Claimed & Seduced

by Shelley Munro

  “Do that again,” she said, her voice thick with need.

  He repeated the action, then lifted a digit to his mouth to taste. “You taste so fukkin’ sweet.”

  Patience at an end, he wedged her legs farther apart with his thigh and positioned his cock at her entrance. He kept his gaze on hers as he pushed inside her feminine heat.

  Keira’s eyes fluttered closed and she rocked her lower body, forcing him deeper. She sucked in a hasty breath and released it in a sexy moan.

  Jarlath withdrew a fraction and surged back into her until he was balls deep. His cock throbbed while he paused to luxuriate in her heat.

  “Move,” she ordered. “Please. No teasing. I need…I want…please.”

  “Keira.” Her name was a loud purr, full of everything he dare not put into words. Instead, he withdrew and set up a fast rhythm of in and out. Hard friction of their bodies. Soft sighs. Hers. Loud grunts. Him.

  Her fingers curled around his upper arms, her nails gouging his flesh. The pinprick of pain shunted through his body and sweetened the pleasure bubbling in his balls. He groaned, and helpless to hold back, he surged into her channel again and again. His teeth pierced the skin at her neck, and he tasted her coppery blood as he licked the wound. Pleasure, so hot he didn’t think he’d survive, whooshed through him and up his cock. He thrust again and his seed burst from him in hard pulses, taking everything with it, his thoughts, his heart and soul. His last thought as he exploded into Keira was it had never been like this before.

  Never.

  It took long mins to come back to himself. Keira’s hands pushed against his shoulders.

  “Heavy,” she muttered. “Move.”

  “Grata! Sorry, sweetheart.” He pulled free and flopped over onto his back, breathless and sated from the experience.

  “Is that it?”

  Jarlath turned his head to look at her. Her beautiful face was flushed green and the golden flecks in her eyes seemed brighter than ever. “What?”

  “When is it my turn for pleasure?”

  “What?”

  She hit his shoulder, and his brain belatedly interpreted the signs in the correct manner. Not pleasure or happiness but temper. He frowned and sat up.

  “I thought you’d be different. Never mind. I’ll do it myself.”

  Jarlath gaped as her hand slid down her body to delve between her legs. For a moment, disbelief kept him frozen.

  “No!” The word burst from him. “I’m sorry. Please let me.” He moved over her and jerked her hand from her sex. “Let me. I’m not usually this selfish. Please let me prove it to you.”

  They fought a swift duel by gaze, and finally, she nodded.

  This time he noticed the things he’d failed to observe. In arousal her pink nipples took on a tinge of green, as did her lips, currently pursed in a firm, flat line. He kissed her mouth until the frown gave way to acceptance.

  While his hands glided over her breasts, shaping and testing their weight, he castigated himself. Something had happened to him. For the first time in his life, he’d lost control. It couldn’t happen again, not if he hurt Keira in the process.

  He pressed his lips to her neck then licked her skin. The faint taste of salt hit him and it contained an underpinning of something floral. He moved his attentions farther down her body, pausing at the base of her neck to nibble on the fleshy pad of skin where her shoulder began, the spot where his teeth had pierced earlier.

  She’d remained silent until that point, and he was heartened to hear her soft cry of pleasure. He bit down a little harder, giving her a hint of pain, and her hands crept around his shoulders, holding him to her.

  Relief kicked him in the gut. This was fixable. He’d apologize later, ask her what had happened because he’d missed something in his stupor. For now, he’d focus on her pleasure. His tongue lapped across the skin he’d bitten, and she cried out again, her fingernails digging into his skin.

  Next, he paid attention to her breasts, took a moment to taste the pink-green nipples. His hands coasted across her skin, stroking, sometimes pinching while he worshipped her breasts. She mewed—a very catlike sound that grabbed him in the chest. Beating back amusement, he moved his explorations south.

  She had a strip of soft black down—almost featherlike—guarding her sex. How had he not noticed earlier? Because his brain had traveled to his cock. She was the same pretty combination of green and pink down here. He lowered his head to taste her again. His feline let out a rumble of satisfaction, and he echoed the sound. His tongue flirted with the hard nub of nerves that would bring her pleasure but he didn’t settle in this spot. Instead he explored and tested her reactions to each of his touches. The flat of his tongue. The soft stroke. The hard.

  Her muscles tensed. Her fingers curled in his hair, and she tugged each time he gave her a firm stroke with his tongue.

  “Hey,” he chided. “Stop trying to snatch me bald.”

  “Sorry.” Her grip eased.

  Jarlath slipped one finger into her, his cock jerking as he recalled the tight heat of her. He added another finger and stroked her internally while his tongue circled her nub.

  She made another mewing sound and yanked his hair. The sharp pain jerked his fingers inside her and her sharp cry of pleasure told him he’d hit a hot spot. He stroked the same region, and she shrieked, her passage clamping down on his fingers.

  He repeated the suck-and-stroke action and her nub pulsed in time with the sensual grip and release on his fingers. He kept up the massage and licking until she pushed at his head instead of gripping him closer. His heart gave an anxious beat until he noted the curve of her lips. That secret smile was the sexiest thing he’d seen in eons.

  Jarlath rolled over onto his back and immediately missed the physical contact. He reached out and ran his fingers over her hipbone.

  “That was better,” she said.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to ignore you.” Hellfire, he wasn’t sure what had happened and damn if he could remember. Pleasure emblazoned his mind, deep and intense and colorful—the best he’d ever experienced.

  “Marcus was greedy with his pleasure.”

  Jarlath’s hand froze on her belly, a soft growl emerging. The contrast with her husband irritated him.

  “Not that I meant to compare. It’s just…” She rolled to face him and propped herself up so she could see his face. “The pleasure was there—intense and ready to explode into more—and then there was nothing. Frustration made my tongue sharp.”

  “I am glad you said something. More than anything, I want to please you as you please me.”

  “You did.”

  “My pleasure,” he said.

  “Are you hungry?”

  “A little. Let me see what Hilda packed for us.” Jarlath sat up and opened the basket. “Some wine. Is this the berry wine you make?”

  She glanced at the bottle. “Yes, it goes the pretty golden color when it ferments. We make a plumson wine, which is a deep burgundy shade. That’s delicious too.”

  “We have egg and veg pie, I think.” He cut a piece and handed it to her. “You want wine?”

  “Please.”

  The rest of the day passed in more berry picking and a swim to refresh. Although they didn’t have sex again, Jarlath didn’t mind. Instead, he planned his seduction for the coming eve. The second time he’d get everything right and make sure Keira came to completion before him.

  His com rang not long after they’d returned to the farm. “Ellard.”

  “We had an explosion in the lower city,” Ellard said in a terse tone. “That’s why my father called on me. Looters are out in force and it’s chaos. Tell Keira not to come into the city. It’s dangerous to travel. You stay put too.”

  “Has anyone missed me?”

  “Not yet,” Ellard said. “But if anyone demands your presence, I’ll tell them I’ve stashed you in a safe house.”

  Ellard’s words rubbed him the wrong way. “I’m just as capable as you.” />
  “I’m not heir to the throne.”

  Not mollified in the slightest, Jarlath said, “Call if you need my aid.” He ended the call before Ellard could reply.

  “Trouble?” Keira asked.

  “An explosion in the city. The looters are out. Ellard said not to leave the farm. Travel is risky at present.”

  “Hortese, com the factory and make sure everyone is safe. No, wait. I’ll do it. I’ll give the foreman instructions.” Keira hurried off and Jarlath followed her into what was an office. Her husband’s office since it still held a masculine air. She pulled out a holo headset and placed it on her head. “This won’t take long.”

  Curiosity had him studying the desk and the piles of paperwork, the awards for farm produce on the wall and the painting of Marcus Cloud. He quashed the tiny sliver of jealousy trying to punch a bigger hole in his mind. The man was dead, and Keira was with him now. “I’ll ask Hortese if I can help. I’m sure she’ll put me to work.”

  Keira grinned and the genuine reaction stomped out his residual envy. “Without hesitation. Hortese adores slave labor.”

  The holo call connected, and Keira began her discussion with her foreman as he left.

  Jarlath strode up to Hortese. “I need a task to keep me busy.”

  “Stack the dishes in the washer cube.”

  He frowned.

  “Job too lowly for you?” A note of teasing at his expense.

  “No, but you’ll have to show me what to do. I have no idea.”

  She snorted out a laugh but gave him instructions, and he fell into the mindless task. One washer cube for pots and larger items and another for platters and utensils.

  During the next hour, Hortese showed him how to prepare vegetables and to make a berry pie. Jarlath enjoyed every moment, and once again, he realized how much he’d missed while playing the role of prince. Satisfaction came with honest everyday toil. Now, he understood what drove his brother to run his own business.

  “Sorry, the call took longer than I thought,” Keira said.

  Jarlath attempted to rub the maize flour from his hands. “Is everyone all right?”

  “Yes, they’d heard about the riots and have taken security precautions. Do you know what caused the explosion?”

  “Ellard didn’t say.”

  Keira rubbed her cheek and issued a weary sigh. “I need a glass of berry wine. Would you both like one?”

  “Please,” Hortese said.

  “Where is Cristop?” Keira asked.

  Hortese pulled a pie from the cookbox and slid in another. “He’s helping Melvyn with the animals. Hilda wanted a break from the kitchen, so she’s gone to help too. I believe they intended to shear the yearling malpacks.”

  “A lucky escape for us,” Keira said.

  Hortese barked out a laugh. “The yearlings never take well to their first shearing. Should we wager on how many bruises we’ll need to doctor on young Cristop?”

  “Six bruises,” Keira said.

  “I say more. I think eight, maybe nine,” Hortese said.

  Both women turned to him, clearly expecting him to join in their fun. “Three,” he said, plucking a number from his head.

  Hortese chortled, her eyes bulging and flaming bright pink for long secs. “We should settle this wager now. You lose.”

  Keira joined in the laughter at his expense.

  “Not over until we see the evidence,” Jarlath said.

  They were on their second glass of wine and making yet more pies when the pungent scent of animal and manure wafted into the kitchen, preceding Hilda and Cristop.

  “Bath house,” Hortese snapped.

  “Hilda has already ordered me to bathe,” Cristop said, his words acknowledging he was the source of the stink. “I don’t need one.”

  “You do if you want to eat with us,” Keira said.

  “I’ll supervise,” Jarlath said.

  “Marcus designed a bath house to ease his aches. It’s outside. Follow the path and it’s the first building on the left. You’ll find everything you need inside.” She glanced at him, a smile quirking the corners of her lips upward. “You’re wearing more maize flour than the pastry. Put your clothes in the apparel sanitizer before you start the bathing process. They’ll be clean and pressed by the time you finish. There is a separate sanitizer for boots.”

  “Yes, Keira,” Jarlath said and winked at Cristop.

  “I don’t need a bath,” Cristop said.

  “Me neither,” Jarlath said, “but I want pie.”

  Later that night, Keira led Jarlath up the stairs into her room on the second level. She shut the door behind them, and turned to glower at him.

  “How did you know Cristop would have a gift with the malpacks? Did he tell you?”

  “As far as I know Cristop has never left the city. I met him at the market and we shared a meal after I caught him trying to pick my pocket.”

  “Most men of your station would have summoned a soldier and had him incarcerated.”

  “The kid was hungry. All he was trying to do was survive.”

  “You’re a good man,” she whispered, her warm breath wafting across his cheek.

  Unable to resist her allure, Jarlath drew her into his arms. His kiss was slow and thorough and said everything he couldn’t say aloud. He wanted her more than he had at the swimming hole, because now he knew paradise awaited.

  To give himself time to grip his libido, he studied her bedroom. It wasn’t masculine like the office, but looked more Keira. Pretty patterns shone on the autowindow shutters, and the colors and pattern repeated on her sleep-bed coverings.

  The faint scent of flowers rode the air, the same one he smelled whenever Keira came close. This room said nothing of her husband and that pleased him.

  “Let me undress you.” He led her to the bed, and she stood while he removed the kidskin slippers she’d donned on her return. He tugged her trews down her legs and stood to unfasten the toggles on her tunic. Last of all, he removed her undergarments and leisurely perused her body. She was feminine with her curves and sexy shape, yet he adored her obvious strength too. No, fainting damsel, but a woman to stand at a man’s side.

  “You are beautiful.”

  “Thanks,” she whispered.

  He shrugged from his own garments and tossed them aside. A glance showed him they lay mixed with Keira’s clothes and that, too, pleased him.

  “This time I’ll show more patience and make sure you’re ready for me.”

  “I was ready before, but you finished too soon.”

  “Tell me what you want, show me. Teach me,” he said. “I want to please you more than I need my next breath.”

  Her expression softened, and he knew he’d done the right thing, even though most males of his acquaintance would scoff at the idea of pandering to a mere female.

  “Kiss me. Stroke me here.” She reached for his hand and placed it at the juncture of her thighs. “Once you hit a certain spot deep inside me, I detonated. I believe the males of the House of Cawdor have a kink in their cocks. At least that’s what my mother told me. Hitting that spot helps the Cawdor to stimulate eggs. Not that I can lay eggs. My mother carried me in her body.”

  “You are safe from pregnancy?” His words were sharp. Abrupt. Words he should have spoken earlier.

  “I won’t bear your child. Hortese insisted I keep up with my sex shots in case I wanted to take a lover, but my mother said I am a rarity—the child of a Cawdor and a Greenmont. Normally this would never happen, and Marcus said it is the same with the Cat. Our species only breed with like. It is not possible for you to fertilize me. You and I will never bear a child.”

  “I’m sorry.” Jarlath lowered his head and kissed her forehead. “My words hurt you, and I was not panicked on my behalf. I was worried about you should a child result. You face enough gossip. You don’t need a child to add to your troubles.”

  “I can show you my latest health certificate if you want.” Her voice was still stiff, despit
e his apology.

  “I don’t need to see proof.” With any other woman, he’d ask to see the certificate first since a prince didn’t need to create gossip in the form of a surprise cub. Lecture 101 from his father and one emphasized by Ellard’s father.

  “Maybe not, but I’ll feel better showing it to you.” She tugged at his hands, and he let them fall to his sides.

  Keira marched to a drawer and muttered under her breath as she rifled through papers. She pulled out a card and handed it to him.

  Because it was what she wanted, he glanced at the card to check the official stamp and the date of her last shot. Without a word, he handed it back, somehow feeling less because he’d followed her instructions.

  She walked past him and climbed into her bed. Jarlath sighed and followed suit, mourning the death of the sensual mood between them.

  “I’m sorry,” he said again when the weight of silence became too much.

  “I understand.” Her voice remained tight and disciplined. Standoffish. “Believe me, I understand since I’ve experienced this before. The people of Cawdor look down on me because my mother was a Cawdor whore, and I’m a half-breed, and the people here on Viros whisper about me because Marcus’s children insist I tricked him into marriage and stole their inheritance. I am used to everyone thinking the worst of me.”

  “Keira.” Nothing he could say would make this pain go away. But in time, he’d show her, make her see he valued her. Ignoring her tense muscles, he drew her into his arms and held her until she started to relax. It took a long time, but Jarlath didn’t care. All he wanted was her forgiveness.

  Keira fell asleep before him, while Jarlath’s mind remained busy with all he’d learned. Guilt sliced at him too. Was he any better than those on Gramite or Marcus’s children? His duty as heir was to marry well and hold the kingdom together. Offering Keira a position as his mistress put him on the same level, placed her in another circumstance to allow the people of Viros to look down their noses.

  Grata! This was an impossible position, and he had no idea of how he should act to keep everyone happy.

  Chapter Eight

  “Hey, sleepyhead.”