Wicked Harvest

by Anitra Lynn McLeod

  “Should I tell you one of mine?” she asked as she removed his jacket and traced her hands along his chest. “I am most fascinated by your body hair.” When he lowered his brows, she continued, “I enjoy shaving you free, then the rough edge as your hair returns, then the thick mat that covers so generously I can scarce see your skin. Such reminds me of the gardens that go from fallow to bursting and back again.”

  “Poetical yondie,” he murmured, preening under her sensual strokes.

  She sunk to her knees before him to remove his boots but realized he had already done so. When she glanced up, Chur stepped closer, waggling his brows suggestively. Her hand trembled as she undid his trousers, not from fear but from unbearable anticipation. His engorged cock bounced once freed and pulsed as she slid his trousers down and off. Looming above her nude, hard, every muscle in his chest bulging, Enovese lifted up and placed her mouth tentatively close. He waited breathless, his eyes blazing and impatient.

  “Do you have any idea what else intrigues me about your body?” she asked, letting her moist breath waft along his shaft. His tortured groan appeased her. Apparently, his umer-induced self-control wavered.

  “Tell me, but tell me fast for the umer has worn off.”

  With a wicked smile, she stroked her hands up his legs and cupped his muscular buttocks. “I love the taste of you.” Drawing him forward, she wrapped her lips around his dewy tip and drew him into the hot hollow of her mouth. Salty and earthy, she rolled his luscious taste over her tongue, reveling in the texture of his silky hard cock.

  His buttocks tensed as he fought for control.

  Swirling her tongue round and round, she held him steady with her hands. Quite suddenly, he stepped back, yanking out of her mouth with a pop. He pulled her to her feet and lifted her into his arms. He strode to the chair they used for the ritual of control and sat down, facing the mirror.

  As he turned her in his lap, facing her toward the mirror, draping her legs to the outside of his, he said, “I know why that mirror is here, you used it to shave your lovely sex.” Parting his legs caused hers to part wider. His erection pressed hot and hard against her bottom. “Now I will use it to watch my shaft slide into you.”

  He lifted her up and pressed the tip against her slick passage. Ever so slowly, he lowered her, his eyes riveted to the mirror. Entranced, she watched too. Glossy lips parted around his cock, welcoming him inside, stretching to accommodate his girth. Straining veins along his shaft and the dark dusting of hair caused his cock to look sinister as it invaded her exposed sex. To see him plunging into her heightened the sensation of feeling him do so. Eight nights of painful denial, longing to know him this way again, were suddenly over. When he filled her fully they gasped simultaneously.

  “Kiss me, Enovese.”

  She turned her head and kissed him over her shoulder, tasting her passion on his lips, twining her hands in his thick hair. His hands stroked her, teasing her nipples, cupping her breasts, as if he had never touched her before. A slight trembling in his fingertips expressed eight nights of craving. It pleased her to know he was as frustrated as she was, but her satisfaction diminished when he did not thrust. He simply held her and caressed her, driving her into a flurry of need. When she attempted to move, he nipped her shoulder and ordered her to hold still.

  “Now it is my turn, Enovese. I will drag things out for as long as I please.” Her growl of frustration elicited a chuckle. “Your aggravation is only fueling my determination.”

  “Why?” She tried to keep her voice even, but the one-word question came out as a petulant whine.

  Catching her gaze in the mirror, he said, “I want you to stop thinking of sacrificing yourself for me.”

  His words stunned her and clarified his motivations. Increasing her anticipation opened the conduit between their thoughts. She scrambled for an answer.

  “You need not speak, for I do not need an explanation. I can see the reason in your eyes. You love me. You believe you are doing the noble thing in releasing me from my claim, but the decision is mine.”

  “You claimed me in the heat of passion—”

  “I have laid my claim to you.” He cut her off with tender words. “I am a man of my word and I have no intention of going back on my claim. Nor will I release you from the claim you made to me. Do you understand?”

  She shook her head. “Kasmiri, the daughter of the empress, could help you retrieve your children.”

  His laugh shook him within her, shocking her for it was so out of place during such a heated debate. He didn’t ask how she knew Kasmiri was at the Festival of Temptation. He’d probably read the truth in her eyes.

  Chur met her gaze in the glass. “Kasmiri wouldn’t care, Enovese. She is the most spoiled woman-child I have yet encountered. Do you know what she asked of me tonight? She wanted a private showing of my skills.” His disgusted frown conveyed how he felt about that. “Kasmiri is no tender sacrifice ready to bestow her virginity to the Harvester. Kasmiri is ruthless, calculating, and unbearably calloused. She stole my ceremonial sword and is holding it hostage until I agree to claim her at the Harvest.”

  Enovese gasped. She had thought Kasmiri would be a perfect bondmate for Chur, but not if she were attempting to force his hand. With a wince, Enovese realized she had done the exact same thing by tricking Chur into harvesting her. She had only compounded her error in trying to force him to a new path without any consideration for his feelings in the matter. Her guilty gaze met his.

  Chur nodded. “You once tossed angry words at me that I hid behind my duty from fear of decisions, but now that I’ve staked my claim, you wish me to retreat.” He sighed and nestled her hips firmly against his. “As you once said, I am a man. A man with needs and desires. I have a right to decide what is best for me.” With a string of open-mouthed kisses along her neck and shoulder, he said, “What is best for me is choosing a woman who loves me for me, and that woman is you.”

  His words touched her romantic and tender heart, washing away any lingering doubts about his intentions. He forgave her for her actions and loved her despite her trickery. Still, he had not said the words she so longed to hear, but such didn’t matter. Words were not as strong as actions. Tonight had not been about mastering her, or proving his staying power, or delaying his gratification. Tonight had been about showing her without words that he put her before himself. What she had been thinking of doing was along the same lines, but the difference was, she wasn’t allowing him the right to choose for himself. She had no right to push him in the direction she thought best. He was smart enough to decide that for himself.

  Tilting her head back, she kissed him, conveying to him without words how much she loved him. Abandoning her plans vexed her practical mind, but her heart and soul soared with gratitude. As she felt him moving within her, her passion changed from a demanding need for release to a softer longing to share their passion in this most intimate way.

  Chur slid forward on the chair and parted his legs farther so that he could more easily see their coupled bodies. “Do you see how we are joined?”

  Enovese cast her gaze to the glass. She could barely discern where he ended and she began, for they had merged into one.

  “That is what I want, not only for tonight but for a lifetime. Not sex, Enovese, but our bodies and souls inextricably united in pleasure and acceptance.” Rolling his hips as he rocked her caused gentle friction inside her passage. He teased his hand along her belly to cup her mound, slipping a finger between her lips to stroke her clit. “I want to feel you surround me, I want to know the heat of your depths, the scope of your need, the pinnacle of your passion, for within all of that is you welcoming me. That is you giving yourself to me as I give myself to you.” He took a deep breath and met her gaze. “Please tell me you understand.”

  How could he think he did not command the power of a poet? His words were beautiful, and the plaintive honesty in his eyes compelled her to whisper, “I understand. I am so sorry for what I’ve done.�
�

  Chur slid back on the chair, wrapping his arms around her, holding her tightly against him. “No apologies. I do not need or want them.” He lowered his head to rub his cheek against hers as their gazes held within the glass. “We have many problems to overcome, Enovese. We will not solve them overnight and certainly not if we are at odds with one another. Working together, joined fully as we are now, will give us the strength to prevail.”

  She placed her arms over his, deepening the hug. Enovese thought they complemented one another perfectly. She was pale where he was bronze. She was slender where muscles rippled him. Beyond their physical forms, they meshed well, for he was a man of action where she was a woman of contemplation. He was impulsive where she was pragmatic. Together, they balanced.

  Time passed but she was unaware for he trapped her attention in the mirror. His intense gaze stroked her without a touch, building her passion, igniting a fire along her flesh, and awakening a new and powerful connection. This bond was more than sex, far more than love. In the past, their thoughts had connected, but this was a sharing of souls. The intimacy was both frightening and magnificent.

  Rolling slowly, from the tips of her toes and tips of her fingers, pleasure drew strength as it pulsed toward her sex. Her breath grew unsteady. Her body undulated from within but not with a frantic need to reach the peak of climax. This was a languorous dance she yielded to, allowing the pleasure to build and possess her utterly.

  24

  Tandalsul filled his rooms with bright light and Chur awoke with renewed confidence. He and Enovese moved through the morning routine with the ease of lifelong companions. Last night had caused profound changes in his psyche. A murmur in the back of his mind kept him connected to her, allowing him to tap into her feelings and thoughts. At first it worried him, this new connection, for the idea of her perpetually in his mind was intimidating, but he found he could suppress the intensity by turning his attention elsewhere. If he wished, he could block her access and she the same. They could limit the depth of the intimacy if they chose.

  While she dressed him, he turned his awareness to her and discovered how much she enjoyed gearing him up for training.

  Enovese laughed, her bare breasts bouncing. “I can feel you exploring my mind, Chur. Remember this is a dual connection.” She caressed his arm. “I thoroughly enjoy transforming you from a man to a warrior. A fearsome intensity radiates from you that I find very arousing.”

  “Perhaps the change is not from the gear but the fact that a beautiful, naked woman is dressing me.”

  Enovese tightened the last strap on his chest plate. “You should go now before this naked woman decides to train you in a completely different way.” She slipped visions of herself lashing him to the bed and then using him as she wished right into his mind.

  He tossed back his head and laughed. “I would thoroughly enjoy your instructions.”

  After a lingering kiss good-bye, Chur strode to the training rooms. He discovered he no longer cared who was scheming or why. Such thoughts only distracted him, and he vowed to keep his focus on increasing his strength and dexterity. He moved through his routine, pushing himself beyond his perceived limits, reaching for excellence, reveling in the sweat that saturated his gear.

  All the grunting, groaning, and smacking of weapons stopped abruptly as every man’s attention turned to the diminutive woman in the doorway. Dressed in the drab brown of a servant, the woman kept her delicate head lowered, her wisps of brown hair hiding her face. Every man simply stared, for none but men entered this hallowed chamber. What stunned them more was that a belt of crimson proclaimed her a servant of the empress.

  A chill of foreboding shivered down Chur’s spine.

  Helton approached the woman and respectfully inquired about her business. Despite the crushing silence, Chur could not hear her response for her voice was too high-pitched. Helton scratched his head and turned, flicking his fingers impatiently at Chur.

  A thousand bricks landed in his gut. With heavy steps, Chur joined them at the doorway, fully aware of every man’s attention on him. He didn’t even speculate what they were thinking. Such a situation was unheard of. Why would the empress send her servant to the training rooms, and what did she want with him?

  “The empress requests an audience with you.” Helton flashed him a scowl of suspicion. “Have you any idea why?”

  Chur shrugged. If Helton could keep his secrets closed, then Chur felt he had every right to do the same.

  Bulky armor and muscular forearms impeded Helton from crossing his arms, but his mistrust came across crystal clear. Helton wanted to pelt Chur with a thousand questions, but Helton had lost his chance when he dismissed Chur cycles ago.

  Helton continued to consider Chur with a sullen expression, thinking his silence would compel Chur to speak.

  A perverse pleasure at thwarting his mentor, who had dared to abandon him, caused Chur to lift himself through the chest and steady his stance. He simply considered Helton and awaited his permission. By his duty, Chur could not move from this spot until Helton discharged him.

  Grumbling, Helton dismissed and insulted Chur with a flick of his fingers. Helton turned his back on Chur so fast he left a wind in his wake. It did little to cool Chur’s fury. Absorbing the now open disdain of his mentor took tremendous strength. No mortal blow could wound as deeply as his handler’s contempt. One way or another, Chur vowed to make Helton regret his actions.

  The serbred nodded and turned on her heel, her barefoot steps gliding along the hallways as Chur followed three paces behind. He didn’t speak. She would only repeat the request of her mistress.

  A baggy dress of dark brown proclaimed her station as a servant; her brown hair exactly matching the color proclaimed her a serbred. Bred for passivity and obedience, their family lines went back to the time of the ancients. All serbreds had pale skin, brown hair and eyes, and extremely short stature. The serbred Chur followed barely stood to his waist.

  They would speak but only to repeat their instructions. “My lady, the Empress, requests an audience with Chur Zenge.”

  That is all she would say. Chur followed her delicate steps for so long he grew annoyed. He wanted to toss the plodding servant over his shoulder and make haste to the Throne of the Empress. As a part of the palace guard, Chur knew every nook and cranny of the palace, and certainly where the empress sat in residence.

  Then again, perhaps he shouldn’t wish to hurry for he did not know what the empress wanted. Chur doubted it was something good. He was fairly certain she had found his ceremonial sword in her daughter’s possession. Would Clathia demand an explanation, or insist Chur claim Kasmiri at the Harvest? Chur wouldn’t put it past Kasmiri to devise such a clever plot. Kasmiri knew what she was doing when she stole his blade. After their dance, Chur had stepped close to hear her over the cacophony when she’d deftly removed his sword and walked away, hiding it in the voluminous folds of her dress. By the time he’d followed, she had hidden it. Her smile of triumph dissolved when Chur flatly refused to barter his integrity. Kasmiri was livid that Chur wasn’t enamored of her charms. Apparently “no” was a word the young woman was not used to hearing.

  When they reached the throne room, the serbred pulled the door curtain back and then lifted her hand, directing him inside. Chur entered. A blood red carpet stretched across the floor to a raised dais. Empress Clathia sat upon an elaborately carved Onic throne. The back of the chair loomed over her, easily twice her height, yet she did not seem small upon such a massive chair.

  Clad in crimson, her elaborate bodysuit covered every bit of her skin but for her hands and face. Judging by the texture and the loops around the waist of the garment, the empress had been climbing galbol trees for sport. Rich red contrasted her tawny brown flesh and highlighted her piercing eyes. Long strands of rich black hair flowed down around her face and curled around her heavy breasts. Chur didn’t know how many seasons had touched the empress because she had the proud carriage of an ancient but
the smooth face of a sacrifice. More than beautiful, Clathia was commanding and utterly intimidating.

  With a tilt of her chin, the empress bid him approach.

  His heart pounded as he advanced.

  A line of palace guards stood on either side of the carpet that led to her throne. Chur saw a few familiar faces, but they looked through him, seeing him but not acknowledging him. Everything in the room was immaculate and perfect, the air smelled of night-blooming flowers. He took a deep breath and his own rank smell hit him. He felt like a noxious weed infiltrating a pristine flowerbed.

  When he reached the dais, he dropped to one knee and bowed his head. Protocol demanded he not speak until she gave him permission. A thousand thoughts rolled through his mind causing his heart rate to increase. He calmed himself with deep breaths.

  He heard a snap of fingers and then the pounding march of two dozen feet exiting the room. Clathia had dismissed her guard. Fresh sweat beaded along his forehead and trickled down his neck. Drawing each breath grew more difficult for the air grew heavy and thick. His neck and knee began to ache.

  “You may stand, Harvester.” Her cultured voice was low and strong, but a subtle humor lurked below.

  “Thank you, my lady.” Chur drew to his feet and stood at attention. Up close, he discovered two barely perceptible lines bracketed her mouth, indicating she smiled often. When he turned his attention to her eyes, he was startled to discover they were not black but a deep golden brown. A terrible sadness simmered in the depths. Once she had smiled so much it marked her face but not for a long time.

  “Beside me is an empty chair.”

  Startled, Chur glanced at the throne for her consort. A swath of black astle covered the seat as if in mourning. Perhaps all his worry was over nothing. Clathia might wish him to discover the truth behind her consort’s mysterious death. Such was not within the scope of his duties, but if she asked, he would comply. His interactions with the empress were limited, but he’d always admired her ability to wield tremendous power with gentle compassion.