Courting Kel Page 2

  “It seems we have much in common.”

  “We don’t own slaves.” Except for the men we keep until certain we are pregnant, she thought, looking at her hands. She couldn’t lie any better than she could hide a blush.

  “We…free ours. Eventually.”

  Aren saw the sudden flare of hope in her eyes. He also saw them change color from hazel to bright blue-green. Then she glanced down, her thick brown lashes hiding their expression.

  “H-how long must I serve you, Aren?”

  “Long enough…for you to miss me when you leave.”

  “You’ll send me home?”

  That damnable hope again. It twisted his guts. Made him want to admit she was free to leave now. Except her accepting him would mean a cessation of hostilities between their worlds. Except he didn’t want her to go. “Eventually,” he repeated, and put another slice of meat between his teeth. He’d keep his confession to himself or choke on it. Damn the king! Bringing Aren a bride who didn’t know she would wed!

  Rising to her knees, she leaned forward. Her high, firm breasts grazed his chest. As he recalled the clear view of her lush body in the bath, his cock swelled. Her legs were indeed long, her hips slender. When she washed her sex, his shaft had grown so hard his balls hurt. And her breasts…he yearned to suck her nipples into rigid nubbins. More, he wanted to lick her juices from her cunt and taste her essence flooding over his tongue. His shaft warred with his lust. He ached to plunge deep inside her tight, wet channel until she shouted his name and they reached another galaxy of pleasure.

  “Is there anything, anything at all, I can do to make you free me sooner?”

  Yes. Fuck my brains out. He almost said the words but caution held him silent. Amazonians enslaved men, whether Kel admitted it or not. His captive might be a spy seeking to enlarge her tribe’s gene pool. Her tale of being drugged, kidnapped and sold, nothing more than a story—a fairytale—to lull him into complacency.

  Instead of words, he jutted out his chin. She straddled his thighs then used her teeth to pluck the meat from between his lips. Her juice-drenched mons rubbed his shaft, making it even more painful and aroused than before.

  Sweat dotting his forehead, Aren shifted his woman off his lap. It was the hardest—yes, the very hardest erection he’d ever had—the hardest challenge he’d ever faced. His mind mistrusted her sudden surrender. His shaft dismissed his mind’s confusion. If his mind won this war, he’d make it up to his shaft. Make it up in Keleos’ hot, willing cunt.

  In the meanwhile… “Have some choke.” Stripping a gray-green leaf from its oval base, he held it to her lips, saying, “This is also tasty when dipped in butter, but it is even better with garoli.”

  “It won’t… I won’t truly choke on it?”

  “No. Choke is what we call it.”

  “Does it obey?”

  “Pardon?”

  “When you call it, does it come to you?” Some emotion—humor, perhaps?—flitted through her eyes.

  “Ahh, you’re a literal-minded woman. Call, in this instance, is its name. Or rather, the vegetable’s name is choke.” Turning the leaf meat-side down, he raked it over his teeth then showed the denuded leaf to her. Plucking another leaf, he offered it to her. She squirmed against his thigh, begging for him to possess her. Dint of will kept him from taking her there and then. “I’ll not give you what we both desire until you’ve eaten. I want you at full strength.”

  Again her eyes changed color—now a swirling, stormy gray.

  “You may come…to regret that wish, Aren.” Leaning back, she gazed up at him. “If I recall correctly, you demanded that I feed you.”

  Circling her narrow waist, he drew her to his side. “A hasty and regretted order. I now propose that we feed each other.”

  “The brac is tepid, the meat cold.”

  “Tasty still, I think.”

  Sucking a shellfish tidbit from his extended fingers, she chewed. Sighed. Licked her lips.

  His shaft swelled, seeming to have developed a mind of its own. A mind filled with images of her lips and tongue stroking, licking, sucking. Of her unruly curls tickling his balls while her mouth caressed—no, devoured—his pulsing shaft.

  “I intended to brush your hair.”

  “Did you?” Surprise and delight lit her eyes.

  Ahh. This is how she’ll look when we fuck. When her cunt sheathed him and drew his shaft and cum deeper. Deeper and deeper still. Before his shaft drained within her spasming channel and brought them both to satiation, her eyes would show that stormed-tossed gray. Earlier still, only beginning to crave his touch, his caresses, her eyes would reveal that considering golden brown.

  How quickly would she arouse from thoughtfulness to passion? From passion to completion? Every emotion, every desire and need readable in the ever-changing kaleidoscope of her eyes.

  She cleared her throat, an unexpectedly hesitant sound from such a self-confident creature.

  “What?” he asked when she cleared her throat again.

  “What…role do you play here, Aren?”

  “Role?”

  “Are you also a slave?” Slapping her forehead, she seemed to assess their elegant and costly surroundings. “Stupid question. Unless you’re playing at being master here, you must be one. A master, I mean. An owner of slaves. My owner.”

  “For now, yes. Your owner.” How does it feel, Keleos, to be the slave rather than the mistress?

  “Should I call you Lord Aren?”

  “No.” He was beginning to like having the upper hand with her.

  Plucking a sweetmeat off the tray, she popped it into her mouth. A sensual groan soon followed her swallowing.

  Choosing to ignore the images her groan created in his mind, Aren shifted his shaft.

  “M’lord…? In public at least?”

  “No.”

  “I shan’t call you master.” She tossed her head.

  “I never thought you would.” That much was true. He wanted a life partner, not a namby-pamby who never expressed an opinion. But he also wanted someone who wouldn’t fight him on every aspect of their lives. From this brief exposure to her, he expected she would be the latter—fighting every step of the way.

  Her oddly dark eyebrows quirked upward.

  “Surprised?”

  “Oh yes.” Nibbling on another sweet, she stared at him. “Are you a servant of any sort?”

  “Of some sort, yes.” In the broadest sense of the word, he served his father’s people. His people, one day in the far, distant future. “I’ll have Drew clear away this mess.”

  “Is Drew your slave?”

  “No.”

  “Your servant? Your concubine?”

  “By all the gods, no!” The very idea of using a child for pleasure was abhorrent to him.

  Keleos continued to stare at him but finally said, “The sooner you tell me, the sooner I’ll quit asking questions.”

  “Tell me, what role do you play on Amazonia? Then I might tell you who—my title. And yes, I know of your homeworld.”

  “That blackguard Tage told you where I’m from!”

  “As I commanded him,” he lied.

  “Commanded? You…you outrank the king’s captain?”

  Crossing his arms over his chest, he stared at her. Even Tage quailed when Aren struck that particular pose. Keleos merely thrust up her chin.

  “Who or what are you?” he demanded in his haughtiest tones. “Are you the victim you claim to be? A stowaway onboard The Herald seeking to escape her mistress? Or are you a spy, sent here to scout how many men you can force into slavery on Amazonia? On Ondrican, we hang spies. After we torture them.”

  Springing to her feet, reaching for her absent dagger, she shouted, “Bastard!”

  “I know who my father is. Do you?”

  Her eyes nearly black, her face flushed with heat—anger or embarrassment he neither knew nor cared. Her shoulders stiffened. In a haughty voice, she said, “On Amazonia, sires are not important.”


  “They are. For breeding at least.”

  “And for pleasure. Which works well for both sexes. The men are not mistreated.” Raising her gaze to his face, she asked, “Can you say the same for women here?”

  “Yes.”

  “You sound so certain.” She looked sarcastic, as if that knowledge was beyond his ken.

  “I am certain.”

  “Are you as certain about female children? Drew, for example?”

  Uncertain how to explain Drew, he said nothing. He suspected Keleos would hound him about the girl but she said nothing more. She paced to the low table and removed the plate of sweetmeats. Glaring at him, she kicked the table over. Food scattered in all directions. Garoli flecked his arms and chest.

  Furious, he forced himself to remain where he was. “Clean it up. Every morsel.”

  “No.”

  Aren bellowed, “Drew.”

  The girl appeared as if she had waited for his call.

  Wondering why he had summoned the girl, Kel eyed him warily. Did he intend to use Drew to bend Kel to his will? She glanced at Drew and noted she looked completely unperturbed. Whatever their relationship, Kel doubted Aren abused Drew. Still…dare Kel risk Drew for the sake of her own pride?

  Leveling a glare at Aren, she said, “What do you intend?” She stood between Drew and that dispassionate monster reclining on the divan without care for anyone save himself.

  “You wanted to know what role Drew serves. I merely want to show you.”

  “By raping her? Do you think—?”

  “Bring a bucket, Drew. Our guest will clean up her own mess.”

  Chapter Two

  Tossing her rag into a nearby pail, Kel sat back on her heels. As had happened the first time, the rag hitting water sloshed, getting more on her than the floor. Defiance had a way of punishing the person doing the defying.

  “You need another bath, Kel,” Drew whispered, a shy smile curving her lips.

  Kel hooked her hair behind her ears. Glancing at the soaked fabric clinging to her breasts, she said, “I think I’ve already had one.” She eased to her feet, noting with some surprise that her knees ached. When she got home, she vowed to show appreciation for these duties others performed for her. Glancing at the devil still lounging on the wide divan, she amended when to if she got home.

  “Thank you, Drew,” the devil said. “Empty the bucket then go to bed.”

  When the girl left, Aren stood and held out his hand. “Come.”

  Wary of Aren’s intention, Kel nonetheless retrieved the sweetmeats from the table. Sitting, she placed the plate in her lap, popping a sweet into her mouth. “I’m hungry.”

  “Then bring the plate with you. Come here.”

  He had that or else expression—the same look he’d worn when he summoned Drew. She stood. Strode to his side. Shoved the plate of sweets into his chest.

  An amused glint lit his dark eyes. “What torment are you devising now?” she said as he took the plate in one hand, her elbow in the other. His grip felt deceptively gentle.

  “I agree with Drew. We need a bath.”

  As they entered his bathing room he said, “Fill. M’lady’s settings. Her scent.”

  Water flowed into the enormous marble tub. Caills scented the air. Kel risked looking up at Aren. “You intend to bathe in this scent?”

  “Why not? Since you will bathe in it, sooner or later I shall have it on my skin.”

  So the moment had arrived. He would take her, willing or not. She could fight, exhaust her body and spirit. Or she could submit and learn firsthand what all the fuss was about. Closing her eyes, she imagined Aren’s body sliding over hers, his cock sliding in and out of her pussy. Pleasure noises growing louder as they pounded together. Harder. Faster. Searching, wanting, yet resisting that release—that bliss—when climax overwhelmed them.

  She was several years beyond her first mating time and Aren was a handsome man. And if he freed her as he had intimated he might, she could return to Amazonia and mate with a man of her own choosing. She was, after all, a princess, who by custom if not by law could select the man who might impregnate her.

  “Sooner, I believe,” he said, his voice low and seductive.

  His hands on her shoulders startled her. Looking up, she became ensnared in his depthless eyes. She could read his intent and took a half step back. His fingers deftly untied her sarong, clenching until the material tightened around her body to hold her in place.

  “Wh-what are you doing?”

  “I seldom bathe in my clothes. Do you?”

  The humor in his voice made her aware of the irony. On Amazonia she had the right to choose her mate—would he have her or not. Although, from the matings she’d witnessed, the man’s resistance seldom lasted. Here…she lacked even the hope of refusal. “Not when I have a choice.”

  “Then you sometimes do wear clothes while immersed in water?”

  “Sometimes.” The last time she’d done so, she’d sunk into a murky pond and hidden in a tangle of reeds to escape discovery by invader patrols.

  “One day you’ll tell me that—or is that those?—stories.”

  “I could tell you now.” Was there anything she could do to delay the inevitable? He meant to bed her and—blast her curiosity—she meant to let him.

  Chuckling, Aren released her sarong. The shiny fabric pooled around her feet, joined by his black robe.

  His muscled chest demanded she touch his pecs. She did, gasping when his flat nipples hardened under her fingers.

  “My body displeases you?”

  “Oh no! It’s only that—dark as you are—I imagined…I thought you’d have more chest hair.”

  Guiding her hands down his body, he curled her fingers around his cock.

  “Oh!” Looking down, she watched his cock grow harder. It thickened. Lengthened. Pulsed. The head topped her hand, the base two finger widths below her little finger. “Oh…my.” Weak-kneed, she collapsed against his massive, sculpted chest. Only his arms supporting her kept her upright. If he let her go, she’d fall to her knees, overwhelmed by the need building in her body.

  Having seen many cocks and the pleasures they gave to women, she knew Aren’s was among the largest she’d ever seen. Her pussy wept, longing to have that thick, hard flesh buried in it.

  When he lifted her, she clung to his neck, certain only his arms kept her solid. Without them, she would melt, leaving Drew to mop her up.

  “Does my size frighten you?” He sat in the tub, positioned her body so her legs straddled his hips and her aching, rigid nipples were almost level with his mouth. Impossible. The tub seemed twice as deep, twice as large than when she’d bathed earlier. One day she’d ask him.

  Feeling his cock throb against her swollen clit, she sighed. “Oh no.” Questions about the tub flew from her mind.

  Leaning back along the angled slope of the tub, he said, “Feed me.”

  “There is nothing here to eat.”

  “Isn’t there?” The heat in his eyes scorched her entire body. He laughed. “Not your sweet cunt, Flame. Not yet. For now we’ll eat the rest of the sweetmeats.” Sticking one between her parted lips, he drew her face to his. “Feed me.”

  His tongue darted out, plundering her mouth. The sweet melted on their dueling tongues. Aren tasted like sugar, tnim and some flavor she couldn’t identify but liked. A flavor she craved. When he eased away, she moaned. When he laved her ears, her neck, her nipples, she groaned and shifted her hips. She wanted his cock in her.

  Laughing, he bent her back until her hair and most of her face were soaked. She came up sputtering, her fingers curled like claws. He captured one nipple in his mouth, lapping at it, making her purr. Silky strands of his hair flowed through her fingers. His lips tightened on her nipple and he sucked hard. Her pussy clenched. Wrapping her legs around his waist, she ground her hips against his.

  “Easy, Flame. We’ll get to fucking soon. Very soon, if you keep moving like that.”

  “You are…ah
hh.”

  With his hand between her legs, his finger sliding over her clit, all she could do when he lifted her was hang on.

  “I promised I’d brush your hair.”

  “Now?”

  “Right now.” Stepping out of the tub, he issued two quick commands. The tub emptied. An enormous bed rose from the marble slab. Laying her on the bed, he stretched out beside her. “Now where was I? Oh yes.” He slid his thick middle finger into her channel and thumbed her clit.

  Barely feeling the pain of his finger’s intrusion, she bucked, on the verge of climax and wanting it now.

  “Right here. Ahh, Flame, I believe you’ve never fucked before. You’re so very tight.”

  Refusing to admit her innocence, she said, “I…thought you…brush my hair.” Her breath—what was left of it—hissed out.

  “I am brushing, sweet.” As if to prove himself, he stroked his fingers through the curls surrounding her clit.

  “Ahhh. Aren.”

  “I want to smell you.” Easing down her body, he urged her thighs open then nuzzled her. “Sweet, Kel. You smell like caills and arousal. The scent of you tempts my palate. I can’t resist. I must taste you.”

  His tongue laved her from channel to clit then back again.

  “Oh my gods!”

  “You like this. Say what you will, Kel, your cunt seeps nectar on my tongue. Your folds swell and your clit rises. You want my mouth on your clit. My fingers inside you.”

  “Yes. Yessss! P-please.”

  “Hold yourself open for me.”

  Embarrassed, she complied but closed her eyes. The thought of what he saw there… His tongue flicked the tip of her nub and she jerked so hard her hips left the bed. Thought fled. Sensations centered in her clit, in her pussy. She’d gone deaf as well, his voice the only sound she heard. He murmured praises for the pleasure her body gave him. Like a starving man at a feast, groans flowed from his mouth into her pussy.

  “P-please, Aren. Please. Pl—”

  His thumb rubbing her clit, his tongue sliding in and out of her drove her upward. Her climax shattered her body into shards of bliss she’d never imagined possible. She screamed his name until she went hoarse.