Enslaved - Book 3: Trek Mi Q'an

by Jaid Black

  His teeth ground together. Perspiration formed on his brow. He wound a tress of her honey-gold hair around one of his fists, securing her to him, as he rotated his hips and continued to stretch and fill her.

  Marty’s head fell back on the whisper-soft bed, a bed that had been fashioned for a sex slave, for her. In that moment, her status actually served to further arouse her, making her feel deliciously submissive and desired. The feeling would surely pass when she regained her senses, she told herself, but for the moment she gave herself up to the master and to the pleasure he offered her as no other ever had, as no other ever could.

  Wrapping her legs around his waist, she practically hissed as his body claimed hers with agonizingly slow strokes. “Harder,” she moaned, “I need more.”

  “Mmm do you, lusty one?” He teased her with more slow stroking, picking up the pace just a bit, but not quite enough.

  “Yes.”

  “And who do you want to give it to you, hm?”

  His arrogance further aroused her. “You,” Marty groaned, her hips bucking up for more. “I want you.”

  His jaw clenched. “Your pleasure is mine, little one.”

  Kil groaned as he sank into her, her words the only enticement he needed to mount her fully and ride her hard. He thrust into her possessively, sinking into her flesh in a way meant to brand her.

  Over and over again he rode her, his eyes closing in a nearly maddening euphoria and his throat eliciting moan after moan, as he found oblivion in a way he never had before. ‘Twas as if her channel had been made for him, had been fit to his body’s specifications. Her channel was trying to milk him of seed far quicker than it should have, the way he’d often heard a warrior would spurt for none other than his—

  “Ty’ka,” he ground out, thrusting into her mercilessly, pounding into her sopping wet flesh with primal instinct. He wanted the pleasure to go on and on, to never end, but her body was milking his, was demanding his seed...

  Marty gasped at the pleasure, her hips slapping upward to meet his rapid thrusts. She groaned as he mated her, the sound of her flesh enveloping his a wickedly carnal aphrodisiac. “Kil,” she moaned as she felt a climax fast approaching, “harder.”

  “Your pleasure is mine, ty’ka.”

  Kil rotated his hips and slammed home, mating her like an animal in full rut. He sank into her harder, faster, harder—

  “Oh god.”

  “This channel is mine,” he growled, his nostrils flaring primally. He held onto the hair he’d wound about his wrist while he branded her, his tight balls slapping against her buttocks as he impaled her over and over again.

  “Kil.”

  Marty bared her neck to him as her head fell back. Her climax violently ripped through her, the harshest and most pleasurous feeling she’d ever experienced. She moaned and groaned as she threw her hips back at him, greedily wanting to be pummeled while she came. “Oh god.”

  Kil’s teeth gritted at the pleasure, the feel of her channel contracting and convulsing around his shaft too intense to hold back his spurting. On a groan he impaled himself—once, twice, three times more—then holding her body tightly to his, he emptied himself of seed deep inside of her on a roar of completion.

  For long minutes they laid there as their breathing steadied, holding onto each other as if there was no such thing as tomorrow, as if they’d never be able to recapture the moment.

  They were both confused. Neither of them understood what was happening, why they felt the way they felt towards the other.

  For one of them—for Marty—the incomprehension was borne of cultural ignorance, of dwelling in a world where she didn’t understand the rules.

  For the other one—for Kil—the confusion was borne of stubbornness and pride, two strong emotions that had, for reasons of survival, been etched long ago from grief and an acute fear of abandonment.

  Marty sighed with unnatural contentment as the gigantic warlord settled himself around her, wanting her closeness even after they’d mated. His eyes closed sleepily as his mouth latched onto one of her nipples and suckled from it. As if on instinct, one of his hands settled in between her thighs until he located her flesh, a large finger burying itself fully inside of her. She could feel all the tension leave his body after that and, scarce moments later, he fell into a deep, sated sleep.

  Marty brushed a thin black braid behind his ear, and found herself smiling at the innocent picture the big oaf made while asleep. Drawing from her nipple in his slumber, his eyelashes fanned down and tickled her breast, while his finger stroked back and forth inside of her even in his sleep.

  She didn’t know what to make of him or the situation—a fact that was as frightening as it was confusing. But as she glanced toward the porthole and saw a streak of proud yellow sun daring to broach the brooding, prominent crimson sky, she told herself she would find a way to make everything right.

  Chapter 10

  Marty’s lips puckered into a frown as she picked up a serving platter filled with sweet confections and fruits. She couldn’t believe she had agreed to play serving maid to the big ogre and his equally big ogre friends without a fight, but she was sick to death of being in that damned harem chamber all of the time.

  In all actuality, she wouldn’t have minded this duty in the slightest—she’d waited tables back home during college after all—were it not for the fact that she had to serve the sweets and fruits to his friends topless, wearing nothing besides a nearly transparent sarong skirt.

  The qi’ka skirt she was wearing this evening was a beautiful shimmery crimson. She’d found it lying at the foot of the bed when she had awoken this morning, Kil having already gone but the skirt left behind as an apparent gift.

  Marty had thought little of it, assuming he had merely left it behind as a reminder that he expected her to obey the rules from here on out. And so she had decided to disobey him by not putting it on, defying him in the only way she had at her disposal.

  She had changed her mind after Ora had entered her private bedchamber and had seen the skirt. Gasping, the busty brunette had picked it up off of the bed and turned to her with a huge grin on her face. “’Tis as I predicted,” she beamed, her smile contagious. “You have bested the horrid Typpa for the master’s attention.”

  Marty couldn’t help but to smile back at her. Of all the hundreds of bound servants in the palace, Ora was the only one she felt a connection with, that inexplicable chemistry that forged two women as friends. “How do you figure that?”

  Ora had then proceeded to explain the significance of the costliness of a qi’ka to her, even telling her how one could be sold at market if after she left her servitude she found herself in need of credits. Marty had listened intently, filing the information away for future use.

  “I was the king’s favored when first I arrived here nigh unto five Yessat years past.” Ora shrugged. “’Tis well known throughout the galaxies that warriors tire of their favoreds the soonest, so ‘tis best,” she had instructed her as a friend would, “if you make the most of your status whilst ‘tis still yours.”

  Marty’s stomach had clenched at the thought, though she didn’t know why. What had she expected, she’d asked herself morosely as Ora switched topics and informed her of the feast to come this evening—for a man who owned hundreds of gorgeous women to fall madly in love with her and want to be with only her?

  Yes, she thought with a grimace, unfortunately that was exactly what she expected.

  But why should she care if she didn’t get it? Why should she—

  Bah! What was the point in fooling herself. She did care. She didn’t want to, but there it was.

  “Are you ready?”

  Ora’s question snapped Marty’s head to attention, bringing her back to the present. She blinked. “Yes. I’m right behind you.”

  Ora threw a commiserate glance her way, then smiled in a manner meant to calm her. “’Twill be all right, Mari. The feast will last but two Nuba hours at best.” She sighed.
“But ‘tis best do I warn you…”

  Marty raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

  Ora sighed again. “If one of the master’s honored guests desires to sample of your charms, ‘tis your duty to couple with the warrior.”

  Marty’s heart began to race. Blood rushed to her head and pounded at her ears. “What?”

  Ora shrugged helplessly. “’Tis the way of this world, Mari.” She studied her friend’s face for a moment then grinned. “Truth be told, ‘tis not such a bad duty at all. As you’re about to find out, there is no such thing as an unattractive warrior.” She chuckled at her mortified look. “Truly, if you would but look upon the situation as a dispassionate observer, you would realize that my words are true.”

  Marty could only gawk at her.

  Ora’s chuckle evolved into laughter. She wiggled her eyebrows comically and grinned. “Wait until you see the master’s guests. Go on.” She waved a hand toward a set of black crystal double doors that separated the kitchens from the dining hall. “Take a peek.”

  Drawing in a deep breath, Marty set down the serving platter onto a counter and begrudgingly complied. Ever so quietly, she opened the doors just enough to glance out, her gray eyes scanning the great hall on the other side of them.

  There was Kil.

  Her eyes narrowed menacingly when she noticed that Typpa was standing behind him as nearly naked as she was. The bound servant was rubbing the warlord’s massive shoulders from behind while he drank his matpow, her breasts stabbing seductively against him.

  “Typpa,” she gritted out to Ora without removing her gaze from Kil and the bound servant, “is rubbing herself on him. She’s even rubbing her nipples against his face and prodding him to suck on them.”

  —Arrg!

  “Hmm,” Ora murmured thoughtfully. “Then mayhap ‘tis best if you do all in your power to inflame his senses.”

  Her nostrils flared at the challenge. “How?” she ground out.

  Ora didn’t think it was possible for Marty to make him jealous for warriors became jealous only when males paid attention to their Sacred Mates, so she said instead, “Let him see how desirable you are to his guests. Subtly flirt with them, make them desire to sample of your charms. If he sees that the other warriors covet you strongly, mayhap he will order you to his own bedchamber instead of to the bedchamber of one of the others.”

  Angry, and more than a little hurt, Marty knew she would at least give Ora’s advice a try. “A warrior’s way of showing off his—” Her jaw clenched. “—spoils of war?”

  Ora chuckled, not at all perturbed by the notion. “Aye.” She licked her lips. “But be a good friend and save the king’s cousin for me.” She shivered deliciously, her nipples hardening when she thought about him. “I have been desiring Lord Jek for nigh unto two Yessat years, when first I saw him.”

  “Which one is he?”

  Ora came up behind her and glanced out the crack through the doors. “The one to the master’s left,” she whispered.

  When Marty saw him she did a bit of shivering herself, though not for the same reason. The warrior was handsome, yes, for he looked strikingly similar to Kil. But the look upon his face was cold—stone cold. Like he’d kill anyone or anything that dared to approach him. “He’s all yours,” she squeaked.

  Ora began pointing out the different warriors gathered around the raised table—a table that was literally suspended a few inches off of the ground as if possessed of magic—telling her which ones were the best lovers in the vesha hides.

  “Aside from the master himself, out of all of the warriors I’ve tried,” Ora continued in a whisper, “’tis Lord Death that gives the best impaling.” She chuckled softly. “His lust is insatiable.”

  Marty gulped. Death was as frightening looking as Jek, perhaps more so. Jek appeared rather grim, whereas Death appeared rather…well, no word could quite describe him. When he stood up to stretch out his back muscles, her eyes widened as she realized he was at least four or five inches taller than the rest of the warriors, Kil included.

  Shit.

  “He is rather handsome,” Marty conceded, studying his heavily muscled body and harshly masculine face. She grimaced. “But why the tattoo?”

  “No one knows,” Ora murmured. “There have been many rumors o’er the Yessat years, but none ever confirmed that I’ve heard tell of.”

  Marty’s mind was made up. Not only because the giant was handsome, but because it was obvious that he and Kil were friends. Death was definitely the one she would be flirting with.

  “Ok,” she said firmly as she quietly closed the doors and turned around to face Ora, “I’m ready.”

  Ora nodded. “Remember to flirt.”

  “I will.”

  “You need to look, feel, and act as though you were born to seduce.”

  Marty bit her lip. Her confidence began to waver as she considered the fact that she’d never set out to seduce any man in her entire life. It wasn’t the sort of thing that came up in the midst of a bra-burning demonstration. “How?”

  Ora smiled softly, her gaze flicking over Marty’s naked breasts and barely concealed mons. She pressed in closer to her friend until their nipples touched, causing Marty to blush.

  “No blushing,” Ora murmured, as she rubbed her nipples against Marty’s, inducing both sets to plump up. She reached down and parted Marty’s qi’ka, and ran her fingers over the honey-gold mons. Her thumb began to circle her clit, causing Marty’s breathing to hitch.

  “When you feel turned on,” Ora whispered, “you feel as though you were born to seduce.” Her thumb continued to make lazy circles on Marty’s clit, their nipples rubbing briskly against each other’s. “How does this feel?” she inquired softly, getting turned on herself.

  “So good.” Marty closed her eyes, too turned on to feel embarrassment over the fact that she was sexually responding to another woman. She spread her legs a little bit further apart, giving Ora better access to her vagina.

  “Tell me when you are close to peaking, Mari.” Her thumb picked up its tempo, the circles becoming more exact and demanding.

  Marty gasped. She offered Ora no resistance when her mouth found hers and a tongue was thrust between her semi-parted lips. She accepted her friend’s tongue, the sweetness of her breath an added turn-on to the thumb that was rubbing her wet flesh and the nipples that continued to plump up her own with their brisk rubbing.

  “Well, well, well,” a seductively dark voice purred out, “as fetching a scene as this makes, the deuce of you are neglecting my guests.”

  Marty broke away from Ora and flushed guiltily, her eyes clashing with Kil’s. He looked sinfully handsome tonight, damn him any way, wearing black leather pants and a black leather vest that made his arms seem even more vein-roped and massive than they did while bare-chested.

  And the way he was looking at her, the way his eyes were devouring her—arrg! She needed to find a way to escape this damn palace before she fell head over heels in love and lust with a man who would never love her back, a man who saw her as mere sexual chattel that he would and could do away with after he bored of her.

  Well, she thought as she gritted her teeth, until she could escape she would at least try to make him jealous. If there was one thing Marty could do well, it was give as good as she got. If Kil wanted both Typpa and her and every other woman in his harem—fine. But then she would have both Death and him. And, she reminded herself, she would know by his emotions if he was affected by that fact or not.

  “’Tis sorry I am, master,” Ora demurred as she cast her gaze to his feet. “We will serve the sweet confections to your guests in all posthaste.”

  Kil’s gaze flicked toward Marty. One black eyebrow arched arrogantly, as if he was waiting to hear an apology forthcoming from her lips.

  Her nostrils flared. Her jaw clenched. He was crazy if he thought she’d apologize for anything. She hadn’t asked for this servitude and didn’t want it. If he meant to force it on her, he’d get what
ever she gave to him and that was that.

  Subverting the dominant paradigm, she reminded herself with a sniff. She was good at that stuff. A true aficionado.

  Besides, she thought morosely, he’d let Typpa rub all over him. Pig! Nazi! Dildo breath!

  —Arrg!

  Kil grunted, realizing his little heeka-beast was more apt to blister his ears with sore words then appease him with submissive gestures. And damn the sands if he didn’t grow more erect just looking at her defiant face.

  His glowing blue gaze flicked hungrily over Marty once more before he turned his attention to Ora. “See that you do.” And with that, he turned on his boot heel and strode from the kitchens.

  Chapter 11

  Marty bit down on her lip to keep from smiling as she felt Kil’s anger and jealousy building. Ignoring him completely, she carried the tray of sweet confections and fire-berries up to Lord Death, making certain she stood on the right side of him so the king would get a close up view of her flirting.

  Ora had been right, she mentally conceded. When a woman is physically aroused, she does feel as though she was born to seduce.

  Lord Death’s dark head came up slowly, having realized for the first time that a bound servant stood beside him. His glowing gold gaze found her nipples, fixating on the nipple ring she wore for a suspended moment. At last, after several seconds had ticked by, his golden gaze flicked upward and rested on her face. “Have you something for me?” he rumbled out.

  Marty could feel Kil’s anger rising at the double entendre. She knew if she looked at him his jaw would be clenched and his nostrils flaring. Good.

  “I do,” she whispered throatily, pressing in closer so her nipples were practically touching his lips. “Migi-candies, fire-berries, glatta balls, and prygga.” She smiled as his gaze meandered back down to her nipples. “Would you care to sample of anything, my lord?”