by Brenna Lyons
Hands worked at his trousers, yanking them down and off. Other hands stroked his bare cock, his buttocks, spread his thighs to play at his engorged sac...
Matthew pushed his partner beneath him, pulling at clothes, desperate to bury himself in her.
She ripped her mouth from his. “Lodi, hurry.” She let out a sharp cry that overlapped with the sound of tearing fabric.
“Get him to his back,” someone ordered.
Hands pushed and pulled, forcing him off his partner. Matthew reached for her, falling back at the mouth sucking him in. It wasn’t perfect, but it took the edge off.
“Take off your shirt.”
“What?” another woman gasped.
“Give Hein Matthew something to amuse himself with until his partner is ready for him.”
“P-partner?” he managed. Ready? She likely had to insert her barrier.
The mouth was ruthless, and Matthew reached for the woman’s hair. His hands were diverted by a grip at the wrists, guided forcibly to a full pair of breasts...augmented but acceptable.
He worked at his position numbly...one woman gripping his wrists, one suckling him, the soft globes of one kneeling beside him...and still hands stroking at him? Climax loomed, and he closed his eyes to the patchwork reality of his rooms.
“You want a soft pussy, Hein?”
He nodded, moving his hips restlessly.
“Whose?” she pressed.
“Yours. Hers. Any. I don’t care,” he growled. “Just stop teasing me.”
She chuckled. “He’s ready.”
The mouth retreated, and Matthew thrust up in response, needing to follow...needing to find a replacement.
One of them straddled him, and a hand positioned his cock at a ready body. Matthew didn’t have time to buck into her; her downward thrust stole his breath. She rode him hard, venting screams and pleas for more. Matthew grasped at her hips, guiding her.
The end came quickly, making his head swim in the rush of orgasm. Every effort to open his eyes and look around resulted in a sickening swirl of half-formed images.
“Do you want more?” a voice teased.
I must be dreaming. This is paradise. “Yes.”
Another voice overlapped his; he didn’t try to identify it. Acknowledging that it was familiar was enough.
Someone brought a cup to his lips, offering a fortifying drink, and Matthew gulped it down.
“Would you take any cock offered, Mora?”
Mora? Matthew scowled and shook his head in disgust. What was Mora doing sullying this fine fantasy? Maybe it’s a nightmare. He barked in laughter at the thought.
“Any,” her voice rasped.
“Hein Matthew?” That taunt came from the one they called Lodi. “Any pussy?”
“I hate her,” he grumbled, but the need clawed at him, and he started thrusting into the body gripping him, beyond questioning who it was, beyond caring. What did it matter? This was certainly a dream...a fevered phantom.
“I’d rather take a...a driver,” Mora cursed.
Matthew had heard her say something similar before. It was a gardener last time...or a horse trainer. Mora loathed him nearly as much as he loathed her; it was impossible for her to surpass him in that regard.
A ruthless mouth played at his, and Matthew buried his hands in a wealth of hair. His cock demanded more of the heat surrounding it, and he pistoned harder.
A voice brushed at his ear, a voice he didn’t recognize. “What delicious irony, Hein Matthew,” she suggested. “What would you give to see that bitch Mora kneeling between your legs, sucking you, begging for your cock? Taking you in every orifice and moaning for you?”
It was a perverse sort of dark pleasure in the making. He pulled away from the foraging mouth and groaned. That would be no nightmare.
“She’ll do it,” the voice promised. “She’ll love every second of it, and she won’t be nearly as haughty, knowing you’ve mastered her.”
He arched up with a roar, giving his fill.
A further voice teased at his raw senses. “Suck him, Mora. Suck him, while we prepare you for more.”
Matthew opened his eyes, faces going in and out of focus. How many were there? Ten women? Fifteen? The one straddling him was the slowest coming. It looked like Mora, but it couldn’t be; he’d never fuck her.
“What are you doing?” a shrill voice demanded.
A hand touched his throat, a cool hand on his heated flesh. A sickening trail of gold danced across his vision, and Matthew closed his eyes on a groan.
I must be ill...fevering. His stomach lurched. I’m hallucinating, perhaps dehydrated.
The body around him started shifting again.
“Stop,” the shrill one ordered.
Matthew found himself halting mid-thrust, seeking out her eyes...blue eyes...big...luminous...wreathed in a mist of pink and gold.
Her hand cupped his cheek, soothing some of the inferno. “Goddess, no. You had no right to do this to him.”
There was a hint of something sad in her voice. Matthew opened his mouth, intent on asking why she was sad. He’d even offer to fix whatever it was, just to see her smile for him.
Her voice came first...angry...furious. He furrowed his brow, trying and failing to follow the chain of events that would cause such a change in her.
“You had no right to do this to him!”
A swing of gold sent his eyes sliding shut.
“Don’t! Don’t even attempt to justify this. Just get out.”
“What should we do about—”
“I don’t care. You created this situation; you correct it.” There was a heartbeat of silence. “But you use that poison on no one else tonight. I don’t care if you take turns fingering her, if you find no one willing to bed her. That’s your problem and not mine.”
“And if we refuse?” The hinted violence in Lodi’s question had his muscles tensing to fight.
“I’ll go to the guards myself.” There was steel in that, a deadly calm that relaxed him.
“Very well. I believe Mora has been taught lesson enough.”
“Or nearly so,” another offered in a tone that promised unpleasant happenings to come.
The woman straddling him retreated in an awkward movement. Matthew gasped, groaning out a protest, reaching blindly for one of them...any of them he could reach, but there was no one close enough.
“Are you certain?” someone taunted. “If we leave, he’s your problem, you know.”
“Just go. I’ll seek a doctor for him if I cannot handle this alone.”
There was confusion of movement and sound. The door clicked shut, and silence stole into the room. Matthew was sure he was alone, until the hand touched his face again. He knew before he opened his eyes that it would be the golden-haired goddess.
She whispered to him, a balm on his ragged senses. “I’ll care for you. You have my vow.” A beat of silence fell. “By the Goddess, it was wrong.”
Sailors told stories of sea angels with blue eyes you could drown in. Matthew was certain that was the turn this strange delusion had taken. She was his sea angel. The stories said they cared for half-dead sailors...and loved them well.
“I’ll return in a moment,” she promised, gliding from his side.
The ache in his gut nearly doubled him, and Matthew panted it back. Goddess, I hope she comes back nude and ready.
* * * *
Sira returned with a bowl of hot water and a cloth, intent on cleaning Hein Matthew and caring for him, fuming at what Lodi and the others had done to him.
She went still at the sight of him, laid out on his bed, shifting uncomfortably. His cock was stiff, twitching in need still, though he’d given Mora his fill at least once.
Someone must care for him, she reminded herself. That’s all this was, a moment of solace...with a nearly-perfect male specimen.
Pushing that thought away, Sira sat beside him and placed the bowl on the stool. She wrung out the cloth and, taking a deep breath, stro
ked it along one strong thigh, watching the muscles tense. Hein Matthew moaned, rising to her touch.
Sira blushed, well aware that she was teasing him. She would have to make the job quick and efficient. She wet the cloth again and went to work, trying to be detached, while he writhed beneath her, moved to her, seeking her touch...and finally climaxed to her hand as she cleaned his sac and length.
“Goddess,” she breathed. Her hands shaking, she wet the cloth again, stroking it along his chest and stomach, cleaning the evidence of his latest climax, thankfully not much. It was probably a sign that he’d already poured out quite a bit.
His dark blue eyes opened, and he stared at her, his cock bucking against her hand. His expression was intense, verging on violence.
Sira eased her hand away, self-conscious at touching him. “I only mean to help,” she assured him. “Do you wish your doctor?” Not that she had any clue how one found a doctor in a royal or noble household. The idea of explaining all of this to a guard was enough to send ice to her stomach.
The Hein stared at her, his muscles bunching and releasing, his eyes boring into her, challenging Sira to explain herself.
“Do you understand me?” she asked him. How far had the drug clouded his mind? If he couldn’t give her a coherent answer, she would have to fetch the guards for him.
A slight nod was his only reply.
“Do you need something? Do you want your—”
He moved fast, faster than she would have thought possible in his state. His hands locked around her upper arms, and the cloth slipped from her fingers.
Everything seemed to happen at once. The Hein dragged her across his body and onto the bed. Her foot struck the stool and sent it tumbling, water splashing the floor and the entire mess of bowl and stool landing with a crash.
In the next instant, she was beneath him, his weight pinning her to the bed, his face a whisper from hers. Sira pushed at his chest, hoping he understood enough to recognize her plea for freedom. His head lowered toward hers, and she moved, trying to work from under his bulk.
His hands tightened, sending shards of pain down her arms. She stopped on a gasp, meeting his gaze, manic eyes that showed he had no idea what he was doing. He was in the throes of the drug, needing, and she’d been stupid enough to try to care for him herself.
Why didn’t I go for his doctor immediately? Because I didn’t want to leave him alone that long? It had seemed like a good idea at the time, but now...
His hands loosened slightly, and he lowered his head again, tipping it to one side so that his lips touched the soft skin under her jawline. It was so tender, so unexpected, Sira let him.
The first nip brought her back to her senses, and she tried to lever him off with her fisted hand. The growl that escaped him sent her heart pounding. He nipped again and again, alternating between that and a series of little kisses and licks at the spot.
Sira bit back a groan, her body coming to life for him. This was a guilty little pleasure of sorts, and it was one she’d gladly give him.
Hein Matthew released one of her arms, cupping her knee with the now-free hand...forcing upward, dragging her skirt along with him. “My sea angel,” he breathed. “My angel.”
She gasped in realization. He was too far gone. He thought she was offering...for some reason. Was it because she hadn’t fought his kiss at her jawline?
“Hein, please,” she whispered, pushing at his chest again, not that she could budge him. Sira just wanted to get his attention.
His head came up, and he stared at her. Words stuck in her throat. He was beautiful and frightening, an exotic mix that made her head spin.
His hand moved higher, and she stiffened, well aware that Hein Matthew was far too close to his goal, and with him naked and her naked beneath the knee-length skirt, this could escalate quickly.
“Hein, please. This isn’t—”
The kiss was hot and hard, announcing his intentions...and his needs. Sira had never been kissed this way before. It was consuming. Her body burned, and she understood what he felt...or at least a little of what he felt. If his drive was stronger than hers, he was truly afflicted.
As if in answer, he shifted his weight to one side, using the break between their bodies to push her skirt to her waist and bare her to him. Her legs clamped together in mute protest, and his hand tightened against her thigh, pushing outward, twisting brutally. Sira fought the move, squealing into his mouth at the spike of pain.
She calmed herself. He didn’t know what he was doing. His senses were in a riot and his thinking mind an uncertain quantity. For that matter, her thinking mind wasn’t faring well.
I have to talk him down.
With that in mind, Sira tried to extricate her mouth from his. That proved harder to accomplish than she would have thought possible. Her head was already pressed hard to the mattress, and when she tried to turn her face away, his hand left her thigh and cupped her cheek to keep her from turning away, his mouth tilting to take her deeper.
The urge to bite him was strong, but she resisted following through. He wasn’t thinking. He could hurt her for it. Beside that, she didn’t want to hurt him, unless it became necessary.
At a loss for something that would cut through his madness, she scratched hard at his chest. His mouth left hers, and he arched his back, moaning.
His eyes opened, and Sira held her breath. He seemed to be lucid. Perhaps it had worked. She took a deep breath, preparing to reason with him.
“Hein Matthew—”
“Matthew,” he invited. His eyes softened, pleading with her. “I need you.”
Sira bit her lip, her heart aching. Did he need to sate the drives the drug had instilled in him with any female body, as he had with Mora? Did he need her...or someone like her, personally? Was the “sea angel” meant as a pet name, or was he lost in a fantasy where she was one of the mythical creatures? There was no answer to any of those questions, but whatever the case, he needed comfort she could offer.
Goddess, I want to offer it. I want him to need me, at least for the night.
When he knew his mind, it was unlikely he’d look twice at her again. Sira was the daughter of a minor noble, lowborn but for a small parcel of land they owned and the king’s favor on them.
She unbuttoned two buttons on her shirt, offering herself silently. Hein Matthew swept it to one side, dipping his head down to latch onto a nipple, suckling hard at her body.
Sira worked at the buttons, shifting against him as she dragged the shirt off. He moved to the other breast, stroking insistently at the first. It was a brutal pleasure, twinges of sweet pain mixing with bolts of ecstasy.
The Hein pulled at the tie on her skirt, indicating that he wanted it off, as well. He released her breast, helping her out of it. Then his mouth closed on hers, his tongue sweeping inside her. Sira held to him, dizzy in arousal, meeting his kiss in a daze.
His hand eased beneath her leg, and he guided her thighs apart. Sira didn’t fight him. She didn’t want to fight him. He needed her—not a mindless, violent need but rather a soul-deep longing that was infectious.
His fingers circled at her clit, bringing her hips off the bed with a mew of delight. Sira stroked her hands down his chest and arms, learning his body by touch. Just when she would have explored his cock, he moved.
Sira clawed at his chest and back, a sob escaping her at the slice of pain cutting her in two. The Hein hesitated only a moment, a moan escaping his clenched teeth. Then he was moving, his entire body contracting with each ramming motion.
A scream built in her throat and burst free, an exquisite pleasure-agony making her lightheaded. Hein Matthew growled, his hands closing on her hips, forcing himself further into her in a move that stole her breath.
“I need you,” he whispered. “I need...”
His roar sent shivers of sensation down her limbs. His heat erupting into her wrung little cries from her. A sharp spike of some emotion she couldn’t name assaulted her, and tears escaped
her eyes.
In the aftermath, Sira lay trembling in his arms, gasping at the bucking of his cock in her full and aching sheath. His lips parted hers, and he came at her, ravenous. She wound her arms around him, encouraging him.
His renewed thrusts left her panting, fighting to form words. “H-Hein—”
“Matthew,” he growled. His hips sped, his cock sliding in and out of her battered core, staking a claim she couldn’t begin to understand.
She nodded, closing her eyes, exhausted, riding the waves of sensation with him, wondering how many times he’d need to escape the drug’s hold.
Chapter Three
Matthew swallowed a metallic slick, wincing at the aches in his joints. Was he ill? He rotated his shoulder, and individual wounds seared him, prompting a hiss of discomfort.
Wounds? What happened last night?
He replayed what he could remember.
There had been a Bride Ball. He’d been drinking, but not heavily...not as heavily as Benjamin had been, at any rate. His mind protested that with a memory of him drinking directly from a wine bottle, but it was fuzzy and indistinct.
He moved on, disconcerted at the gaps and lack of clarity.
Most of the women had been either draped on Benjamin or running interference for the two top contenders to the place as the next queen of Lenvia, Mora and Alana. There had been a few who’d showed interest in Matthew, late in the evening. They’d brought him a drink and made promises.
Fractured memories of walking between them, trading kisses with both... Matthew shook his head, trying to dislodge it. He’d been unsteady...and horny...exceedingly so.
More memories followed. There were more than two, many more. Hands and mouths had played at him, an indecent foreplay orgy. Matthew wished he could forget that he’d taken part as much as he wished his memories of how he’d found himself in the situation were clearer.
Faces bobbed in and out of his visual record, one prevalent...Mora. Goddess, but he loathed that woman. Still, in the faint recollections of her, Mora was over him, meeting his mad thrusting, laughing, moaning, cooing...