Imprisoned Prince

by Meg Harris

  Wonderful. That was all he needed—an aphrodisiac. But he was hungry, so he continued eating it, licking and sucking it from her fingers as he’d licked and sucked her honey-flavored dew the day before.

  When he’d had enough, she dipped her fingers into the ra’mol again and sucked it from her own fingers, holding his gaze with her own. The memory of her caressing herself, until her fingers glistened with moisture, rose inevitably to his mind. His quiescent cock, which he would have sworn was incapable of anything more, stirred and hardened slightly.

  She took another glob of the ra’mol and stroked it gently across his nipple, then leaned toward him. Her tongue licked it away, stroking lightly across his nipple, and he jumped.

  “It tastes good,” she whispered. “But not as good as you do.”

  Her skin had tasted good, too. He remembered the way he’d licked her, the way he’d tasted the most intimate part of her, remembered how incredibly sweet she’d tasted, and a shudder ran through him. He did his best to ignore his lust, reminding himself that while she might taste like honey, there was nothing whatsoever sweet about her personality. He tamped down his reaction and tried to focus on memories of his world.

  But she wouldn’t let him ignore her. She smeared ra’mol over his chest and licked it away, tracing over the contours of his chest with agonizing slowness, making his skin burn everywhere they touched. Despite the incredible climax she’d brought him to, his erection burgeoned again, straining for her, craving her touch. He managed to hold still, despite the aching need growing in his body.

  Her tongue slid across one of his nipples again, and a groan escaped him.

  “I remember the taste of your cock in my mouth,” she murmured. “The taste of you as you came. I’d like to taste that again.” Her mouth slid lower, just beneath his ribs. “Would you like that?”

  Ah, Gods, yes. The words rose to his lips, but he managed to choke them back. She’d just satisfied him, so completely and fully he’d screamed with the pleasure. He ought to be able to resist her, damn it.

  He stood stiffly beneath her questing lips and said nothing.

  “Ah,” she whispered. “The proud Terran prince is back.”

  “I never left,” he growled.

  “Of course you did. Were you thinking of your responsibilities, your duties, just now in the shower?”

  “Were you?” he shot back.

  She lifted her head and stared at him, and in her violet eyes he saw he’d scored a hit. He had no idea what her duties were, but they obviously meant a great deal to her. A brief flash of uncertainty, of vulnerability, shimmered in her violet gaze. But she recovered almost instantly.

  “My people mean everything to me,” she said coldly. “I spend every moment of every day serving them. I am entitled to a few brief moments of pleasure.”

  “Is that all you’ve allowed yourself to indulge in? A few brief moments? Or have you spent much of the last few days fantasizing about me? Fantasizing about sex with me?”

  Her eyes went wide, and he knew he’d guessed accurately when a slow flush spread across her cheekbones. Her chin lifted, and a dark rage began to burn in her eyes.

  “You think far too highly of yourself, my pet. You mean nothing more to me than any other man. You are nothing to me.”

  “Nothing but a man who brought you the most spectacular orgasm of your life.”

  She laughed, but it sounded hollow. “You actually believe that, foolish man? You flatter yourself. Do you know how many men have serviced me? How many have brought me to a climax? What makes you imagine you pleased me more than the skilled, well-tutored men in my harem?”

  “Because they are nothing but pets,” he said softly. “Trained lapdogs. It takes a man to satisfy a woman like you. Not a pampered, tame poodle.”

  Uncertainty flickered in her eyes. She glanced down, away from his steady eyes, and her gaze landed on his rigid, swollen penis. He felt the brush of her gaze as keenly as if she’d touched him, and his cock jerked eagerly. The uncertainty in her gaze vanished, and her eyes turned glacial with contempt.

  “You are no more of a man than they are,” she said, her cold voice dripping with disdain. “Despite your proud words, you ache for me as much as they do. And you will crawl on the floor to me before I am through with you.”

  “Never.”

  “You will. Over and over again. Until we break you of that unfortunate streak of independence. You must learn your place.”

  “I know my place. I am a Terran prince.”

  “No. There is no such thing as a prince among the Zytellians. The very idea is nauseating. You are nothing but a man. Your purpose is to serve me. To bring me pleasure.”

  Barrak sighed. She was so certain of the rightness of her ideas, so certain her culture’s way was the one right way, that it was impossible to sway her from her beliefs. Yet he had to try. He said carefully, “Among my people, sex is something a man and a woman do because they care for each other. It is a way of expressing intimacy. Even love.”

  He saw the disgust in her eyes. “That is the most perverse notion I have ever heard of.”

  “On my world, the idea that men should be subservient to women would be considered perverse.”

  “That is why your world must be conquered,” she said coolly.

  A cold chill went through him. He’d already ascertained that the Zytellians had no intention of pursuing peace with his people, but to hear the idea of conquest spoken of so casually was alarming. It suggested that plans were already under way to conquer his world.

  And then every Terran male would find himself in this exact situation, manacled and made to crawl on the floor, nothing more than sex slaves.

  It made his need to defy her, his need to somehow escape her clutches, much greater than before. The battle wasn’t merely between himself and the bitch, and the people he needed to protect were not just the few members of his crew imprisoned on this vessel. He somehow had to win his freedom and warn Terra of the very real threat it faced. The lives and liberty of a hundred million people depended on it.

  Though in truth he wasn’t at all certain how his people’s small navy could stand against the great Zytellian fleet. In the early years of the Diaspora, most scientifically minded people had abandoned Terra for new frontiers, and as a consequence Terra had fallen behind much of the galaxy, technologically speaking. The Zytellians had superior weapons as well as vastly superior numbers. He was no more confident of their ability to battle Zytellian dreadnaughts than he was of his own ability to resist this woman’s pheromones. And yet battle they must, or his civilization would fall to this woman and others like her.

  “We have talked enough,” she said softly, and bent toward his chest again.

  Defiantly, he stepped backward, away from her.

  She moved toward him, a gleam of amusement in her eyes. “You wish to elude me. But where do you think you can go to escape me, my pet?”

  He glanced around at the spacious room. The door, he was certain, was magnetically sealed and would not open to any voice but hers. There was no escape for him, and yet he refused to let her master him this time. He needed to gain the upper hand in this situation somehow.

  “I do not wish you to touch me,” he said.

  “You lie. You want me to touch you. Your body craves it.”

  “The desires of my body are beside the point. You know I cannot help responding this way. But I want you to leave me alone. I demand that you leave me alone.”

  “What you want is irrelevant.”

  “On my world, forcing someone to have sex against their will would be called rape.”

  “Men have no will. Not really. Therefore rape is not a term that can be applied here.”

  Another chill went through him at her casual dismissal of males as somehow less than human. Although he had to admit that where she was concerned, he did in fact seem to lose every bit of his iron willpower. There was no denying that she had a way of making him feel powerless—a sensati
on that he, as a prince, had never before experienced.

  She brushed her lips over his nipple again, licking away the residual stickiness of the ra’mol, and despite the clamoring needs of his body, he took another step backward, out of her reach.

  She stalked him, slowly. He took three steps backward and found himself against an unyielding metal bulkhead.

  Her arms came around him on either side, pinning him. He was much stronger than she was, and he could have knocked her to the ground and attempted escape, but now that his mind was clearer he was wise enough to realize that would probably result in little besides a very painful punishment. Without the use of his hands he would be unable to even get out of this chamber, let alone fight his way to a weapons locker or to his ship. There was simply no point in trying to escape until his hands were free.

  He stood stiffly, unmoving, while her lips and tongue explored the contours of his chest, while the sweet fragrance of her pheromones drifted up to his nostrils, making him pant. Heat, insistent and demanding, pooled in his groin, hardening his erection to the point of pain, tightening his balls against his body.

  As her lips trailed down across the tense muscles of his abdomen, a groan of pleasure almost escaped him, but he choked it back. He refused to show by sound or movement how she was affecting him. He couldn’t control his penis, but he could control the rest of his body. And he damned well would, even if it killed him.

  Her tongue trailed downward, along the path of dark hair that arrowed down his abdomen, directly toward his straining cock. He somehow managed to keep his hips still, managed to keep himself from thrusting eagerly toward her mouth. He held perfectly still and stared at the opposite wall, willing himself to think of something besides her lips and tongue stroking over his skin.

  “You want me to lick your cock,” she whispered provocatively.

  His erection pulsed at the words. But he refused to look down. “Not particularly,” he drawled in what he hoped was a bored tone.

  “You’re lying,” she said softly. “You ache for my touch. Look down at yourself. Look how hard you are.”

  He didn’t have to look down to know how hard he was. Nor did he want to look down, for he knew he’d find himself drawn irresistibly by the evocative sight of her touching him, stroking him, and be unable to look away. He kept his gaze pinned to the wall.

  And then her tongue trailed across the tip of his cock, very slowly, and every muscle in his body clenched. A bolt of intense pleasure sizzled through him, and he squeezed his eyes shut, refusing to look down. But his imagination didn’t have any trouble picturing her small, pink tongue caressing the hard length of his erection, licking the sensitive, plum-shaped head until it was dark red and swollen, glistening wet with her saliva and his cum.

  “Do you want me to lick you again?”

  He forced the images away, summoned every scrap of willpower he had.

  “No,” he grated hoarsely.

  She ignored his pitiful effort at defiance. She knelt down, grasped him firmly in her hand, and pulled his erection toward her. Her velvet tongue slowly traced around the broad head of his cock. He didn’t have to look down to know his cock was twitching violently in her grasp, didn’t have to look to know that pearly drops of pre-cum were dripping from the tip.

  “I’m going to make you come again,” she said softly. “And again, and then again. There is no point in fighting it. There is no point in fighting me.”

  He wanted her to take him into her mouth with every fiber of his being, wanted his cum to gush deep into her mouth, to climax in an overpowering rush of heat, but he stood frozen, admitting nothing.

  The tip of her tongue continued to trace circles around the engorged head of his cock, enough to keep him at a pinnacle of excitement, not quite enough to send him over the edge and allow him release. Every so often she varied the movement of her tongue and stroked gently across the most sensitive part of him, licking away his juices. It went on and on, until his erection ached with torturous need, until it throbbed and jolted with each gentle caress of her tongue.

  He leaned back against the wall, barely able to support his own weight, gritting his teeth against the almost overpowering need to cry out with the pleasure she was bringing him.

  At last she stopped. He heard the self-satisfied smile in her voice as she inquired, “Are you still pretending you are not enjoying this?”

  He forced his eyelids open, although they looked like lead, and looked down into her smug face.

  “I enjoy seeing you like this,” he admitted.

  Triumph lit her eyes. “What part of it do you enjoy most?” she asked in a husky tone.

  He forced a sardonic smile. “What I enjoy most,” he drawled, “is seeing you kneel at my feet. It’s a position you should occupy more often.”

  She stared up at him, and then her lips pulled back from her teeth, showing her razor-sharp fangs, dripping with venom. Her smile looked like a dangerously threatening snarl. “Do not provoke me, Barrak. Or you will regret it.”

  “I already regret a great many things,” he said softly. “First and foremost, I regret that my people were foolish enough to believe that your people might be honorable enough to negotiate.”

  “There can be no negotiation with a people idiotic enough to believe men are capable of leadership.”

  “And there can be no negotiation with rapacious, vicious Zytellians.”

  “I am not vicious,” she said gently. “I only intend to bring you pleasure.”

  “You intend to subdue me. To make me your slave.”

  “You do not object nearly as much as you pretend, Barrak.”

  She still held his cock firmly in her slim hand, and she began to move it in a steady rhythm, stroking from head to root, slowly. Her other hand moved slowly to his balls and began to tease them.

  A burst of heat all but incinerated him. He was close—so close—and yet the slow, deliberate rhythm of her hands was precisely calculated not to bring him the fulfillment he so desperately desired. He closed his eyes and clenched his jaw as she played him like an instrument, stroking him like a stringed ja’lae, making his body vibrate with need.

  “Do you know what I would do if my hands were free?” he asked, in a grating, harsh voice he scarcely recognized as his own.

  “Kill me, most likely.”

  “No,” he said softly, with deliberately crudeness. “I’d dig my fingers into your hair, thrust my cock into your mouth, and not let you go until you swallowed every last drop of my cum.”

  “A scandalous notion,” she said, but he heard the faint quaver of excitement in her voice at the idea he might force her to do something sexual. No doubt she found the idea scandalous, but it aroused her as well. He was certain of it. Perhaps even among the Zytellians, women sometimes ached to be dominated.

  “You like the idea of me controlling you.”

  “Don’t be absurd,” she responded sharply. “Men do not impose their will upon women. Ever.”

  “Not even in bed? Don’t you sometimes wish for a man to fuck you the way he wants, rather than the way you want?”

  There was a long silence.

  “Never,” she said at last.

  He didn’t believe her, but he knew he’d never get her to admit her most secret desires. Yielding to a man’s desires was obviously too dark and forbidden a fantasy for her to admit out loud.

  Her hands continued to caress his cock, and a deep silence fell between them. Silence but for the sound of his labored breathing, the sound of his breath hissing between his tightly clenched teeth. Tremors ran through his body, and he had to fight to remain silent, to keep himself from thrusting eagerly against the smooth satin of her palm.

  “Open your eyes and watch, Barrak,” she whispered. “Watch yourself come.”

  His resistance was at an end, and he knew it. He’d never been so feverishly hot with need as he was at this moment. Opening his eyes, he looked down to see her still kneeling before him, her soft, white hand stro
king his dark red-flushed shaft. With each movement of her hand, his erection pulsed, sending a burning bolt of agonized desire through him.

  “Let me hear you cry out,” she whispered, looking avidly up at his face.

  He shook his head, wordlessly, and her hand slowed. He all but sobbed.

  “I want to hear you cry out,” she said, in a softly menacing tone, “or I will not permit you to climax, Barrak.”

  He opened his mouth to retort that he was not a trained animal, to perform upon her command, but she moved her hand against him, abruptly, and a long, wailing cry emerged from his throat instead, the cry of a man in the throes of overwhelming pleasure.

  “That’s better,” she whispered, and moved her left hand against him again. The fingers of her right hand brushed over his balls, then slid across them and found the exquisitely sensitive place just below them. She began to massage him there, firmly, and her other hand began to pump him in a steady, fast rhythm.

  He couldn’t look away. He watched the rapid movement of her hand avidly, felt his cock twitch in her grasp, like a live thing striving frantically for its release. With each deliberate stroke of her fingers a sobbing cry rose from his chest. And then his penis began to jerk and the tremors began. Ecstasy washed over him in a long, unhurried, powerful wave.

  It was nothing like the tumultuous, violent orgasm she’d given him earlier. This climax rippled slowly through his cock, over and over again, not quite as intense but somehow even more satisfying. His cries rent the air as he came, his cock spasming helplessly, milky white liquid exploding from him and spattering everywhere, into her hair, across her face, onto the floor.

  She stroked him until he was spent, until she’d drawn every last drop of fluid from his engorged testicles and swollen cock. At last she released him, and his legs gave way. He slid slowly down the wall and collapsed to his knees.

  She stood up and smiled down at him, and he saw her licking a few drops of his cum from her lips. “This is more like it,” she said. “I like to see you kneeling at my feet, Barrak.”