by Jaid Black
The warrior’s rough tongue darted out and curled around the nipple that bore the blue Wani ring. Marty gasped. She hadn’t been expecting that. But as she watched him sip it into his mouth, then draw from it long and leisurely with his eyes closed, she was torn between definite physical arousal from the sensation and embarrassment of being fondled in public.
And Kil—oh was he angry. And oh was his anger making her forget her embarrassment. Marty sighed lustily as she set the platter of sweets down upon the raised table, then ran her hands through Death’s hair. She pressed his face in closer to her chest, her breath hitching when he began to suckle more vigorously from her nipple.
And then the warrior’s hand was parting her qi’ka skirt, his fingers running through the honey-gold curls covering her mons. She experienced a moment’s panic when his large thumb settled over her clit, but subdued it in favor of arousal—and delicious revenge.
“Mari.”
Kil’s voice. Low and menacing.
Marty ignored him as she closed her eyes and pressed her body closer to Death’s. His lips continued to plump up and suckle from her nipple while his thumb began working in vigorous circles on her clit. She gasped, her neck baring to him.
“Mari.”
Kil’s voice again. Her name had been growled out warningly that time.
Marty secreted away a smile as she opened her eyes, pretending it was the first time she’d heard her name called. “I’m sorry,” she said with feigned sweetness, spreading her legs further apart on the floor so Death could play with her flesh to his hearts’ content, “were you speaking to me?”
A muscle began to tic in Kil’s jaw. “Yessss,” he hissed. His nostrils flared as his gaze flicked towards his friend. “Death,” he barked, “release my bound servant that she might serve me the sweet confections.”
Death’s head surfaced from Marty’s chest long enough to grunt. That accomplished, he buried his face in her breasts and resumed his contented suckling.
Marty raised her eyebrows to Kil challengingly. “I’m certain Typpa would be more than happy to serve you.” She waved a hand about ceremoniously. “Or any other of your harem.”
His hand visibly balled into a fist. “For a certainty they would,” he gritted out, “yet do I command you to attend to me anon.”
With a flick of his wrist to signal her, Typpa left Kil’s side and strolled saucily up to Death’s. Falling to her knees before him, she removed his erection from his leather pants and began to suckle on him beneath the raised table. Death groaned into Marty’s breasts, offered her nipples a few more quick sips, then turned his attention to Typpa.
Marty blinked. That quickly the giant warrior had forgotten her. Apparently the rumors about warriors and their sexual attention spans were true. So why then did Kil still want her when he had so many others to service him?
Mentally shrugging, she picked up the platter of sweets and walked slowly towards the king. His anger and jealousy were such tangible things to her, she had to restrain herself from singing with triumph. Clearly she had pushed him a bit too far. Good.
Kil’s menacingly narrowed eyes never left hers as he took the platter of sweets from her grasp and handed it over to a bound servant who stood behind him. After getting her first good look at his face, Marty’s eyes widened a bit, never having thought he’d grow this agitated by her sex play with Lord Death.
And oh lord was he agitated. She could feel his rage as if it was her own.
Groovy.
“You wanted me?” she sniffed.
“Oh aye, I want you wench,” he said softly, each word spoken through gritted teeth. “Now take yourself off to my bedchamber anon and await my attention there.”
Marty’s eyes narrowed. “No.”
Kil’s nostrils flared impossibly further. “You think to tell your master nay?”
Her back went rigid at his use of the word master. Pig! Nazi! Dildo breath! “I have no master,” she ground out, “but I am definitely telling you no.”
His eyebrows shot up mockingly. “Mayhap I shall take you here and now for all to see.” He covered her throat with one large hand and slowly inched downwards, stopping to massage her breasts when he reached them. “Shall I taste that sweet channel of yours up on the raised table or shall I splay you on all fours and fuck you mindless?”
A tremor of guilt passed through Kil at Marty’s hurt expression. He gentled his voice and leaned in closer to her that none but the two of them would bear witness to the conversation. “I am your master, little one, and you would do yourself a service to remember that fact.” He raked her body with his gaze. “I have missed you ty’ka,” he said hoarsely. “Let us belabor the fact of your servitude no more.”
Marty gasped—partly from pleasure, partly from shock—when Kil leaned over and began flicking at her navel ring with his tongue right there for everyone to see. She moaned loudly, unable to stifle the reaction, which caused the other warriors seated around the raised table to stop what they were doing and watch her. Even the king’s cousin, who had been busy fondling Ora, stopped to see what was going to happen next.
For a moment Marty was upset. But only for a moment. When her bizarre tap on Kil’s emotions confirmed the fact that he was publicly touching her only because he’d missed her and not in order to show her who was boss in front of his friends, she was somehow able to let go and enjoy the wickedness of the moment, secure in the knowledge he would never let another warrior touch her.
Besides, she might not understand how a lot of things worked on Morak, but she understood enough of the culture to know that very little if anything at all was thought about public sexual displays. But oh lord, she thought as she groaned, these displays were sinfully wicked to her earthly mind and therefore gluttonously arousing.
Kil’s tongue continued to flick at the navel ring as his fingers found the wet flesh between her legs and began to toy with it. He teased her clit with soft strokes, causing Marty to reach down and press his fingers harder against her. “Please.”
He did as she wished until Marty screamed out her climax, too deliriously turned on to care what anyone thought. A moment later she was being hoisted up into the air and her qi’ka was being thrown to the black crystal floor. She heard him groan as he placed her on his lap, positioning her body so she straddled him.
“Put me inside of you,” Kil murmured, his eyes glazed over with desire. He nipped at her bottom lip with his teeth. “I need to feel your channel, Mari.”
Marty blinked. For the second time in as many days, the man had somehow rid himself of clothing without her being aware of how or when he’d done it. She could feel the tip of his erection poised at her opening, wanting enveloped within her. She discarded the thought as irrelevant, mentally filing it away as information she would find out later.
What was relevant at the moment was the fact that he wanted her to ride him right here at the raised table. As the intensity of her orgasm lessened and she once again felt normal and calm, she experienced a pang of apprehension, uncertain she could behave so wantonly in front of the other warriors and servants.
But when she glanced over her shoulder at Ora and saw that her friend was silently telling her yes, she had managed to inflame the king’s senses, she found her courage renewed—and her resolve to keep Typpa away from him restored. That she, an avowed independent feminist, would even care to set out on such an un-independent course was a fact she decided to ignore altogether. For now.
Grabbing Kil’s thick cock by the base, she raised her hips up and slowly, teasingly, began to envelop him within her.
He hissed at the teasing, his fingers sinking into the flesh of her hips. “’Twill be the death of me,” he rasped out, “if you do not take all of me in the soonest.”
Marty could feel the gaze of the other warriors on her. Knowing that they could see everything, that they were watching her naked buttocks slowly sink down on him, turned her on more than the navel ring incident had. She felt like a sex godd
ess.
“I don’t want you to die,” she said throatily so only Kil could hear. She sank down another couple of inches, giving him a bit more of her flesh. “Who else will fuck me all night long if that happens?”
His gaze clashed with hers. His jaw tightened. “No one, Mari. ‘Tis best for a certainty do you realize that.”
She sank down a bit further, giving him more of her pussy. For some reason, she felt the perverse need to goad him. “Then what will you do,” she said saucily as she wrapped her arms around his neck, “when five Yessat years have passed and I am free to go?”
She could feel the melancholia come over him at the mere mentioning of her leaving him. Part of her said to back down, to not hurt him needlessly with her words, but her female intuition demanded that she force this warlord, a warrior who made a habit of running from his feelings, to face the fact that they shared a bizarre bond.
She could never leave him and be the same. She accepted this as fact. It didn’t mean she wouldn’t leave him, but she knew she’d never be the same woman when she did.
Kil, however, was resisting the idea that her leave-taking would be of import to him. His next words confirmed that fact. “It doesn’t bear dwelling upon,” he gritted out, clearly disliking being made to face anything he didn’t want to consider, “five Yessat years is a long, long time from this moon-rising.”
Marty would have been saddened by his words had she not known that his emotions were currently in turmoil. She decided to let him off the hook—for now—and allow him to deal with his need for her in the only way he understood.
Marty sank down onto his lap fully, impaling herself to the hilt. They both groaned, his fingers digging into her flesh as she began to ride up and down the length of him.
“’Tis bliss,” Kil ground out, his breathing labored, “your channel is sweet bliss, little one.”
She picked up the pace of her riding, moaning and groaning each time she impaled herself. When his palms found her buttocks and began kneading them, she pressed her upper body closer to his that her nipples stabbed against his chest.
“Kil.”
She shouted out his name as she rode him, both of them too oblivious with lust to notice the fact that the other warriors and servants were gaping at them—not because they were mating, but because Marty had first-named her master…and he didn’t seem to mind.
“Faster,” he growled. He studied her face, enjoying the fact that she was so turned on she could scarcely keep her eyes open. “Ride me faster, pani.”
Marty complied, groaning as her flesh enveloped his. She rotated her hips and sank down on him again and again, faster and faster.
Kil’s jaw clenched. His fingers dug into her buttocks as her flesh began milking his. “You think to make me spurt already, lusty one, but I will not spurt until your channel floods for me.” One large hand left her buttocks in favor of flicking at her navel ring. The other hand came around and found her clit. “Come for your master,” he murmured. “Come for me, Mari.”
But Marty needed no further prompting. She had been close to climaxing before his fingers had started working on her, so adding them into the mix only brought it on harder and quicker. And the navel ring—
“Oh god.”
Marty groaned loudly as she came, her flesh frenziedly contracting around his cock to milk him. A moment later she heard his hoarse shout of satisfaction, then felt his warm semen spurting deep inside of her.
Now that the show was over, the other warriors returned their attention to the bound servants they’d previously been fondling. Marty could hear Ora sighing lustily, which could only mean the warrior was licking and sucking on her various body parts. She secreted away a smile, happy that they’d both gotten the attention they’d sought out tonight.
Kil murmured her name, which brought Marty’s attention back to him. She looked at him questioningly, her arms still wrapped around his neck, their flesh still joined.
His fingers kneaded her buttocks as his gaze clashed with hers. “I’ve the need to leave Morak for a spell that I might accompany Lord Death to my brother’s holding on Sypar.” He mentally gritted his teeth, having never explained his absences to a wench before. “I bid you to leave the harem chamber whilst I am away and move your possessions into mine.”
He realized his brothers and Death would think he’d lost his mind if they ever found out about this, and mayhap he had. All he knew was that he desired—nay needed—her presence.
‘Twas fact that even the four moon-risings he’d be gone away to Sypar would be hellish. He had come to realize that he would not go on the bride-quest with Rem now that Death had decided to go, for he couldn’t bear to be separated so long from his bound servant and her sweet, tight channel.
Marty kissed the tip of his nose. Not even Typpa and her triple D boobs had managed to move into Kil’s bedchamber. “Okay,” she said on a smile, offering him no argument. Later she would wonder at how much of an idiot she was for agreeing to make their living situation even more intimate. She was destined to fall in love with him, she knew. Which could only mean she was equally destined for heartbreak.
Kil grunted, happier than he cared to admit by her quick acceptance. He had expected a fight and she’d given him none. Yet the wench would argue with him over trifles. She was a boggle. And she had bewitched him.
“I will make it known to the warrior guardsmen who remain behind that your channel is mine and only mine.” His glowing blue eyes burned possessively into her gray ones. “I will know, Mari, do you mate with another. Do not force me to punish you.”
Marty’s lips puckered into a frown. He’d gone from seducing her with his possessiveness to pissing her off with it by talk of punishment—and all in a second’s time. “I—”
Kil pressed a finger to her lips, forestalling any arguments or blistering words she might have for him. “Keep your channel tight for me, ty’ka,” he rumbled out warningly. “‘Tis all I ask.”
Chapter 12
Kil left Sypar feeling surlier than a gulch beast—a condition that lasted for the next several moon-risings. He had tried to couple with his brother’s bound servants whilst visiting the Ice Palace—they were lusty, busty beauties the lot of them—and yet when push came to shove, he had been unable to sustain an erection for any of them.
Yeeck! If those bedamned servants decided to talk, ‘twould be more than a wee bit embarrassing for him. He, Kil Q’an Tal, unable to couple?
Well, he sniffed, at least ‘twas unlikely any warriors would believe it should such blasphemous stories reach their bedamned ears.
Kil gritted his teeth as he navigated his high-speed conveyance back toward Morak. He was losing his mind for a certainty, he decided. He was losing it and what’s more, it was for a certainty he’d never again find it.
The worst part was that he had lied to Rem. His own brother—he had lied to him! Confused, and too embarrassed to admit the way he felt toward his bound servant to anyone, he had invented mythical battlings in the far sectors as his reason for not leaving for the first dimension. He should have gone with him, should have gone to make certain his brother fared well, and he felt as though he was a lesser man for not having done so.
And just look where it had gotten him.
En route back to Morak from Sypar, a blood-curdling holo-call had come through, causing Kil to turn his conveyance around and head for the fifth dimension at sonic-speed. His brother had found his nee’ka, aye, but his gastrolight cruiser had hit a meteorite and plummeted out of control into a wormhole.
But then en route to the fifth dimension Rem himself had sent out another holo-call, advising him ‘twas fruitless to come after them. Obtaining a gastrolight cruiser and hunting them down would do no good, for they were now on Joo and the planet’s atmosphere was such that gastrolight cruisers could enter it but so far.
So Kil had turned around yet again, knowing he would have to wait. He would meet up with Rem at the mountains of Joo following wee Kara’s
come-out.
And so now—finally—he was headed back to Morak for a short spell. He had thought to venture onward to Sand City and stay there until he departed for Joo, but nay, he could not be so long removed from Mari’s charms. He needed to be with her for a time, to feel her channel milking him again.
Truly, Kil did not think he deserved even this short respite. He should be on Joo with Rem, Death, and Rem’s nee’ka. And he would have been had he not lied to his brother and friend about battling in the far sectors and gone on the bride-quest as he’d originally planned to do.
Kil’s true reason for not questing with Rem and Death had been a thousand times worse than bloodshed in the far sectors, at least to Kil’s way of thinking. He had simply been overwhelmed with panic at the mere thought of being removed from Mari for the length of an entire quest. Aye, he could have taken her with him into the first dimension, yet then the others would have been scrutinizing his unnatural attachment to her, mayhap even making jest of it.
Kil groaned as he ran a hand agitatedly through his hair. What in the name of the goddess Aparna was happening to him? Had he developed some rare malady that made a warrior lose his bedamned mind? Or had the Wani mykk given Mari some manner of potion to keep his staff hard and his man sac tight only for her? Or mayhap—
Bah! He would not think on it. He would get back to Morak the soonest and find the surcease he needed inside Mari’s tight channel. He would question himself no more. ‘Twas tiring for a certainty, he morosely conceded.
A picture of beautiful, beloved Mari popped into Kil’s mind as he switched the high-speed conveyance down to hyper mode. He gritted his teeth when it occurred to him that the mere thought of her made his hearts swoon.
—Arrg!
* * * * *
In the middle of the night, Marty slowly awoke to the feel of Kil stroking in and out of her body from behind. She could hear his moaning and groaning, could feel the almost delirious euphoria he experienced from being inside of her. She knew that if she were on her back instead of her belly, she’d see how corded his muscles were, how tightly his jaw was clenched, how his jugular vein would bulge as his teeth gritted.