Pleasure Masters

by Jaide Fox

  She wished he hadn’t said anything. From the seam of her mouth, down her throat and into her belly, a heat spread like wildfire, igniting her nerve paths with explosive sensation. Arousal dampened between her legs. Her clitoris throbbed with a rapid pulse and her pussy felt suddenly empty and achy.

  The sounds of the crowd seemed to move through not just her ears, but her body.

  She leaned her head back, feeling Torin’s mouth on the crook of her neck and shoulder, and yet it did not feel familiar by any means. His teeth seemed too sharp—his lips too hot.

  She closed her eyes against a wave of dizziness, felt the room spin uncontrollably, and then flicked them back open in a panic. An aura limned her body and those around her, blurring the lines of flesh into triple shadows of black, green, and red.

  The man she could not be bothered to remember stood from his seat and crowded behind her. Torin did not deny him access to her, and in fact, she couldn’t seem to summon up the energy to fight him or Torin off of her.

  Her silky blue robe felt like it weighed a thousand pounds. Torin turned her to face him in his lap while the other man knelt behind her, rubbing his chest against her now bare back as he readied to fuck her.

  The heat of the two men felt right, when it should have felt wrong.

  Torin nibbled her neck, her jaw, his hands marking a path down the front of her body to her chest. Her nipples puckered, begging for his attention, but he denied her. Instead, she felt the foreign hands of the other there, plucking and pinching her nipples.

  Her mind cried no, she needed Torin! But all that came out of her was an encouraging moan.

  Torin’s leathery kilt stood in the way of what she wanted and needed. Her pussy clenched on emptiness, hungry for his cock.

  The crowd’s excitement sounded like distant waves crashing on a beach—a dull roar of indistinguishable voices fading into the background. Even Kittana and Navarre seemed a mile away.

  She felt the prod of the other man at her backside. Her body felt like jelly, unable to resist anyone or anything.

  But still, she retained some of herself, enough to look with pleading eyes at Torin. He seemed to sense her looking at him and stopped the other man from doing more than fondle her.

  Orcha sighed. Torin’s fingers tickled her skin, making her frustrated for relief that he seemed unwilling to give her. Finally, sensing he would get no satisfaction, the other man pushed away from her, leaving her alone with Torin.

  Torin thrust his hand in the hair at the crown of her head, arching her head back as he sucked hard on her throat. The wet heat of his mouth answered in the achy throb of her pussy. She gasped, moving on him, grinding on his lap and tightening her thighs around his waist.

  He forced her head to the side, his mouth meeting her ear. “I want you, Orcha, but not like this. Not drugged and out of your mind.”

  “It is okay,” she said, husky and out of breath and nearing pain in her nether region. She only wanted the pain to stop, to fill the void gnawing at her soul.

  He forced her to look at his eyes. His face blurred and came into focus, filled with artificial colors from the lights above and the mirage of her mind high on the aphrodisiac wine. “When I finally do take you, it will be because you want me to claim your body. Not because you are high or horny—because you want me.”

  “I do want you,” she said, despising the begging sound in her voice. “I need you.”

  “I will give you satisfaction, but no more,” he gritted out, nipping her bottom lip.

  He released her head and grasped her hips, bringing her hard down on the ridge of his erection. The soft, leather barricaded the thickness from penetrating her.

  She growled in frustration, grabbing his shoulders and digging her nails into his flesh. He grunted and lifted her, bringing her in forcible contact with his groin. Her folds parted, friction rubbed her wet slit and clitoris, but she remained empty. Horribly, horribly empty.

  She cried out, leaning forward to bite Torin’s neck. His eyes flashed with appreciation, his grip tightened on her hips and ass, and still, nothing—he would not be persuaded by her violent need.

  His thumbs rubbed the front of her hip. By slow, torturous degrees, he moved one hand down to her clit and rubbed her, keeping the width of his erection nestled against her slit.

  Watching her face, he slipped in her juices and took his damnable time with her nubbin, slowly working her body up into a bundle of tension.

  She felt the drugging wine through her pores, enhancing the nuances of his rough fingers until the calloused digits pinching her bud without warning pushed her into the orgasm she craved. But her foggy mind couldn’t enjoy it—or perhaps it was because she’d gotten there alone when she’d wanted him to join her.

  The climax twisted her insides, releasing the tension enfolding her, but it was not enough to truly satisfy her cravings.

  Orcha planted her hands on his chest, pushing back and breaking his hold. “What games do you play with me, Torin?” she slurred, anger simmering to the surface.

  “The kind where two may win,” he murmured.

  “You speak in riddles!” she gritted out. “I think you’ve devised a way to torture me without beating.”

  “Have I now?”

  She glared at him and stood, then swayed with dizziness. She ripped the robe back up around her shoulders. “I’d rather be beat than punished this way.”

  “A spanking can be arranged, Orcha. I’d love to see your white bottom red with the prints of my hand.”

  Chapter Seven

  Torin did not claim her body when they returned to the room. He also did not beat her or do anything that would indicate he had any desire for her sexually or otherwise.

  Orcha didn’t know what to make of his actions, but he’d left her thoroughly confused.

  Why would he choose her as mate and then seek no pleasure from her? She’d made a fool of herself begging him to fuck her in a dining hall of all places. That she’d gone to the level of the hedonistic Antarians made her feel vaguely sick. It didn’t matter to her that she’d been high.

  She supposed in the scheme of things, that was the least of all her worries.

  Climbing into the bed, Torin pulled the bedcovers back and patted the spot beside him. The way the black silk comforter lay across his waist served to accentuate the ripples of his stomach.

  Her eyes wanted to devour the sight of his carved muscles. Her tongue wanted to taste his skin.

  Her mind wanted her to pick up her hand and slap her own face for giving in to the silky demands of her arousal. Enjoying herself with another man was not punishment.

  She realized she hadn’t been focused on her crime for some time now. Was that his plan? To somehow erase her guilt? Well it wouldn’t work. If she wanted to wallow in misery the rest of her life, she would. She deserved it.

  Orcha continued to beat herself up as she crawled into bed beside him—naked—in the hopes of torturing the hell out of him.

  “Lights off,” Torin said, and the room went black.

  Beneath the comforter, he was also naked.

  She shivered as he slid against her backside and the ridge of his soft cock nestled into the crevice of her buttocks. His cock didn’t so much as twitch in its new home—no indication of any desire.

  She resented whatever game he was playing with her.

  Orcha fumed and focused on sleeping with the distraction of Torin’s hot hand wrapped around her waist, just under her breasts. Her nipples puckered like they had a mind of their own. If her cunt could growl like a hungry stomach, it probably would be right now.

  She was better than this. But not by much.

  Orcha punched her pillow and squeezed her eyes shut, dragging the blanket up around her shoulder and willing herself to relax into sleep.

  ***

  Nightmares greeted her with feverish frenzy. Teeth and pain. Blood and screams.

  “Lights, dim,” Torin said, his deep voice drawing her from the paralyzing
hold of terror.

  Beyond her closed lids, she could see light beckoning her out of the horror.

  “Orcha? Orcha, wake up.”

  Hands smoothed the sweat off her brow, her hair, moved to her shoulders and arms.

  Orcha awoke to Torin shaking her from her night terrors. Beneath her on the mattress, the inhibitor tattoo itched as it controlled her from shifting. Though beneath the labyrinth underground they could not be seen, the siren phase of two moons urged the monster inside her body to rip from its human shell.

  She shivered, feeling dowsed in ice water.

  Torin cupped her cheek, looking worried. He brushed a thumb against her temple. “You were having a bad dream,” he said quietly as he turned her face up to him in the dark.

  “I have them every night,” she said, blinking.

  “Tell me?” he asked.

  She shuddered. “Another time, maybe. That drink and the moons are making them stronger. I don’t feel good.”

  “Lights off,” he said, making it dark again.

  Torin settled back down in the bed and drew her against his chest. She buried her face in his neck and hair, smelling him.

  “You are not alone. I am here. I will fight the dreams off you all night if I have to.”

  She felt like a child being protected by a father. He made her smile despite the recent terror she’d experienced. And for some reason that she couldn’t begin to fathom, she dreamt no more that night.

  Chapter Eight

  Torin tied a loincloth around his waist, leaving a slit up the sides that left his thighs bare. Orcha admired the hair covered muscles and watched as he strapped on shin plates and guards on his wrists.

  She sat up in the bed and stretched.

  “While I do admire your breasts, they are quite distracting, Orcha. You make me—almost—want to forego the games simply to stay here and watch them bobble.”

  Orcha sniffed and covered her chest with the blanket. “I’m not amused by your sense of humor. And what do you mean, games? More fighting?”

  “We train every day and fight twice a month. Today there are criminals arriving to try and battle their way to freedom.”

  “How do they do that?”

  “If they can best us in battle, they can go free rather than face execution.”

  Orcha worried her lip with her finger and thumb. “Best you?”

  Torin ceased smiling. “They have access to any weapon they want to use against us and our shifting abilities. Need I remind you that we bleed?”

  “No,” she said, frowning.

  He chucked her chin. “Is that worry for me I see on your face?”

  She frowned more and turned her face, meeting his eyes with disproval. “Of course not. I’m just wondering what I shall do with myself all the day.”

  “You are not a prisoner. The door is unlocked. Come and go as you wish. I’ll even leave credits for you if you decide to go shopping.” He paused for a long moment, looking at the kitchen. “You may need to go shopping.”

  Orcha brightened at that and watched him go.

  Despite what she’d said, she did worry about him fighting above in the coliseum. She shrugged the sensation off. He’d been doing it long before she arrived in his life. If there was something to worry about, he would have indicated it.

  She’d spent enough time worrying over men when she should have been more worried for herself.

  Orcha moved into the kitchen and checked the pantry, cupboards, and icebox, finding only a few dehydrated meals and a pitcher of some sort of herbal tea.

  Her lip curled and she stuffed everything back inside.

  She looked around and found the small, thin card imprinted with credits. Dressing in borrowed clothes but without shoes, she resolved to get her a few things as well as something to cook.

  He might like to call her his warrior woman, but she was quite capable of feeding them both since her mother had wanted her to be able to retain independence if she needed it.

  Stuffing the card into the apron pocket on the flowing dress, she left the apartment without locking the door. She just hoped there was some kind of code amongst the men that kept them honest. Not that he really had anything to steal.

  It took Orcha most of the morning to find a store selling food, to gather supplies, and tote them back to the suite. Once she finished with that shopping, she chopped vegetables and browned meat, then stuck everything into the oven to slow roast for their supper.

  He hadn’t told her when he would come back, so she went out again to shop for herself. Besides the jungle prison planet, she’d never lived anywhere with such a temperate climate.

  Her home planet was almost entirely covered with snow and ice. The only area capable of sustaining anything green was left for farming and raising cattle and other animals. They were forced to import much of their food.

  She’d never worn dresses or robes or slinky undergarments. Fur and leather and thick materials covering every inch of exposed skin were more in her comfort zone.

  They did not sell such garments here—there was no need.

  For the first time in her life, she bought clothing that revealed her femininity.

  Wearing so little felt more than odd to her. It felt alien.

  She wasn’t sure if she liked it or not. She felt exposed and vulnerable without protective garments. She had lost the armor that shielded her from leering, prying eyes.

  And, curiously, she wondered what he would think of her garb. Would it please him? Unconsciously, she’d set out to find garments that would.

  Finished with her shopping and clothed in red, satiny pants that hugged her waist and hips and flowed around her legs, with a top that scooped low on her cleavage and left her arms and back exposed except for a crisscrossing of laces, she decided to look at his tablet to find a schedule of appearances in the games. Looking at the time, she saw he would be fighting in the coming hour.

  Eager to see what he did to secure a living, she left the suite.

  Ascending the stairs, she followed the wide hallways, winding around until she was back outside the building and able to enter through the front entrance with the others.

  She paid for a seat and climbed the wide stairs, glancing at the center where the action took place.

  From this perspective, the coliseum looked entirely different than when she’d arrived. She shuddered, remembering her arrival, the fear of the other women, the deafening roar of the audience and the sickness she felt being on display as a prize for the strongest fighter.

  Time had diminished the jolt to her nerves but not her memory.

  The crowd jumped to their feet and cheered at something in the galleria, and she stopped at the front railing to look down at the oblong dirt field.

  The condemned had entered the field. Two men, walking side by side faced the master of the games who stood, enrobed on the center stage.

  The first had four arms, with a long neck and wide toothy mouth, and four large, black eyes. Each hand held a sword half an arm long. Body armor covered his chest, back and neck. The second condemned man was short and broad, with a thick head that formed directly into his wide shoulders. At least, she could not see a neck through the thin hair-like spikes that erupted from the top of his head down his shoulders and back. His chest, also, was protected by a breastplate. The second man carried a black mace studded with six inch spikes.

  “I give you Torin Athun and Zkial Massuun!” the master of the games shouted to the roaring crowd.

  Double doors swung open on the opposite side, and Torin and Zkial stepped through and approached the center of the ring. She recognized Zkial as the other man at the dinner that night.

  Both wore the same light armor Torin had left that morning wearing. He’d tied his long black hair back, allowing her a clear view of his hard face. The visible tattoos pulsed with a blue glow, indicating their adrenaline levels rising.

  Each ShadeShifter carried a curved sword.

  No one on the field carried a s
hield to defend against the blades.

  Torin looked straight ahead at their opponents, waiting for the games to begin.

  Orcha hurried to her seat, feeling jittery and expectant. Her pulse quickened with excitement.

  “For the murder of twenty citizens of the federation, you, Kees, were sentenced to death by drowning. If you kill your opponent, Zkial Massuun, you may walk away from this planet a free citizen.”

  The green skinned, four armed man nodded and faced Zkial.