Enslaved - Book 3: Trek Mi Q'an

by Jaid Black

  Fascinating.

  Equally fascinating was the structure of the palace she had been imprisoned in. The Palace of Mirrors, she had been told it was called. It hadn’t taken her long to figure out how it had gotten that name.

  The base of the castle itself was entrenched within a body of water that glimmered like a silver mirror. Several portholes were dotted all about each chamber that lied below the water line, casting back mirror-like reverberations of images from within. It was an interesting phenomenon, being able to look at a crystal-clear reflection of yourself merely by glancing toward the water that lay on the other side of the sealed portholes.

  The only time it was possible to see the marine life that lurked within the silver-mirror waters themselves was when a creature would swim up to a porthole directly as if staring back at you.

  Marty still got the shivers whenever she thought about the day she’d first been brought here. She had been glancing at her reflection in what she thought was a mirror when all of a sudden a large, fanged mouth had appeared around all sides of it. She had gasped and reeled back, not knowing what to think.

  The head of the underwater beast had moved to the side a moment later and one crimson eye had stared back at her. She knew that the predator, which had the appearance of a red octopus with serrated fangs, had been sizing her up for a meal. It had proceeded to try three times to knock through the sealed porthole barrier, but had given up and swam away when it had realized it couldn’t break through it.

  An intelligent predator. Never a good thing.

  Marty had gulped as she’d watched it flick a tentacle and swim away. The size of the mammoth creature’s fangs and talons didn’t bear dwelling upon. Needless to say they could have shredded her to bits in less time than it took a giant squid to obliterate a tuna.

  So Marty had stayed away from the base of the palace, opting to remain in her bedchamber for the most part. The harem’s quarters were located a level up from the waters, somewhere around the middle floor of the castle.

  The palace itself was huge, consisting of thirty to forty floors. She could spend a week tooling about it and still never see everything inside of it.

  The outside of the palace was formidable looking, she recalled. Marty had swallowed a bit roughly the first time she had seen it come into view. It rose up from the silver waters like a great ziggurat made of sleek black crystal, some twenty floors of architecture thrusting up from the waters and dominating the landscape.

  When the red sun was setting it loomed in the horizon just behind the palace, giving the castle a sinister look. Almost as sinister as that of its master.

  Kil Q’an Tal. A king. A warlord. Her captor.

  Marty had done the best job she could in dodging him these past three nights, but she knew her time was running out. He would come for her. She knew he would.

  Odd though it was, Marty felt as though she had somehow tuned into the warrior’s emotions. It was like she’d turned on a radio and the frequency had stuck on one particular channel and refused to shut off.

  He felt angry at her refusal to do his bidding—very angry. That anger had kept Marty going, feeding her own. She wanted him to stay angry, wanted him to hate her even, because it kept her defenses from crumbling.

  And oh lord were they crumbling.

  If the warrior’s only emotion, even main emotion, had been anger then she would have been able to continue on this path, hoping to forever thwart him. She knew, after all, that he wouldn’t rape her. It wasn’t instinct that told her as much, not even her bizarre tap on his emotions. It was simply common sense and logical deduction. If he was the type to rape, she correctly figured that he would have already done so.

  So why was she close to capitulating when she knew she could thwart him forever? she asked herself grimly.

  The reason was simple. The damn man needed her.

  Not wanted her. Not merely lusted after her. Not hoped to have her. She knew—knew—that for whatever reason the loathsome troll needed her.

  —Arrg!

  She was, Marty conceded, a royal pushover. It had always been that way. The softer side of her nature, the empathic side, had forever gotten in her way back on earth and was now proving to be her greatest impediment in remaining rigid in her stance to not succumb to the giant warlord.

  She knew when he was brooding, could feel it when he became melancholy thinking about her, knowing she’d never come to him willingly. Last night her empathy had been so extreme she had paced her bedchamber for hours, debating back and forth within herself as to whether or not it would be so bad to give the big oaf what he wanted and let him find oblivion between her legs.

  He needed her. He channeled his needs into something sexual, probably not wanting to deal with them, but she knew the needs were there. They were as real to her as the marine creature lurking in the silver-mirror waters below.

  “Damn it!” Marty growled, feeling his melancholia coming over him again. “Why should I care!”

  But she did care. And she hated herself for her weakness.

  He had captured her in war, taken her from the Wani, declared her his sex slave, and thrown her into his harem. She hated him. Or, she conceded with down-turned lips, she wanted to hate him. But the wanting wasn’t exactly making the reality happen. Because she didn’t hate him.

  Worse yet, Marty thought as she paced back and forth naked—she had refused to wear that damned qi’ka!—was the undeniable fact that she was fiercely attracted to the giant jerk.

  She tried to tell herself that she wasn’t, that she could never be attracted to the very man that had enslaved her, but it wasn’t helping. She wanted him. Every time she thought about him she grew wet between her thighs and her clit pulsed. Actually pulsed.

  —Arrg!

  Marty grabbed two fistfuls of honey-gold hair and closed her eyes as she sank to the ground. She was going insane, she decided. This entire ordeal, from being catapulted from earth to being enslaved, was turning her into a candidate for a mental ward.

  He needed her.

  So what!

  He needed her.

  I don’t care!

  He needed her.

  —Arrg!

  Marty’s shoulders slumped dejectedly as the truth hit her. She couldn’t go on like this. She couldn’t keep thwarting him. She was—arrg!—too damn empathetic.

  He needed her.

  I know, damn it!

  Her breathing labored, she unfisted her hands from around her hair and smoothed back tufts from out of her line of vision. She sighed deeply as she sat with her legs beneath her, her eyes flicking open and settling on her kneecaps. “What do I do?” she murmured. “What do I—”

  “Mari.”

  Marty froze. She knew that deep, dark voice. For the past three nights she had heard it in every dream, every fantasy, and every nightmare. And now it was calling to her softly, beckoning to her.

  Slowly her head came up. Her eyes scanned the long, formidable length of the warlord until at last her gaze clashed with his.

  She gulped. Her eyes widened.

  If he had looked in the least bit angry, in the least bit hateful and vindictive, she could have thwarted him yet again. But no. As her eyes searched his, as she heard his breathing hitch and labor, she knew she was a goner.

  In this moment in time, Kil Q’an Tal didn’t look like a man to be reckoned with. He looked like a lost little boy, like a child who’d been separated from everything he knew and needed and was begging her to help him find his way back home.

  The way that he looked at her, so mournful and with such intense longing...

  Marty realized he was as confused as she was by their strange bond. It was that fact and no other that caused the last of her reticence to crumble.

  Closing her eyes briefly, Marty succumbed to the inevitable. Without saying a word she stood up, walked to the other side of the bedchamber where her bed was located, crawled up on it, and situated herself on her backside. As she glanced toward her
captor and her eyes met his, she spread her thighs wide apart, offering herself to him.

  At first he did nothing, which caused her a moment’s embarrassment. But when she noticed how he was looking at her, how his eyes were memorizing and coveting every nuance of her body, her confidence returned.

  “I need you,” he said hoarsely, his glowing blue gaze flicking back toward her face. “I don’t understand the why of it, but I do.”

  Marty didn’t have any time to respond to that assertion for he covered her a scarce second later, coming down on top of her and settling himself between her legs. He pressed the large erection bulging from his leather pants against her labia, rubbing it slowly around until she began to moan.

  “I don’t understand it either,” she half groaned and half whimpered, reaching up to run her hands through his hair as he repositioned his large frame and began to trail kisses down her body. He began at her forehead, placed a kiss on her nose, more quick kisses at her throat...

  “Oh god,” Marty murmured as she closed her eyes and enjoyed the feel of his lips and tongue sucking at the base of her neck. His hands found her breasts and palmed them, his fingers plucked at the nipples while his kisses found their way down her throat, then lower still to the swell of her bosom.

  He raised his head from her breasts, his breathing heavy, and locked gazes with her. “I have wanted,” he said thickly, his fingers plumping up her nipples, “to suckle of these ever since I first saw you.”

  Desire pooled in her belly, coalescing into a pleasurous knot. Reaching up to smooth a plaited braid behind his ear, she thrust her breasts up into his palms simultaneously, causing a hissing sound to escape his throat. “Prove it,” she murmured.

  Kil groaned as he smothered his face into her breasts. He wasted no time in proving it to her, his tongue flicking at the blue ring around her left nipple, then slurping the nipple through the ring and drawing on it.

  Marty gasped at the sensation, her back arching as her hips instinctively slammed upwards looking for surcease.

  “Mmm,” he growled as he sipped on the nipple, one large hand taking both of Marty’s in his and securing them over her head, “Mmmm.” He ground his hips into hers, his erection rubbing her clit through the leather fabric.

  “Oh god,” Marty moaned, her body thrashing under his to find completion. She wanted him to impale her, needed him inside of her.

  Kil’s mouth made heady slurping sounds as he continued to suckle from her nipple. His hips kept up their agonizingly slow rhythm, grinding his erection into her wet flesh and providing pressure against her clit.

  “Please,” she groaned as her hips reared up, “please.”

  His head came up slowly as he released the nipple, a half popping, half sucking sound resonating through the bedchamber as he did so. He grinned. “Not yet ty’ka,” he purred in that dark rumble of his as he released her hands from above her head, “I would taste more of you before we mate.” His head disappeared into her cleavage again, then slowly began to work its way downward.

  Marty gulped, for a couple of reasons. First, because his rich, masculine voice was the most seductive thing she’d ever heard, and secondly because she was certain he’d called her ty’ka.

  Ty’ka—warrior’s hearts. Or, more literally, my hearts.

  She was given no time to contemplate why he was calling her by such a meaningful name, a name she’d been told that a warrior only called the woman he mated with for life by, for his kisses were going lower and...

  “Oh groovy,” she breathed out, her hips arching up for him. She sucked in a breath as his lips found her navel, groaning when his tongue flicked the navel ring and made it shimmer.

  “Oh groovy!” she screamed as his tongue flicked harder and harder at the navel ring. She hadn’t realized the Wani ring could make a woman—

  “How fucking groovy!”

  Marty groaned like a mortally wounded animal as an intense orgasm ripped through her insides and exploded. She convulsed so harshly she could feel dew dripping down the inside of her thighs.

  Kil was torn between laughter and intense longing. The look of disbelief on her face coupled with her strange ramblings were nigh unto comical. He grinned, his hearts feeling uncharacteristically light and happy. “I will make you feel more of this groovy in a moment, little one.”

  Marty harrumphed. “I doubt anything can make me feel that good.”

  One arrogant eyebrow shot up. “Oh do you, Mari?”

  Her eyes widened when it dawned on her that he was taking her statement as a challenge. Good. Might as well make the most of a situation, she’d always said.

  “Yes,” she lied, deciding to toy with him a bit, “I doubt it.” She unconsciously licked her lips, hoping he’d prove her wrong quickly.

  Kil picked up on the telling sign, which caused him to chuckle. She made him feel so good, teasing him like real lovers would, not meekly submitting to his lust and boring him outside of a Nuba-minute as any other of his harem would have and did. No woman, free or bound, had ever made him feel so good. He was bewitched for a certainty.

  “Well then,” he said softly, his lips forging a path of kisses down her belly, then through the honey-gold curls covering her mons, “mayhap I will have to work for many moon-risings on perfecting this groovy.”

  “Maybe,” she squeaked.

  Marty spread her thighs as wide as they would go, then reared up her hips, trying to coax him into kissing her intimately. But he didn’t. He teased her instead.

  Kil’s throat made sultry purring sounds as he rubbed his nose, lips, and chin through the thatch of hair at the apex of her thighs. He closed his eyes and basked in the simple sensation, turning Marty on more than she thought such a seemingly innocuous gesture could. It was as if he reveled in everything about her, even something so simple as this.

  And then his large hands were clamping about her thighs and she knew he was getting ready to taste her. He opened her up as far as she could comfortably go and stared down at her flesh with glazed-over eyes.

  “’Tis the most beautiful channel in the goddess’ creation,” he murmured.

  Marty’s breathing hitched, his words affecting her powerfully. “Then taste it,” she whispered, her clear gray eyes seeking out his glowing blue ones.

  With a groan he complied, his face diving into her flesh, smothering it with his lips and tongue. He kissed and licked at her labia, brushing all around the clit without touching it. The effect was to drive her mad with longing.

  Marty’s hips instinctively reared up as she used her hands to press his face closer into her pussy. “Oh Kil,” she said breathlessly, “oh yes.”

  ‘Twas forbidden for a bound servant to call her master by name, yet the sound of it on her lips felt right. She would never call him master, this he knew. And odd, but he had not a care for her to do so.

  “Mmm,” he growled as his tongue at last zeroed in on her clit. “Mmmmmm.”

  “Oh god.”

  He slurped the clit into his mouth and sipped on it, causing Marty to moan and writhe. At the same time the fingers of one of his hands came up and toyed with her navel ring, making it shimmer in the erotic way she’d discovered only minutes prior.

  “Oh. My. God.”

  Marty wrapped one leg around his neck, using it to press his face into her flesh impossibly deeper. He groaned into her pussy, his lips and tongue sucking vigorously on her engorged clit. The pressure he was applying on her swollen flesh was hard and unrelenting. She slammed her hips upward on a moan, wordlessly begging him for completion.

  Kil gave her what she wanted—what he too wanted—sucking harder and firmer while she moaned and thrashed violently beneath him.

  “Oh god.”

  Marty’s orgasm tore through her belly mercilessly, inducing heat to rush to her face and her nipples to harden into plump points. She moaned out his name as her hips rocked back and forth, her body craving more of him. “Kil—oh yes.”

  When his face surfaced from
between her legs, the look in his eyes was intense. One minute he had been wearing leather pants and—Marty blinked—now he wore nothing but a necklace of shimmering stones around his neck and seven and a half feet of steely bronzed muscle.

  His breathing labored, he grabbed her by the hips and placed the tip of his erection at the opening of her vagina. Marty’s eyes barely had time to widen at the enormousness of his erection when he groaned out “Mari,” and thrust inside of her, burying his cock to the hilt.

  She screamed.

  Kil’s eyes widened. His body went completely still. “Mari?” he asked gently, her impossibly tight flesh making his teeth grit, “you are a virgin?”

  Marty was so surprised by the question she forgot all about the pain. “No,” she said honestly, the pain still there, but becoming somewhat bearable, “I’ve been with men back home.”

  He grunted. “But never with a warrior?”

  “No.”

  His nostrils flared as if inhaling her scent. His eyes brightened, glowing an impossibly potent blue. She could feel possessiveness radiating from him like a tangible thing and the feeling made her as giddy as it did nervous.

  To him, she was a virgin. In his culture, she was a virgin. What’s more, a flash of intense premonition told her, he’d make certain he was the only warrior she ever offered her body to.

  “Good,” he murmured.

  Kil thrust into her flesh with a growl, ringing a gasp out of Marty. His jaw clenched tightly as he thrust in and out of her with long, deep strokes, fighting back his need to pummel into her, to pound away into oblivion. He needed her channel to accustom to the size of him before he could mount her the way he wanted to.

  Marty’s eyes watered as her flesh slowly began to cooperate, the pain lessening more and more with each thoughtfully slow, soothing stroke he made. She ran her hands over his back, then lower over his buttocks, feeling the steely muscles clench beneath her palms.

  “Mmm...Mari,” he said thickly, “keep touching me. I need the touching, my little one.”

  “You feel good inside of me,” she whispered, her fingers massaging his buttocks. She reveled in the feel of him, the way his buttocks clenched and contracted as he stroked in and out of her.