“And you didn’t know he’d demand Maari?”
Orlann snorted. “I don’t think even Jude knew he was going to do that, until the words were out of his mouth. But he had his eye on her from the moment she walked into the room.” He took another long sip from his glass. “Why the hell did you bring her?”
“It’s Stead Delayne tradition to travel with a female emissary. That tends to keep tense situations…civil.” Orlann rolled his eyes, and Jaarod took another sip from his glass. “So…what’s the fucking holdup? She consented in front of the entire council, and she’s fertile. And she’s about half your size. There’s no way the three of you can’t manage to hold her down long enough to fill her up, so if this is some kind of political maneuver… If you’re delaying conception just to hold the threat of invasion over our heads…” The king’s casual posture belied the tension edging his voice. “We want her examined by our doctors. I know damn well she’s fertile, and if you three are trying to pull something—”
“You know I can't discuss political strategy with you.” Better to let Maari’s brother believe her empty womb was a political ploy of some kind, than to admit the truth.
“Fuck you. What's changed?” Jaarod took his glass across the room and leaned with one hip against a heavy dining table made of solid wood. He clearly remembered that that table could be counted upon to stay in place, even when something collided with it over, and over and over… “We always got more done behind the scenes than arguing with everyone during a full council session.” Behind the scenes, of course, meaning between the sheets.
Or bent over the table.
“What's changed?” Orlann demanded. “You can’t be serious. The war has ended. Gareth is dead. You are a king. Your sister is my fucking concubine,” he snapped. “Every damn thing in the world has changed.”
“Not everything." Jaarod set his glass on the table and shrugged out of his open shirt.
“Don’t.” But Orlann’s gaze drank up the sight before him. His fingers twitched, craving the feel of warm, hard flesh beneath them.
Jaarod leaned against the table, stretching out that long, lean torso… “What else are we going to do, if we can't talk politics?”
“You're going to go back to the guest suite. Or, better yet, go see your damn sister.”
“She doesn't want to see me. She thought I had come to rescue her, and at this point I don't think she’d throw a piss bucket on me if I were on fire.”
Orlann snorted. “And you didn't see that coming?”
“Why would I? I thought the bitch would be grateful.”
“That you came and aren't taking her home? That you're going to remind her of everything she lost, then leave her here to get fucked by three men she hates? Why the hell wouldn't she be grateful?”
“Well, when you say it like that…” Jaarod shrugged, crossing his arms over his bare chest, one hip against the edge of the table. “You bit her right? You all three bit her?"
“You know we did.” Right there on the spot, in front of the entire council and all assembled parties. “But that's worn off, and Jude won't bite her again. He let Malac, though. The Camden bastard is carrying the mantle of seduction for all three of us.” Or so he’d thought, until Jude had flown in Maari’s family.
Jaarod rolled his eyes. “Why bother with seduction? All you have to do is knock her up.” And suddenly a crack appeared in the new king’s facade, hinting at just how much pressure he was under. Just how much tension Stead Delayne had been suffering while they awaited Stead Camden’s report to the council. “Just fucking knock her up, so we can all move on.”
Orlann frowned. “You don't know? Do you?”
“Know what?"
“About her gift. Your family's gift.”
“What gift? We don't have a gift.”
Orlann’s gaze narrowed on him as he tried to determine the truth of that. Jaarod had never been the shrewdest member of the council, nor the smartest, but he was no fool. If his family had a secret, he knew better than to divulge it.
“Well, you don't have one. But your sister certainly does. Much like my own gift.” He reached out again to run one finger over the bite mark he had left around the other man's nipple. “But with a vastly different purpose."
“What purpose?" Jaarod demanded, brushing Orlann’s hand aside. His expression hardened, all signs of playfulness gone.
Orlann recognized the insecurity echoing from his guest’s suddenly tense posture. Jaarod had never been able to stomach the thought of being left out. The idea that there was information he wasn’t privy to or power he couldn’t claim. And Maari’s secret was both of those things—a fact that was likely to hit him twice as hard now that he was king.
A fact that would make him vulnerable. Able to be manipulated to the benefit of Stead Camden.
And Jaarod’s body… Well, that could be manipulated for all kinds of benefit.
Orlann drained his glass and set it on the table, then he slid his hand into Jaarod's hair. His fingers curled around the silky strands, and he squeezed until Jaarod flinched. Then he pulled, forcing the king's head back as far as it would go. Elongating his throat until it presented a long, pale line begging to be licked.
Then he pulled a little harder.
Several individual hairs popped free from Jaarod's scalp, and the king groaned.
Orlann's cock was suddenly rock hard. He leaned in and ran his tongue slowly up the entire length of the king's neck, rasping across rough stubble. Flicking the tip over the other man’s earlobe. Jaarod reached up and tugged Orlann's shirt from his waistband, and Orlann snarled. "Put your fucking hands down. I'll tell you when you can touch me."
Jaarod groaned again, and a lump formed in his pants against Orlann's thigh.
"See there? You may not have your sister’s gift, but you have something she doesn't." He ran his hand over the king's long, hard bulge, and—
"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Jaarod demanded, shoving Orlann away, even though the sudden action ripped several hairs from his head. "You just have to rub that in my face, don't you? What the hell is her gift? What can she do? Suck your cock all the way into her fucking stomach?"
Orlann started to laugh. But then he realized the king was serious. He really wanted to know. "That's not my story to tell. You'll have to ask her. Though I suspect there's a reason you don't already know."
"And you're really not going to tell me?"
Orlann shrugged. "Information has a price."
Jaarod's gaze narrowed. "I'm not going to suck your cock for a secret about my own damn sister." He grabbed his shirt, then he stormed toward the door. "You're right; we aren't colleagues anymore. The next time we're alone together, you damn well better be the one on your knees." Then he threw the door open and stomped into the hallway.
Delaynes. The fucking Delaynes were the problem.
Orlann stalked through the palace halls like a man possessed. He had a hard cock and a chip on his shoulder, and he needed relief for at least one of those.
Maari stood from the sofa, startled, when he opened the second-floor entrance to her apartment. “No,” she said, with one look at his face. At the bag he carried. “No, not tonight. Please, not tonight. I’ve had a really rough day, Orlann.”
“I know. Your brother’s out there thoroughly not-rescuing you, probably drinking Jude’s best wine, and you’re stuck in here with me. I can sympathize. Take off your dress.”
“Please. Please…” She began to back toward the balcony. “I need a break tonight.”
But it sounded to him like she needed a release. A big one.
What a coincidence.
“Take it off, or I’ll tear it off. You know what happens when you disobey.”
“Orlann—”
He darted forward and snatched her around the waist before she could try to run down the stairs and hurt herself. “Be a good girl tonight, Maari. You know I won’t hurt you.”
“That’s exactly what you’ll do!”
/>
“I’m not going to harm you. I would never harm you. And I would never give you pain without pleasure.”
“But you smell like whiskey.”
"I only had one, and it would take a lot more than that to affect me." He’d promised her, months ago, that he would never play with her while he was drunk. And he’d meant that. He didn’t want to dull his own senses or impair his judgement while she was at his mercy.
And she was always at his mercy.
He lifted her over his shoulder and carried her into her bedroom, where he laid her on the bed. She immediately rolled over and tried to crawl away, but he grabbed her ankle and pulled her back, which tugged her dress up to her hips, exposing her bare lower half to him.
“Please. Please—”
Orlann grabbed her chin, his patience spent. “I will let you know if I want you to beg. For now, stop whining. You know you’re going to like this.”
But then two fat tears slid down her cheeks, and he frowned. She was truly scared. Because he smelled like whiskey?
Because she wasn’t an idiot.
He was angry. At Jaarod. Deny it though he might—even to himself—he’d come to her room to take out his ire at Maari’s brother on her, and though she may not know what had put him in this condition, she could read his state of mind perfectly well.
“Stop.” Orlann sat on the edge of the bed next to her. “Stop. Maari. Calm down. We've come a long way since our first playdate, haven't we? Don't you think I've earned a little trust? I've never lied to you. I've never harmed you. I've never failed to bring you pleasure. I didn’t even punish you for the three months of my life that you’ve wasted, when I could have been in Valemont getting something done, while you were refusing to conceive. All I'm asking for now is your trust."
She gave him a hesitant, teary-eyed nod. “What are you going to do?”
“Undress.” His cock was already aching just from the fear in her voice. The dread, laced with a thread of…interest. Which would soon be arousal. He knew her well enough by now to be sure of that. The Delaynes may not want to admit it, but they were dirty deep down, both brother and sister.
“We'll start off slow. But I think you could use a release.” And he wasn’t just talking about an orgasm.
Maari’s hands shook as she lifted her dress over her head. She folded it and laid it on one of the pillow shams at the head of the bed.
“Beautiful," Orlann said as he shrugged out of his own shirt. “Gods, you're beautiful." He crawled onto the bed next to her and laid her on her back. Maari tensed, clearly expecting pain. Expecting pinches, and twists, and rough nibbles. Instead, Orlann give her soft touches and gentle caresses. He ran his tongue all over her, petting her like he often saw Malac do, until her eyes fell closed and she began to moan. Until her body arched into his touch, demonstrating a craving for him that made his cock ache.
But it wasn’t enough. Her sweet, innocent sounds would never be enough for Orlann.
He wanted her pain. Her hisses and groaned expletives. Orlann wanted her anger and frustration, and he wanted to mold it beneath his hands, twisting it with arousal until they became inextricable. Until plucking one chord sent echoing throbs throughout the other.
Until he could pull pleasure from her even as she screamed in protest. Until she begged him not to stop.
Never to stop.
Brutally aroused just by the thought, Orlann lifted himself on top of her, sliding one knee between her thighs. Opening her just a little. He licked a trail down her neck and over her collarbone, then over the curve of her left breast, headed for the peak so slowly that she arched up at him. Demanding more.
He grasped her plump breast in his hand, around the lower curve. He squeezed, hard, and she moaned as his mouth closed over her nipple. Orlann sucked gently for a moment, drawing it into a firm point. Then he bit down.
Maari hissed and when she tried to push him away, he clamped down harder, without breaking the skin, and she cried out. Then she went still beneath him. Because submission was the only thing he would accept from her.
Because the only way past the pain was straight through it.
He slid his free hand between her thighs and found her wet. Dripping. So he pushed two fingers inside her and slowly began to stroke while he applied the slightest pressure against her clit with his thumb.
When she opened her legs wider, making more room for him, he rewarded her by releasing her nipple, and Maari exhaled.
Orlann worked his way down her body, nibbling and stroking with his free hand, while his hand other hand stayed busy between her legs, slowly, almost gently pulling her toward climax. When he licked his way over her mound, she tensed in anticipation of his mouth on her clit, and Orlann smiled. She almost seemed to believe it might be that easy this time.
He almost hated to disappoint her.
He licked her, flicking his tongue over her clit while his fingers stroked up inside of her, and when she began to moan, arching her hips toward him—when she was right on the crest—he sat up and slid his soaked fingers from her body.
Maari groaned.
Orlann nudged her hip, wordlessly ordering her to roll over, and Maari whined as she complied. He crawled off the bed and watched her as he unzipped the bag he’d brought, knowing that the sound would make her flinch in anticipation.
He was not disappointed.
“Please…” she groaned, her need laced with anxious dread.
Orlann rubbed his rock-hard cock through the material of his pants, determined not to give into his own lust so soon. All clichés about the journey versus the destination aside, he existed in those exquisite moments of buildup, watching her experience evolve from pleasure and pain into something deeper. Teaching her to find bliss in every moment. Demanding she give all those moments to him.
“Close your eyes,” he ordered while he bent to find what he wanted from the bag. As he returned to the bed, Maari obeyed with another soft whine, but she remained pliable as he arranged her the way he wanted her: with a pillow beneath her stomach, her legs spread wide.
For a moment, he watched her spread out before him, beads of moisture just starting to gather at her opening. She was no longer on the edge, but she was still close. Close enough, anyway.
Orlann caressed her round, pale ass, squeezing both cheeks. Running his nails lightly across them. Bending for a nibble, every now and then. He reached down and lightly circled her clit until she began to moan and arch toward him. Then he administered the first swat and rubbed himself again as he watched the blow ripple through her gorgeous cheek. As her gasp of surprise—no real pain yet—settled into his soul.
The paddle was small and leather-covered. Only good for short strokes, but it was plenty for today.
He swatted her again, on the other side. A little harder. Maari flinched, but she held still. He’d only ever used his hand on her before, and she clearly wasn’t quite sure what to make of this new implement.
So he swung again, a little lower, on the fleshy portion where she would sit, and her pained hiss sent a thrill of satisfaction through him. “That’s it,” he murmured, lightly rubbing the new red mark. “Good girl. Just breathe.”
He established a steady rhythm—a swat every second or so—and moved around his luscious little canvas, creating an artwork of beautiful red blotches. Drawing a symphony of gasps and moans from his very good girl. Watching her twitch and jerk every time he swung a little harder than usual.
“Please,” she groaned, pressing her face into the mattress after one such swat. “It hurts.”
“I know, sweetness, but I love the way you take the pain.” Orlann reached to the side and picked up another toy. “Maybe this will help.” This one he slid slowly inside her, then he held it there, waiting for it to warm up to her body temperature. He worked it in and out for a few seconds, angling it to rub that sensitive spot inside her. Then he carefully pushed it as far inside her as it would go, so that the slim part on the front was centered directly ove
r her clit. Orlann turned the toy on with his remote, and Maari jerked. He pressed the toy a little deeper, to make sure she was getting the full benefit, and she groaned.
“This one can get a lot more intense, but we’ll leave it on the lowest setting for now.” Then he began to paddle her again, watching with pleasure as her cheeks took on a beautiful deep red glow. Pausing every now and then to monitor her arousal. To rub her ass and enjoy the warmth he’d drawn from her flesh. To work the toy in and out of her and turn up the intensity, as necessary, to bring another guttural moan from her. Maintaining the balance between her pleasure and pain.
“You will tell me when you’re close. Do you understand?” Orlann punctuated the order with a hard swat, and Maari jumped. She clenched, then she groaned when her clenching intensified the sensations from the vibrator.
“Yes,” she panted. “I understand.”
So Orlann began paddling in earnest, earning soft little hisses that grew into deeper, pain-filled groans as he moved around his canvas. Massaging her tender flesh every few swats to vary the sensation and keep her nerve endings awake.
As he worked, as her pain built, her flinches became full-body tremors. “Ow! Ow, ow, ow! Please!” She reached back, fingers splayed over her beautifully red ass, trying to protect it, and Orlann hid a smile as he patiently returned her hand to her side.
“You’re fine. Doing a great job,” he murmured, rubbing her backside almost reverently. “Just focus on your breathing. On the toy. Work on merging the pleasure and the pain.”
“Okay,” she gasped, her breath hitching on a sob. “Okay. Okay.” She gave him a tearful nod, likely as much to reassure herself as him, but that first surrender of her trust made his chest tighten almost painfully.
The paddle landed again, the slap rippling through her flesh, and her full-body sob made his cock ache blissfully. She rolled to the side, trying to avoid the next blow, so that he had to haul her back into place with one hand on her hip, pleased to realize that she was nearing her threshold.
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