Viltori opened his mouth to defend Drahka’s actions, but Drahka cut him off with a quick shake of his head. “Had I the courage to stand up for him, I might have prevented his death, but I was a coward.” Drahka closed his eyes then, taking a deep breath to bolster his resolve. He opened his eyes, peering up the length of Viltori’s body. “I refuse to be a coward anymore.” With a subtle move of his neck, Drahka brought his mouth to the tip of Viltori’s cock and kissed lightly.
Contact caused Viltori to involuntarily groan, but he held his place. Drahka’s lips were dry and firm, his kiss reverent yet passionate. Viltori drew a deep breath through his nose to settle himself, but he released his lungs on a gasp when Drahka opened his mouth and drew the tip of his cock within. Sensations exploded along his tormented nerves. Too much stimulation then denial had left him utterly vulnerable. Visually and physically overwhelmed, Viltori reached out, cupping the side of Drahka’s head. His hair was thick and so long it tangled in his fingers as he slid his hand to the back of his head. He didn’t pull or force, he simply wanted to hold him, to touch him and acknowledge their connection.
Besieged more by his emotions than sensations, Viltori tried to blink away the tears that gathered in his eyes, but he was unsuccessful. One by one, heavy tears of tenderness fell down his face, landing on his chest, splashing on Drahka’s forehead like a benediction. Sharp angles of his face softened as Drahka eased his mouth down the length of Viltori’s shaft. Rather than plunging down all at once, as he had done to him, Drahka took his time. Caressing his way along with his tongue, pulling him deeper by sucking gently, teasing his fingers along the tightening skin of his balls, Drahka drew him within the heat of his body and into the power of his acceptance.
Only furtive couplings had Viltori ever shared with a man. Stealthy and quick, his encounters gave him surcease from his aching needs but did not feed his soul. Not like this. Here, in the light, looking right into Drahka’s eyes, Viltori exchanged love with a man for the first time. Feeling the depth of his emotions without any barriers was both terrifying and immensely liberating. By looking into Drahka’s eyes, he knew he felt the same. Drahka wasn’t using him as a stand-in for his long-lost friend, nor as a way to pay homage to him, but what happened to Drahka as a young man shaped him, for he too had engaged in sly couplings strictly for climax. This, what they shared now, was the exact opposite.
Drahka wanted him to climax, but it wasn’t just about that. Drahka wanted to give him pleasure, he wanted to feel his pleasure, he wanted to celebrate in what they could give to one another. At first Viltori felt odd for standing and simply receiving, but that was what he needed to learn to do. Drahka taught him that he was very good at giving, for he’d been giving to both Drahka and Bithia all along, but he’d not been able to receive back the pleasure he gave. Drahka was determined to teach him that lesson, which was why he wanted him to stand, unable to do anything more than accept the gratification being given.
Drahka’s touch ranged from tentative to rough, from compelling to aggressive, but in the end, Viltori could not hold back. Every nerve in his body vibrated, on alert, waiting for the final spark, the very last breaking of his resistance and, when he surrendered, his entire body contracted in a simultaneous wave. Viltori climaxed in a great rush that left him dizzy and breathless. Drahka’s eyes blazed with pride as he took his offering, drinking deeply of his essence. Together they knew this type of sharing was not a waste. Giving between them was a way of showing their affection. Never again would Viltori look at reaching orgasm the same way, not after what he’d shared with Drahka. When Drahka released him, he stood for a moment, so at peace, so deeply moved, he could do nothing but silently give thanks.
Reaching up, both Drahka and Bithia grasped his hands, holding him steady, conveying their compassion for his fragile state. Standing there for a long time, swaying to the pounding beat of his heart, all he could do was close his eyes and clasp their fingers between his. Collapsing down, he fell naturally into a three-way embrace with Bithia and Drahka. Viltori opened his eyes, saw their tear-streaked faces, and for the first time ever he felt he was exactly where he was supposed to be.
After a time, they moved to the massive bed, giggling and groping as they tried to figure out the best way to arrange their three bodies. In the end, they decided to put Drahka in the middle and Bithia would curl up on one side with Viltori on the other. Above his belly, Viltori and Bithia clasped hands.
Drahka let out a great sigh. “I finally feel as if I am home.”
Viltori startled, his gaze jumping to Bithia. “I was just thinking the same thing. That I was finally where I belong.”
Kissing Drahka’s chest, then Viltori’s hand, Bithia said, “I too was thinking that I finally feel comfortable in my own skin. I have no drive to seek out more pleasure. For the first time in my life, I am truly sated.” A beautiful smile transformed her face. “And deeply grateful.”
Viltori kissed her hand and Drahka’s chest too. “But I must know one thing.” He angled up a bit, looking at Drahka up the massive expanse of his chest. “How long have you been pretending you needed help with Diolan language?”
Drahka lifted his brows as if to explain, then grinned. “I have grasped the basics for quite some time. But I still needed education. Just not with language.”
Viltori nodded. “I thought you had improved rather dramatically this evening.”
“I was waiting for the right moment.”
“You were being very clever.”
“That too.”
After a round of laughter and a three-way kiss, they fell asleep, but not before Viltori silently thanked the gods for bringing him exactly what he’d always needed.
Chapter Sixteen
A hand to her shoulder woke Bithia. She would have growled out her annoyance, but she did not wish to wake her sleeping lovers. Flat on his back, Drahka took up most of the bed. Viltori had angled to the side so he could lie on his back too, but she noticed they’d clasped their hands to each other’s wrists. Even in sleep, they needed contact. For the rest of her life she would remember watching them share a most profound moment. She was grateful to be a part of what they’d experienced.
A slight twinge of jealousy touched her, but only the smallest bit, because Viltori had finally allowed Drahka to do what he would not let her do, not until she’d made a full, public commitment to him. In many ways she understood and was almost proud of him for holding out for more, but still, there was that part that wanted him to be so overwhelmed by her allure he could not refuse her.
Placing her finger to her lips to silence her servant, she left the warmth of the bed. Drawing the woman well away, she scanned for something to wear. Spending most of her time naked had its advantages but also clear disadvantages. She found Viltori’s discarded towel and all of their clothing in a heap. Foraging through the pile, she grabbed Drahka’s red shirt. Slipping it over her shivering body enveloped her in his masculine scent.
Smelling him reminded her how last night, as Drahka had taken Viltori’s climax into his body, he’d given his to her, spending inside her clamping sex as she’d been pushed over the edge by watching Viltori. Round and round their circle went, one gave, another received, only to give to the other.
“You are being called to the circle,” the woman whispered, her pinched features looking more severe in the milky light. The glass ceiling above glittered with a covering of fresh snow even though the twin suns, Tandalsul, hadn’t fully risen yet. The whiteness of the empress suite amplified even the barest brush of brightness.
Bithia’s shoulders slumped. What a way to start the day, listening to a bunch of peckards whine about their pathetic lives. She found it amazing that those who had so much could complain about so little. It seemed the richer the citizen, the more they grumbled. No matter what they had, they wanted more. No matter what she gave them, it wasn’t enough. With a sigh, she had to admit she’d had the same basic problem. No matter how much sex she had, she always w
anted more. Multiples of multiple orgasms hadn’t been enough to keep her satisfied. However, all that had changed. Relaxed, she smiled at her servant. She had no doubt her edict last night was the reason for this early morning meeting.
“Gather my things and I’ll meet you in the antechamber.”
Normally, the gaudily decorated room was for her to receive guests, but she could use it today as a dressing room. Bithia slipped into her bathing unit, washed quickly, and then made her way to the antechamber just off her sleeping room. She’d always wondered at the arrangement. Had the empresses before her used the closeness of their bed to advantage when dealing with certain guests? She couldn’t be the only empress who understood the power of sexual passion. Besides, what other reason could there be to have a small gathering room so close to a bedchamber? Dismissing the question from her mind, she allowed her servants to dress her, but this time she refused the small eye covers.
“I do not wish to wear those anymore.” Most of her life, she’d hidden her unique eyes behind colored lenses, but not anymore. As they’d been giggling and playing last night, both men had told her they liked her beautiful eyes just the way they were. Drahka had confessed confusion because sometimes they were the same color and sometimes not. She removed the tiny lenses and showed him. He and Viltori liked them better just as they were naturally. They encouraged her not to hide who she was. So she didn’t. If the elite didn’t like her appearance, they didn’t have to look at her. Bithia had always thought of herself as a confident woman who did not care about the opinions of others. Only lately had she realized she used disdain to mask her deep-seated fear of rejection. She suspected she’d used sex for the very same purpose. Losing herself in pleasure had been a way to avoid her feelings of abandonment. Even as a little girl she knew she did not belong on Beserrah. Her first clue was that she looked nothing like anyone else there. But why had her parents dismissed her so coldly? That was a puzzle she still had not unlocked.
Her servant held out an elaborate wig. “I’m not wearing that, either.” Instead, she ran her fingers through her hair, fluffing the short strands around her face. She’d never been amenable to wearing the wigs, but she admired that her servants always tried. Their tenacity was impressive even if their sense of style was appalling. Each wig they offered was worse than the last. This one was shaped like a cone that would add an absurd length to her already generous height.
Dressed in a simple crimson gown, Bithia remained seated while her servant slipped flat sandals upon her feet. The shoes were more decorative than practical, but she allowed this frivolity. They refused to put her in heels anymore. First, she was too tall as it was, and second, she’d almost broken her legs tripping over them. What could she say? She’d basically lived her life barefoot. Any shoes caused her to feel awkward and unbalanced. The flat sandals were a compromise and it wasn’t as if she had to walk far.
Standing, she towered over the group of servants. “Call for my guards.”
One of the most critical things she’d learned was to always have guards attending her. Not that any of her subjects had tried to harm her, but several drunken ones hadn’t accepted her refusal of their advances. Just because she’d wanted them once did not give them a forever-after invitation. A well-placed knee had stopped both overly amorous men, but it was much easier on her clothing and body to let her enormous guards glower. Nothing chilled a man’s passions as quickly as the chilling gaze of a man twice his size. Too, after what she’d decreed last night, a bit of muscle would be wise. Eyes filled with daggers had cut into her when she’d issued her edict. One thing the elite never liked to hear was the word no.
In her heart, she knew she’d done the right thing. Taking advantage of helpless individuals wasn’t right. Another smile lifted her lips when she thought of those two peckards trying to force Viltori to satisfy their needs. They were lucky he’d left them intact. She knew he could have severely injured both of them if they’d tried to force him. And then her thoughts returned to last night. To see such a powerful man as Viltori humbled by the touch of another brought a spate of fresh tears. Never had she seen a man so unashamedly cry.
Determined to hurry back to them, Bithia strode to her advisor’s room. Once inside, she was taken aback at how many had come. Cast in a circle, the seating ranged from low and primitive, to very high and luxurious. Her chair was the grandest of all. When she entered, the silence almost slapped her. Glaring eyes followed her mercilessly as she settled herself. She flipped the switch below the right armrest, and her amplified voice floated out over the room, bringing the meeting to order.
Another flick and a blue screen of text floated before her face. On the agenda were several items, mainly issues that mattered little, but she noticed a new addition slipped in near the bottom. This is what brought out not only all the heads of the Houses and most of their lesser members, but also representatives of the closest villages, and it had nothing to do with her edict last night.
Because Drahka had not climaxed in full view of the audience for their bonding, the magistrate had declared their ceremony invalid. Any child that came of their pairing Ambo decreed illegitimate and thus unfit to rule. He had petitioned the advisors and all had signed an order for her to immediately surrender herself for examination. Something in her heart broke. Bithia didn’t know if she carried Drahka’s child or not, but this would devastate him. Stunned beyond words, Bithia sought out the next highest chair. There Ambo Votny sat in all his blubbery glory. Narrowed eyes peered back at her, malice clearly etched into the lines of his aged face. His silver uniform reflected light around him, making him sparkle, but also showed a plethora of snot swipes. Ambo’s most disgusting habit was his chronic nose picking and his inability to wipe the gunk anywhere but on himself. Gifts of handkerchiefs went unused. As she considered the patterns of nastiness, and the fact that Ambo had more slaves than most of the Houses combined, and had subjected those slaves to more perversities than all the Houses combined, she understood why he’d waited to do this. Right after the ceremony, he could have declared it void, but he’d waited. Last night had everything to do with this.
If she wouldn’t have stood up for the servants he and the rest of the elite used and abused, Ambo would have let the glitch with her bonding ceremony slide. Or he would have simply held on to that to use against her whenever he needed leverage. Bithia could do nothing against the petition. Should she choose not to surrender herself for examination, she wouldn’t be stripped of her crown, but any child she brought forth would bear the stigma of illegitimacy. Her own half-sister, Kasmiri, had abdicated the throne before Ambo could have her executed.
Turning to her guards, Bithia ordered them to bring forth Undanna, her protocol liaison, so she could explain what options Bithia had at her disposal.
“Undanna is dead.” Ambo delivered the information without a shred of compassion. He didn’t grin his nasty smile, but his glee was apparent nonetheless.
Respectfully, Bithia lowered her head, offering up her prayers for Undanna’s soul. “When did she die?” The woman was old, but not that old.
“Last night.” Ambo shrugged, dragging his snot-covered uniform up then down. “In her sleep. She just stopped breathing.”
Bithia didn’t bother to ask if there would be an inquest. Ambo would see to it that there wouldn’t be one. So determined to keep the status quo, he would kill an innocent elderly woman who delighted in pageantry and protocol. Somehow, Bithia knew the parade of wigs had been Undanna’s doing. Bithia had never really listened to her, not with all her rules and endless rites, but Undanna had been kind and endlessly patient. Now that she was gone, there wasn’t a single person who could help Bithia make sense of the rules and regulations she’d so despised but now desperately needed.
“You will, of course, give me time to find a new protocol liaison.” Bithia didn’t ask so much as she commanded.
Again, Ambo shrugged. “I ask all here if there is one among you who will stand beside the empress
. Is there one who will willingly take the position of interpreting the old ways from the old books?”
Another slap in the face by silence. Bithia didn’t know how or where, but she would find someone. “It is my right, Ambo, and those here are not the only people who can take Undanna’s place.” As if she’d trust any of these worthless fools. Bithia would have a better chance of grasping the rules by casting stones like the soothsayers on Beserrah.
“You still must submit to the examination.” Ambo put a heavy emphasis on the word submit, as if seeing her brought low would please him greatly. Apparently, he’d been most happy when she’d been an absentee ruler who didn’t bother to show up to meetings. One well-intentioned decree and he was ready to wrest control right out of her hands. Bithia knew all this was to put her back in her place: right under Ambo’s thumb.
Even though she wanted to slap the eyes right out of his skull, Bithia rose like the empress she was. When Ambo bustled up to lead the way, she held him back with an uplifted palm. “I will go alone. I trust you will accept the word of the royal physician?”
A flicker of annoyance crossed Ambo’s face, but he relented. Settling himself back into his chair, he said, “We will wait.”
The entire group settled in, all eyes watching her, most of them filled with gleeful revenge. She’d taken something from them, the right to use and abuse their slaves, so they took something from her, the right to love and honor her consort and their children. Bithia did not see how one equaled the other, but in their minds, they probably thought her punishment wasn’t harsh enough.
Wicked Empress:The Onic Empire, Book 4 Page 13