed a huge sigh of relief and slumped against the rim of the tub, grateful for the reprieve…and throbbing for release.
Later, he promised himself, Once she’s asleep, I’ll—
He felt her stand. Felt her touch his shoulders with her hands, place one knee astride his right thigh, then her other knee astride his left.
Dragomir jerked his head up, shocked. Her naked body was positioned over him like a steaming goddess, and it took his breath away.
She gave him a nervous grin. Then, slowly, she reached down for his manhood, to position it beneath her.
Though he wanted nothing more than to show her she had nothing to fear from him, Dragomir sat up and caught her hand. Meeting her eyes, he said, “I can go without, Victory. Not until you’re ready.”
Victory looked at his muscular arm, holding her tiny wrist, then back at him. “That’s why I’m ready,” she whispered, meeting his blue eyes. “Besides,” she continued, smiling. “You told me you wanted to make love tonight.”
“We did,” he babbled. “I gave you pleasure. I didn’t mean—”
She gently pushed his hand aside.
He released her, but only reluctantly. He felt like a deer caught in the glare of a tank, ready to bolt out from under her at any moment, but unable to find the sense to do so.
Gently, she put a small hand in the middle of his chest and pushed him back to the edge of the tub. He went reluctantly, fighting rising panic. She again found his manhood and settled it between her legs. He felt his head touch her there, felt his balls twinge with anticipation even as his heart screamed for her to wait.
Don’t do it if you’re not ready, he willed her, meeting her gaze.
Looking deeply into his eyes, Victory settled herself onto his shaft.
Dragomir shuddered in pleasure as she took him completely, enveloping him in her warmth. A moment later, he froze. He anxiously looked up at Victory, watching her face. She was looking at the ledge under his left arm, biting her lip.
Oh gods, he thought. Had she not been sitting on him, pinning him to the ledge, he would have pulled away to give her space. As it was, he remained absolutely still, his heart rama aching to wrap her in his love, but his promise to her before the bath forcing him to rein it in.
Several minutes passed, with Victory looking aside, her breathing jagged, uneven, and with Dragomir staying as quiet and as silent as the wall he wished he could sink into.
After long minutes of nothing, just feeling the silken flesh motionless around his manhood, Dragomir gingerly reached up a hand to her chin. He turned her to face him.
She refused to look at his eyes. He saw tears.
Immediately, he hated himself for allowing her to do it. He started to get up, to set her aside, but Victory caught him by the shoulder suddenly. “No,” she said, meeting his gaze with a force that quieted him. “Just…” Her breath caught and she shuddered, looked away again. “Just stay there. Please.”
Dragomir sank back to the ledge, watching her. He hated the pain on her face, wanted to wipe it away, wanted to blanket her in his love. Setting his jaw, hoping he was doing the right thing, he gingerly reached out and drew her to his chest, wrapping her in his arms.
She didn’t fight him. She laid her head against his shoulder and for a long moment said nothing. Then he felt her body start to quake, heard the quiet sobs. Her arms reached out for him, encircled him.
“Oh Princess,” he whispered, drawing her tighter to him. He stroked her hair, feeling tears of his own stinging his eyes. He started to rock her, murmuring silly things that seemed to tumble from his lips. His heart rama was a tortured ball of energy, a hole within his chest. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered into her ear, his tears in her hair. “So sorry, Princess.”
But when he tried to lift her away from him, she once again stayed his hand.
“But…” he managed, searching her eyes, confused. “Why?”
“Give me time,” she whispered. She seemed to tremble, then, holding onto him, and laid her head against his chest, her gaze fixed on a point across the room.
Dragomir doubted she really wanted what she thought she did, but he let her stay, holding her anyway.
Eventually, her shaking stopped. She sat up, met his gaze, and Dragomir almost lost himself in the depth to her ancient green eyes. She gave him a weak smile.
…and started to rock.
“Wait—” he began.
She touched a finger to his lips, and shook her head, her smile still on her lips, tears still in her eyes.
Dragomir reluctantly reclined against the marble tub, still tense, watching her in a mix of awe and heartfelt compassion. He knew what was happening within her. Even through his shields, he could feel it: She wasn’t letting her past win. He found himself captivated by her determination, overwhelmed by her strength. He found himself willing her smile to grow, willing her to enjoy herself, willing her to take as long as she needed.
And, to his relief, she seemed to relax. Her movements picked up speed, and the pain cleared from her face, replaced by a slow, sheepish grin. She met his eyes again, smiling, her body moving to its own beautiful rhythm.
It was then, watching her exquisite body moving against his in wonder, that Dragomir realized that the pressure was building again within him, much greater than before. He flinched inwardly, trying to hold it back, trying to remain as utterly motionless beneath her as possible, terrified of ruining this moment for her. Her stunning body, however, twined with his, enveloping him, caressing him from within, was too much. Eventually, his hips bucked of their own accord.
He fought panic and forced his hips back to the ledge.
If Victory noticed or cared, she said nothing. She rocked her head back and closed her eyes, obviously concentrating on the new sensations she was feeling.
Dragomir shook with the need to join with her, to fill her, but he forced his body to hold off as long as it could. He knew it would scare her. He knew it would draw her completely out of the pleasure that she was building. He forced himself to think of something, anything but the beautiful woman that was flowering before him.
When she put her feet on the ledge, hands gripping the back of his neck for balance as she started to ride him with abandon, however, Dragomir knew he had lost the battle. He felt the pressure building to an extreme, whimpering as he tried to hold it back. He knew she was close. He could see it in her flushed face, her quick, labored breaths, the sweat g
leaming upon her naked body.
It was seeing her pleasure that finally slammed through the barriers he had built up around his own bliss and brought his world crashing down around him.
Victory had her head thrown back, feeling on the very edge of a great, powerful explosion, when Dragomir groaned and grabbed her hips. She felt his loins thrust beneath her, felt the rhythmic convulsions of his manhood within her.
She gasped and snapped her head back to look at him, startled.
“I’m sorry,” he whimpered, his blue eyes wide, his big body going absolutely still beneath her. “I couldn’t—”
Heart pounding with sudden horror, Victory started to climb off, but the new warmth he left within her triggered her own body’s response. She gripped his neck and cried out as her inner muscles contracted around his shaft, her pleasure taking her fully and completely by surprise. It lasted almost a full minute, arcing her spine with its force, and by the end of it, she was clinging to him, utterly spent.
They sat there like that for several minutes, both panting, neither speaking. Then, slowly, Victory pulled away to look at him.
This time, it was he who wouldn’t look at her. Gently, Victory reached out, touched his cheek. When his blue eyes met hers, there were tears in them.
Victory leaned forward and kissed him. She took the passion that she had felt and worked it into her kiss, stealing the words of apology from his lips, ravishing his fears away. She felt his arms tenderly reach up her back, wrap her again in his embrace. Then he was kissing back, hard and desperate, the kiss of a man who had seen all his fears topple over the edge of the brink…only to have them retrieved and transformed in a breath of love.
She started moving over him again, still wrapped firmly in his big arms. She felt him move with her, tentatively at first, then, as she encouraged him with motion and sound, with more confidence. The passion between them began to build again—Dragomir settling himself deep within her core, Victory accepting everything he had to give. Still kissing, she felt his powerful body move beneath her, taking her completely, and the hot pressure in her core suddenly shattered into another long, powerful climax. Somewhere within, she felt him join her, holding her tight, moaning into her hair as he spilled his seed deep inside her.
They stayed like that for long moments, struggling for air, before Victory, pushed back far enough to grin at him, started moving again.
Dragomir met her gaze, and she saw love within his eyes.
He stood, then, lifting her body with his, her depths still enveloping his rigid shaft. Victory wrapped her legs around him, gripping his hips with her thighs, clinging to his neck as he stepped easily from the tub and carried her to the bed.
He laid her down, gently, and through his kisses, whispered, “I know I said I’d wait. But I’ve shown you can trust me, Princess. Now I want to show you what an Emp can really do.” He broke their kiss and met her gaze, then, seeming to wait for her affirmative.
Victory bit her lip, searching his blue eyes, but nodded.
Instantly, her world seemed to wash in warmth. It traced her spine, her legs, her arms, her neck, her ears, her feet. It cradled her, soaked, her, adored her. In a moment, Victory was feeling her orgasm build, a thousand times richer than before.
…And then he began to move within her, and her world crumbled in crashing waves of ecstasy.
An Imperial Decree
When they emerged the next morning, Lion met them at the door. The woman’s graying hair was a bit disheveled, her shirt rumpled, and it was apparent to Victory that she hadn’t slept. Upon seeing them, her high captain jumped out of her chair beside the chamber exit, looking both exhausted and sheepish. Victory knew why—Praetorian did not use chairs while on duty.
She slept outside my door, Victory thought, both irritated and touched.
Lion gave Dragomir a long, suspicious look. “I take it the slave behaved himself?”
Victory raised a brow. “I thought I told you to write an edict and announce it last night.”
Lion flushed. “I did, milady. Slavery has been outlawed. Imperial business has come to a crashing halt.”
“We have the treasured Mercy Black,” Victory said, shrugging. “We have stone.” She glanced at Dragomir, then smiled up at him. “We also have them.”
Lion gave the Emp a long look. “Medical tourism.”
“From this day forth, Mercy will grant amnesty to all mutagenic anomalies who seek refuge in our system. Put out a notice to the other Adjudicators. We offer open arms and will pay the delivery costs plus processing fees to all DNA-based exiles facing certain extermination in other areas of the Imperium.”
Lion continued to scowl at Dragomir for another long moment, then seemingly shook herself and grunted. “As you command, milady. I will draft the orders this afternoon.”
Victory glanced up at Dragomir, who was watching the conversation with tense interest. “Further, the Adjudicator has the right to choose her mate.” She put her hand on the homespun tunic hiding Dragomir’s chiseled chest and smiled up at him. “And, since he has been chosen, his seed already planted, it will please me to know that my children will be able to serve this planet in my passing.”
Lion’s eyes widened, but she lowered her head in a salute, fist-to-chest. “Shall I write another edict, milady?”
“Write two,” Victory said. “The first, stating that Mercerian genetic mutations are to be registered as First Generation Royals and those who survived my father’s extermination squads will be given special compensation for stepping forward—I’m certain that it will take some time to convince them of our good intentions, considering the persecution they were subjected to, but perhaps my brother could help. He seems to have created a list of survivors.”
“And the other, milady?” Lion asked.
“A wedding,” Victory said. “Invite the court—those that were not arrested with my father—and the entire village of Sodstone. Shuttle service provided.”
Lion frowned. “An entire village, milady?”
“Give them guest quarters in the east wing.” Then Victory caught Dragomir’s gaze, bathing in the love she found there. She smiled. “And if Mrs. Cooper and her boys have troubles attending due to prior engagements, hire someone to watch her chickens. We have a special surprise for her, after the ceremony.”