Cool morning air crept over his skin, and Senth twisted toward NarrAy, reaching for the sheet they'd cast off during their loveplay a few hours ago. He stopped at the sight of her bare breasts.
He caressed them with his fingers, remembering the feel of them on his tongue. The wide dark area that pebbled when he aroused her was now smooth and plump. When the tip of her nipple stiffened under his touch, a spike of hot pleasure pierced his groin, jerking his cock to throbbing life.
He rose above her body, eased into position between her thighs.
She did not stir.
Senth spread the fingers of one hand between her legs. Wet and sticky evidence of the night's lovemaking still drenched her labia. He pushed his cock between her swollen nether lips and paused inside the moist mouth of her heat.
NarrAy gasped. Her eyes fluttered open and focused on his. “Tiger…” Now awake, she drew back her legs, opening for him.
He hugged both arms around her thighs and slid her toward him, up the length of his hard cock.
Her arms went wide, fingers clutching the bedclothes, eyes rolling back in her head.
Senth nudged his balls against her backside, and gave one small thrust.
NarrAy arched her head back and opened her mouth in a soundless cry of pleasure.
He withdrew the full length of his shaft and plunged it into her again, smiling when she screamed. She was magnificent in the throes of her passion. NarrAy tossed her head, moaning, hoarse from so many cries during the night.
Her vagina quivered all around his cock. Pulsed, throbbed. Sucked like a hungry mouth. He pulled out and slammed back into her.
All through the night, NarrAy had taught him how to appease both her lust and his, and he had not wanted to sleep until he'd learned every lesson.
Senth slid out again, stopping before the head of his shaft left her slick pussy lips. He pressed the heel of his palm over her mons and stroked it across the hard nub of her clitoris.
Eyes squeezed shut, she panted. “Please…” Her head moved side to side. “Senth, Tiger, please. Beg you!”
But did she beg him to stop? Or give her more?
He set both hands under her hips and lifted her, splitting her lips apart. A frenzied and rough cry wrenched from her throat.
“I love you!”
Senth could not tell whether his mouth had formed the words, or hers. It was simply the truth.
Where their bodies joined, straight dark pubic hair met golden brown curls. He brought NarrAy's legs to his shoulders and held them there, turning her inner grip on his cock into a glorious vise of heat.
With a shout of joy, Senth thrust once, twice, and then pumped into her and emptied himself into her wet sheath.
* * * *
The chill of a stone floor against his cheek jerked Khyff awake. He lay flat on his stomach, hands crossed and bound behind him. The memory of his capture swept over him with humbling clarity.
Careless! Never turn your back on the street. Never!
He tested his bonds. Wide leather cuffs linked his wrists.
He pushed himself to his knees and took stock of his situation. Steel bars, stone passageway, low level lighting, no windows. No way to tell the time of day. The cell had a metal cot suspended from the wall by chains, but no mattress. Metal rings and a leather collar hung on the opposite wall; against the third sat a metal sink and toilet.
Great. All the comforts of prison. Where the hell am I? He walked back through every word the Harbinger had said to him, searching for any clue. Finally free, and the first job I get lands me here. Damn it, Khyff, now what have you done?
His thoughts shrank from the possibility that Saint-Cyr might abandon him. Worse yet, that Stalkos had arranged this side trip.
Down the passageway, metal hinges shrieked. Footsteps echoed: three people. Khyff lowered his head enough to shield his face but still see.
A guard in black unlocked the cell. The bars clanged open and three sets of boots entered.
Even without a glimpse of her face, Khyff had seen enough pictures of the Empress to recognize her. Medals covered the scarlet sash across her chest.
Khyff bit back the string of curses that hurried to mind. What the hell did Saint-Cyr get me into?
A guard raised a leather quirt. “Eyes down before the Conqueror!”
He had not lifted them, but Khyff lowered his head more. When the guards yanked him to his feet between them, he made no move to resist.
Stalkos had taught him one lesson well. Survival outweighed pride.
The guards shoved him against the wall so hard it robbed him of breath. The first guard separated Khyff's bound hands and refastened them to heavy rings at his sides. His fingers tingled from blood rushing back to them. Metal cuffs clamped around his ankles.
The second man ignored his gasps for air and gripped him by the throat. He shoved back Khyff's head while the first buckled a leather collar around his neck. It trapped him against the wall like a bug pinned to a board.
“Not too tight, gentlemen.” The Conqueror folded both hands in front of her, a note reader in one. “No need to hurt him. You may leave us.”
The guards backed out of the cell and slid the bars shut.
“You may look at me.” The Empress moved up close to him.
Growing up, Khyff had seen newscasts of the Conqueror, but never perceived her as a flesh and blood woman until now. Her pictures didn't show how much silver laced her hair, or the depth of her quiet beauty, more from presence than perfection. Her face was angular, her nose narrow. Khyff knew all about mouths, and Destoiya's showed no hint of her legendary ruthlessness, but her eyes … her eyes bore all the metallic glory of a stormy, threatening sky.
“So, you're Khyffen Antonello.” She gestured with the reader. “From the length of this dossier, it's hard to believe you're so young. When were you born?”
“Birit 82, 4642, Your Majesty.”
“That makes you less than twenty-one.” She cast him a doubtful look, then shook her head, and perused the note reader. “Because you intrigue me, Khyffen, you may refer to me informally as 'Majesty' unless I direct you otherwise. You may answer my questions without fear of reprisal.” She looked at him. “Is that clear?”
Intrigue her? Khyff hid disbelief behind lowered lashes. “Yes, Majesty.”
“Your dossier says you were abandoned in a daycare facility at the starport on Felidae. Hmm.” She gave him a sympathetic glance. “Nine days after your fourth birthday. Mother's whereabouts unknown. No father listed on your birth certificate. When no one claimed you, you were handed over to slavers. You've been on your own since?”
“Yes, Majesty.”
“It doesn't say what the slavers did with you that first year. Care to tell me?”
“They tried adopting us out when we first got there.”
“Us?”
What is she up to with these questions? “Everybody under five, Majesty.”
“I see.”
He waited, not knowing what else to say.
“And no one wanted you?”
Blunt and cold, but fact. When he swallowed, the leather collar chafed. “I was human.”
“They left you on Felidae?”
“Yes, Majesty.”
“That was foolish of them. On Tarth, you'd have been adopted right away. I have your picture here. You were a beautiful little boy.” Destoiya sent an exploratory gaze down his length. “You're a gorgeous man. I imagine you get plenty of attention now.”
Don't let it go to your head, Khyff. He bit the inside of his cheek. She can see what you're good for, that's all.
“You worked the Kyrenie firestorm mines from age five to eight, then the jump ports on Porosen'la until you were thirteen.” She paused. “Why didn't they keep you in the mines?”
“I got too tall, Majesty.”
“And the ports?”
“Too tall for them, too.”
“Hmm. I have a feeling you fought them too hard to be worth the trouble. Did the
y molest you in the ports, too, or just the mines?”
Khyff focused on the iron bars, more aware of his tight bonds than his own breath.
“Both, I see. Don't worry, it's not written on your face. I have experience with pretty young men. Sad to say, Khyffen, your story isn't the first.”
Before now, only the Harbinger had ever used his full first name, but many called him pretty. The word trailed through his memories, leaving a vile taste.
“Your first slavemaster on Tarth licensed you as a slake at fourteen. The legal age is fifteen.” Destoiya studied the reader a moment before looking over at him. “You might like to know this. According to my assistant's notes, the man is in prison for breaking that law during a sting operation.”
Don't let this woman play you, Khyff. Think! What does she want?
“Should I assume he prostituted you even before you were fourteen?”
Khyff nodded, his neck rubbing against the collar.
“You'd been passed to seven different masters by the time you were sixteen. They all cited attitude and aggression. You attacked one of your masters and, when arrested, you reported him for abuse and claimed self-defense. He later lost his license when other slaves reported the same thing. I don't suppose you were too popular with slavemasters, were you?”
Don't let her make you hope. Hope can break your soul. “No, Majesty.”
“You were sold twice more before being shipped off-world, where you worked for one month before being arrested for assault, battery, theft, and violating your license. You spent three years in prison, then were returned to prostitution because the time you spent in jail and on probation doesn't count toward your freedom.” She tapped a finger on the reader. “By law, anyone enslaved under the age of five must be freed at twenty. You would have been freed this year on your birthday, if you'd behaved yourself, did you know that?”
“All too well, Majesty.”
“About a tradestandard month ago, one of your clients reunited you with the half-brother you thought had died at birth.”
It's Senth. Khyff stilled his body, praying Destoiya could not hear the sudden pounding of his heart. He felt it in his ears. Or it's NarrAy. Breathe, slake! Now you know what she wants. Just like prison. No slips. Give her the face. Nothing behind it. Pure face. Let her tell you what she knows.
“A few days ago, you gained your freedom through court action due to another run-in with a slavemaster.” The Conqueror ran a finger down the reader's front. “How accurate is all this?”
“Completely, Majesty.”
“Your brother Senthys broke into a government building with a Better. Did you know that?”
Khyff waited, chest aching from a held breath.
“We didn't catch them.”
Relief and gratitude tumbled together in his mind, but he fought not to let one glimmer of emotion make it to his eyes. He forced air into his lungs, slow, easy, hiding the terror for Senth behind a face devoid of passion.
“The Better is known as NarrAy Jorlan. She's involved in what a few rebels frivolously call 'the resistance'. Were you aware your brother consorted with enemies of the empire?”
“I'm sure my brother is innocent, Majesty.”
“Hmm. So you say.” She tucked the reader in a pocket. “You can see I already know quite a bit, Khyffen, so it isn't going to matter if you tell me a little more.”
Here we go. He wet his lips. Would she torture him herself? Or bring back the guards? Did Senth really get away? I was tortured in prison. If I had to, I…
Her gentle touch scattered his thoughts. She was unfastening the collar.
“There. More comfortable?” Her hand cupped his chin, and she used it to direct his face toward her.
Her eyes were the color of an ice-laden storm in winter and equally dangerous. All at once, their coolness warmed. A smile crossed her face.
“Why did your masters sell you off so many times, Khyffen? You're attractive enough to please any slaver's clientele.”
She turned his face to one side, then the other. She stepped back and, with a quick motion, tore open his shirt and pushed it aside to survey him.
He suppressed a shudder. Come on, slake! Don't shame out now. They used to put you on display in less than this at work, every day.
“You have a magnificent body.” The Empess pulled a tuft of his chest hair between her fingers. “Soft, not coarse. Mmh, I like that. Tell me, Khyffen, are you this tan all over?” She opened his trousers and pushed them down his hips to his knees. “This is nice. Nothing underneath.”
Ice jabbed into his heart. Stop it, Khyff! Tough up. This is for Senth. It's not like you've never been raped.
Destoiya spread her warm hands across Khyff's bared chest and dragged them down his abs, slowing to trace their defined shape with her fingertips before trailing down the path of hair to his groin. She closed one hand around his cock.
His limp cock.
The Empress glanced down, back into his eyes. “You don't like being touched.” She let go of his penis and leaned into him, her hand angling his face toward her. “Or being forced.” Her lips hovered next to his.
He closed his eyes. Her warm breath heated his skin, and an answering heat stirred inside him. Stop it, slake. Just because she makes you want it doesn't mean it's not rape. Don't let her get to you.
“Or do you hate being touched…” she brushed her lips across his, “—because your master sold you not to women, but to men?”
Khyff fought his instant reaction of anguish and fury, but she caught it. Now that she knew what he hated most, she'd use it to break him. He cringed inside.
Destoiya soothed him with a caress of his cheek. “He wasted you, Khyffen. It's obvious you were meant for women only.”
She curled her fingers into his hair and drew his head down to capture his mouth, and any resistance he'd thought to offer disintegrated. His mind insisted on denial, but his body responded to the onslaught of her tongue. The tangy scent of her arousal filled his nostrils.
His cock hardened. Lifted. His testicles tightened.
Both male and female clients had tied him like this. Forced him to accept their will. They had paid his master—but they'd raped him. Destoiya made it sweet fire.
Heat coursed through his body. When she pressed one thigh against his cock, he arched into her touch. So erotic—bound, helpless to forbid anything. He wanted what she did to him. The final dregs of Thrust lingering within him coerced him.
Destoiya moved back and smiled with satisfaction, one finger sliding across his lips. She glanced over her shoulder.
“Guards!” They hurried into the cell.
Khyff's heart cried out, knowing what they'd do to him.
He stood there, manacled and helpless, half-stripped. Exposed. Erect.
“Remove his bonds.” The Conqueror's heavy lidded gaze slid over Khyff. “Take him to the stable. Sample Level, for now. Let him bathe and dress himself in private.”
Her next words heated his blood and rocked him to the core.
“And then,” she said, her voice a husky growl, “bring him to me.”
Chapter Fourteen
The Palms Hotel
Suite 1221
NarrAy tipped the hotel android and tucked the note he'd delivered into her robe's pocket. “Senth?” She walked back into the bedroom, heard water running, and poked her head inside the bathroom. Steam frosted the glass-enclosed shower. “Senth, honey, there's a—Whoa!”
Senth was pressed against the glass, from his firm buttocks all the way up to his shoulders.
NarrAy gulped against a rush of pheromones. “Uh, there's a—a note.”
“What?” Senth stepped away from the glass and came to the opening, both hands in his soapy hair. His thick cock swayed with the movement as his hands worked lather into his scalp. “I couldn't hear you, sweetie.”
Shampoo bubbles trickled down his upraised arms, onto his shoulders and down across his chest. Senth's nose wiggled. He'd done that several tim
es during the night, inhaling her scent. It shot a twinge of warmth from her nipples down to her clit.
NarrAy let out a long sigh. What is it about bubbles, a little boy smile, and a great big dick that I find so endearing? She cast off her robe and stepped into the shower, right into Senth's slippery, soapy, slick, sexy, and open arms.
* * * *
Senth initiated the holophone link to Saint-Cyr from a conference room on the third floor of the hotel, far from NarrAy's presence and the hard-on she always inspired. When a chime announced his master was at last online, Senth stood.
Saint-Cyr's image sparkled into being before him.
He made a deep bow. “Good morning, Master.”
“You're late, Senthys.”
Late? For what?
The Harbinger motioned with one hand. “Turn around, slowly. I want to look at you.”
Uh oh. Senth obeyed. Where's this going?
“So,” the man said. “This is what a slave looks like who thinks he's independent of his master.”
“Sir?”
“Don't play coy with me, Senthys.” Saint-Cyr seated himself. The background of the room did not appear, nor the chair he used. His image floated. “Sit down. We need to talk.”
“Yes, sir.” He pulled a chair away from the table and plunked himself in it.
“And sit up straight.”
Senth bristled, but he straightened in the chair.
“Now, what is this about Ms. Jorlan not being satisfied?”
She seemed pretty satisfied when I left the room. Senth masked a grin with a cough. “She discovered that the item we recovered indicated a related item with more significance.”
The Harbinger's teeth showed in a wide smile, and he nodded. “Well put, Son. I understand. You're staying with her until the new item is recovered then?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Union protocols require additional payment for extended services. Is she aware of that?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And what is the nature of these extended services, Senthys?” He paused. “Anything else I should bill her for?”
Senth's cheeks burned. He cleared his throat. “Nothing billable, master.”
At the Mercy of Her Pleasure Page 13