Hers to Captivate

by Patricia A. Knight

  Chapter Ten

  He looks relieved. Angelica knew a moment of confusion. Her decision mattered to Tristan DeHelios. Relief had flashed into Tristan’s eyes for only an instant, supplanted immediately by a look of such ravenous lust that she sank against the headboard, but she knew what she’d seen. Her job was interpreting peoples’ expressions for insight into their psyche. She recognized relief when she saw it. She couldn’t wrap her mind around it. The shock of seeing an emotion so unexpected shoved all her other rioting feelings aside.

  Why did it matter so much? She was simply a convenience with which to acquire Magellan. Wasn’t she? At this point, she hardly cared. Either man submerged her in aching want. Together? In her mind, she presented herself like a bitch in heat, down on her elbows and knees, back arched, thighs spread in a deliberate invitation to be mounted.

  Tristan pierced them with an intense stare, holding her and Mage in a concentrated gaze for a long moment. The strength of passion she saw made her want to crawl to his feet and beg to serve—or hide under the bed.

  “Let me be clear to both of you. I am a man of strong appetites. I will have each of you in every way possible, as often as I desire. Unless you are physically incapable through sickness or injury, ‘no’ is not an acceptable response and I will disregard it.” His sinful growl filled the heavy silence. “What’s the matter, Captain DeLan? Too much? Want out? This is who I am. I’ll give you time, but I won’t change who I am for you.”

  Mage cleared his throat but his voice was steady enough. “No. I don’t want out.”

  Her bodyguard’s silver gaze swung to her. “And you, Dr. Giverny?”

  A mocking smile pulled one corner of his mouth and the knowing heat in his eyes melted her. She felt almost delirious with hope and sick with nerves. She could trust him not to disappoint her. Tristan understood what she craved. Mastery.

  She swallowed heavily and managed a breathy, “No… I don’t want out.”

  Tristan’s eyes closed for a second. His body relaxed then straightened, head up, shoulders back, and for a split second she’d seen it again. Relief. However, had she not spent every waking hour for the last few weeks with him, she wouldn’t have noticed the split-second flash of intense emotion. Strong feelings swirled inside this overwhelming, provoking, frightening man. About what? Or should she ask about whom? Would he ever trust her enough to open the enigma named Tristan DeHelios and let her peer inside?

  When his eyes opened, he leveled a straight gaze at her. “Mage was schooled as a magister through level five. He will be knowledgeable in many…inventive… approaches to sex.”

  She almost rolled her eyes. That was an understatement.

  Tristan’s lips twitched. “Yes, I suspect he’s introduced you to some of them.”

  Of course Tris knew. He’d seen her limping around her office.

  “I’m more exacting than Captain DeLan and vastly more experienced.” His voice softened to a gravelly purr. “I will use both of you hard. You will choose a word to tell me when you have reached your limit, and I expect you to use it.” Tristan gestured between the three of them. “For however long this lasts, I consider you mine to possess and protect. You don’t want to know the punishment I deal out to those who abuse what is mine.” His eyebrow rose and his eyes challenged her. “Do not allow yourself to be carelessly hurt—even by me. Do you understand me? I will not be pleased.”

  As she listened, her nipples hardened and gooseflesh crawled her arms. She was terribly aware only a thin sheet separated her body from his. He frightened her in the most delectable way. She answered him with a slight nod. Mage rose from the bed and stood facing Tris.

  Tristan’s gaze leveled on Mage. “That directive also applies to you, princess. Don’t be stoic. I will be furious if you allow yourself to be hurt in a misguided attempt to please me.”

  “I understand.” Mage flicked a glance at Angelica then returned his attention to Tristan. She read nothing from Mage’s expression, but the fine material of his trousers displayed the distinct outline of a prominent physical reaction.

  “Since we received the same sexual training, I have some idea where your limits might be. I trust you to tell me exactly where.”

  Mage nodded with a half-smile. “You’ll know. My safe word is Revertar.”

  Tristan’s expression was all marauder. “I will return. Appropriate.”

  “I thought you’d appreciate the irony,” Mage said.

  “And your word, Doctor?”

  Angelica said the first thing that popped into her mind, “Victor.”

  Tris cocked his head and regarded her from hooded eyes. “Victor as in the winner, the vanquisher? Is that how you think of me?”

  She nodded, incapable of words. She was now comfortable with the idea that, sexually, she wanted a conqueror. The potential difficulty had been finding one. Now, she had two. Heat pulsed between her legs. The flesh there felt swollen.

  “Victor… I’m good with that.” A smile pulled at one side of Tristan’s mouth. “Mage, downstairs, my bedside table, top drawer, bring the contents to me. All of it. In fact, pull the drawer out and bring it.”

  “Sure, just don’t start without me.” Mage turned and walked toward the bedroom door.

  “I can’t start without you. You feature in this evening’s ‘distraction’,” Tristan murmured.

  The throaty laugh that followed tickled naughty places in her, and Magellan paused in mid-stride and glanced over his shoulder. He opened his mouth to speak, then stopped and closed his jaw with an audible click of his teeth. He scrubbed a hand over his face. “No. I don’t want to know.”

  Moments later, Angelica heard the sound of his footsteps on the stairs.

  The bed depressed as Tristan sat. Angelica couldn’t look away from his intent stare. It was as if he possessed some exotic magnetism that drew her inexorably, she the prey to his predator. She shivered and clutched the sheet tighter to her bosom.

  “I had a bet with myself that your nipples would be brown.” Tristan reached toward her, fisted the sheet at her waist and bared her torso with a downward jerk. “I lost. They’re pink.” Impaled on his gaze, she covered her naked breasts with her palms. He made a wordless sound of objection. “Move your hands. Never cover yourself in front of me.”

  She dropped her arms to the bed.

  The accelerated rise and fall of his breathing, the twitch of the muscles in his tight jaw, the intensity in his eyes—all screamed of savagery bound by iron control, at odds with his forefinger’s delicate tracery of first one erect nipple and then the other. There was no missing the prominent bulge at his groin. Within her, sexual tension stoked by a frisson of fear combined to produce a delicious hyperawareness of his every movement and multiplied every sensation. His fingertip teased the full swell of her breast and her nipples contracted further. They itched ferociously. The heat between her legs grew molten and she shifted her hips restlessly.

  “Is that pussy wet for me, Angel?”

  “Yes,” she whispered as Mage walked back into the bedroom. She expected a response but Tristan never took his eyes off his fingertip as it traced an erotic tease around her right nipple. He licked his finger, dampened the tip of her nipple and then pursed his lips and blew a steady stream of air across it. She choked in response to the chilly sensation, but rather than cool her arousal, the heat between her legs flamed higher. Tris shot a glance at her. She sank further into the headboard at the repressed violence in his eyes. He stood in one powerful glide and ripped the sheet off the bed. She stiffened and then relaxed. She wanted him to look. She wanted to provoke and inflame him as much as he did her. His eyes devoured her nude body in a tangible assessment that began at her head and ended at her toes.

  “Fucking flawless.”

  Angelica preened. The gratification she felt at his praise was out of all proportion. She held advanced degrees in integrated cerebral neurology and psychology, but compared to this man, she was a neophyte. Tristan was the grandmaster
at games for the mind and body. He’d barely touched her and insane arousal left her panting for breath.

  Mage cleared his throat and held up the drawer. “Where do you want this?”

  “At the foot of the bed,” Tristan said. “And then strip.”

  Mage placed the drawer at the foot of the bed as instructed and then began to unfasten his shirt. His gaze traveled up and down Angelica with obvious appreciation. His eyes promised depravities yet unrevealed. She wanted to scream a demand for someone to touch her, fuck her, but she’d ceded control to these men. She’d no choice but to endure. Her breasts ached and between her legs, the folds of flesh were plump and slick. So needy. Goddess! Would someone please fuck her soon!

  Tristan’s gaze swung to the small box Mage had brought upstairs earlier. “Is that what I think it is?”

  “Look for yourself.”

  Tris raised an eyebrow and moved around the bed to the item in question. He flipped its bronze hasp, opened the lid—and started chuckling. “An Oshtesh husband’s kit. Naughty, naughty boy, Magellan. This set you back a fat wad on the black market. The Oshtesh hand this down father to son. They are never sold.”

  Mage shrugged with a smile. “I know the friend of a friend.”

  “What’s a husband’s kit?” Each man slowly turned toward Angelica. She ceased her attempts to glimpse the contents of the box and sank back against the headboard. A fiendish smile stretched Tristan’s lips. Mage’s eyes held wicked amusement. Neither answered her question.

  ***

  By the Goddess, I’m such a besotted fool. This must be love. Tris laughed derisively at himself. After he’d crashed Mage’s dinner date with Angelica, he’d decided to go slow, be considerate, be a gods-be-damned gentleman and court the younger man. He’d been all “warm and gooey” seeing Mage standing in his apartment—until the bastard cold-cocked him with Angelica. He’d promptly consigned his good intentions to the seven hells. Most of his anger dissipated when he heard what Mage proposed—most.

  Angelica Giverny. By the Consort’s ballocks. Angelica Giverny was one gutsy female straight out of a sexual fantasy. Everything about her attracted him—from her intelligence, to her glorious body, to the nurture and understanding she bestowed on his damaged countrywomen. Angelica was a mouth watering confection frosted with the irresistible temptation of her submission, and he planned to devour her.

  He had a niggling feeling that with Angelica and Magellan he’d stumbled onto something extraordinary. The emotions they resurrected were. It seemed forever since he’d felt such a mix of exhilaration and anticipation. He’d forgotten what it was like to look to the next day with eagerness. I want this to last. Unbelievable. Most likely, it would blow up in his face. Most likely. With a mental sigh, he consigned the prospect for a lasting relationship into the dark corner of his mind where his other abandoned hopes lay moldering, next to the one where his brother didn’t assume the worst of him or where his accomplishments actually meant something. Suppressed anger snarled in the background. Fuck that “true love” shit. Happily-ever-afters are for hopeless sots. He’d do what he’d always done—settle for the here and now.

  Right now, Tristan knew exactly how he wished to use the contents of Mage’s wooden box. He’d “distract” the good doctor until every nerve in her body craved orgasm. As for that prick-tease Captain DeLan? Tris had a surprise in store for Mage. The good captain would beg to be taken—for all the good it would do him.

  He turned to face a Magellan DeLan clad in nothing but his unblemished skin and an erection. Mage stood hip cocked, arms crossed at his chest, at ease with his nudity and arousal. A gods-be-damned fucking work of art. Mage could have been one of those old- Earth statues that his mother had insisted on placing in every niche and cranny in the palace at Nyth Uchel. She’d claimed they embodied the ideal of masculine beauty, though he’d never seen one sporting a cockstand quite like Mage’s. It thrust straight and proud out of a base of black curls. Fuck, no wonder the poor girl had limped for a week.

  Tristan leaned over the foot of the bed and rummaged around in the drawer. Yes, these are what I want. He tossed one set of heavily padded wrist cuffs to Mage and one to Angelica. “Put those on.”

  Mage examined them and looked up at him askance. “Really?”

  “Do it, princess. It’s non-negotiable.”

  Mage pursed his lips and with a sardonic lift of his eyebrows complied. Angelica obeyed without any backchat.

  He pulled back the gossamer bed drapery to expose the rings set into the tall posts on each corner. He’d bet dinner at Il Piatto Delicios neither Mage nor Angelica realized they were there. The unexpected made him look closer. Lengths of fine black cord interwoven with silver metallic thread hung from those at the head of the bed—bondage cord of the sort used in téad de ghrásta—easy on human flesh yet almost unbreakable. He wound his hand in one section and tugged—no give. He glanced at Mage. The man wore a subtle smile. Inward amusement tickled Tris. Good thing he hadn’t bet.

  “Give me your hand, Angelica.” Tris ran the cord through a ring on her wrist cuff and tied it off and then walked around to the other side of the bed and did the same to her other hand. She watched… and squirmed. How aroused was she? He had to know. “Spread your legs, sugar.”

  He sat on the bed and leaned over her groin. Plump fleshy folds covered with tight curls of glossy brown guarded her most intimate recesses. With a feather-light touch, he traced the seam of her swollen labia and insinuated his forefinger into her warmth. It slipped easily through the plush rosy flesh. He added another finger to the one already stroking the slippery heat inside her.

  She shuddered and vee’d her legs a fraction more. Her breathing accelerated and her eyelids slid half-closed. Fuck. He wanted to free his cock and pound into her—but things would be over far too quickly. His need to punish her for forcing him to share Mage required a more prolonged torture. A low growl vibrated in his chest. “You’re soaking wet.”

  “Yes,” she said with a catch in her voice. “Please, Tris, I need to…” She trailed off as she caught the message in his eyes. Poor little pretty one. He withdrew his fingers and dried their wetness on her thighs.

  “You mistake your man. I’m not civilized like Magellan. You asked for distraction, and I’ll oblige. But you won’t dictate the form or the duration. Ever.” Her eyes flared and he couldn’t help but chuckle. She looked so adorably flustered. “I require total obedience in the bedroom, and you will address me as ‘Sir’ in private.”

  Her eyes narrowed. He returned her direct gaze, arched his eyebrow and waited for the expected objection. Her mouth firmed but her eyes dropped and she remained silent. He knew a flush of conquest. He’d finally captured his elusive prey. Never had a woman resisted him as long as she had. “Good.”

  He rose, flipped through the drawer, palmed two carabineers and turned to Mage. “Stand at the foot of the bed. Face Angelica. Hands on each post.” Mage drew out his compliance until it flirted with disobedience. His green eyes challenged Tris the whole time. Tristan soothed his annoyance with a self-admonishment. Patience and control. Don’t permit his insolence to derail you.

  The play of Magellan’s muscled shoulders and arms under pale skin, the lift of his ribcage and taut abdomen as the man reached and gripped the upright bedposts, fascinated Tris. His position drew Tristan’s eyes to the fine line of dark hair running midline until it disappeared into the black curls at his groin. Magellan’s cock stood proudly, a rigid, dusty-rose spear of flesh crowned with a flared head that even now shone with clear drops of arousal. Damnation. His eyes gorged on the beauty that was Magellan DeLan.

  Sharp talons of lust clawed at Tristan. His testicles were painful stones pulled up hard against his shaft. His swollen cock screamed for release from his snug leathers and made any sort of movement uncomfortable. He slipped behind Mage and clipped the captain’s wrist cuffs to the rings embedded in the posts.

  “I’m not in the friendliest frame of mind, Captain. Do
n’t challenge me again.”

  “Are you trying to scare me? I’m not sixteen anymore, Tristan. I don’t turn and run from your ill temper.”

  “Perhaps you should.” Tris nuzzled into the scruff at the tender crook of Magellan’s neck and jaw and nipped. His eyes rose and met Angelica’s hungry gaze. The younger man exhaled forcefully and gooseflesh erupted on his arms. Aware all the time of Angelica’s intent observation, aware she worked her thighs together and squirmed her delectable ass into the bedding, Tris ran the sensitive palms of his hands up Magellan’s sides and lightly pinched the man’s erect nipples.

  “Shit!” Mage shuddered and his firm, round buttocks ground into Tristan’s aching groin.

  It felt too good. Tris stepped back, breaking contact. He lowered a hand, balanced a drop of emerging pre-cum from Mage’s cock on a fingertip and lightly rimmed the head of Magellan’s shaft. The erect organ slapped the captain’s belly in response. Angelica moaned. Mage hissed and pushed forward seeking additional pressure. The bed hit him mid-thigh, woefully inadequate by a hand span.

  “Fuck, Tristan. Close your fist on me, don’t tease,” Mage breathed on a groan and jerked on the clips holding his arms spread. Angelica’s heavy pants provided an audible background in the quiet room.

  Wicked satisfaction flooded Tris and he stepped back from the temptation to grind into Magellan’s buttocks. “Well, Captain DeLan,” Tristan’s head swung to Angelica, “Dr. Giverny… you asked for a distraction. That doesn’t necessarily equal an orgasm, does it?”

  “What in the seven hells does that mean?” Mage said.

  Tristan didn’t answer. A little sexual tease would go a long way toward cooling his anger at Magellan’s manipulations and, he admitted privately, his unwarranted irritation with Angelica.