To the Princess Bound (Terms of Mercy)

by Sara King

  She watched, nervous, as he filled the tub with steaming liquid and ran his hands through the surface. When he turned and grinned at her, she gave him an anxious smile.

  When he stood and reached for the waistband of his pants, however, Victory fell into a crouch and squeezed her eyes shut.

  Dragomir might have vanquished her visions, but the memories remained.

  “You and your Praetorian are worried I’m controlling you,” Dragomir said softly. “So tonight, I will keep my energy to myself.” She heard the sound of his pants sliding down his thighs. She felt his heat as he squatted beside her, ran a big thumb along her temple. “I hate to make that promise, Princess, and it’s the only time I ever will.” He leaned forward, kissed her forehead. Against her ear, he whispered, “After tonight, I intend to use every resource I have to please my mate.” Then she felt him stand, still unable to bring herself to open her eyes. “For tonight, though, you’re going to have to trust me on your own.”

  Victory’s heart was pounding as she felt his body move, heard water slosh, listened to the tub creak under his weight. Gingerly, she opened her eyes.

  Dragomir was sitting opposite her, leaning his head back against the marble rim, shrouded by wisps of steam from the hot water. He lifted his head and gave her an encouraging smile and gestured at the tub. “I think you’re right about one thing, Princess,” he said, grinning at her over the surface of the bath. “This certainly does beat a splash in the creek.”

  Victory made a nervous chuckle, her heart lodged in her throat. She glanced at the exit to the bathroom and Dragomir went still in the tub.

  “Leave if you have to,” he said softly. “I can wait as long as you need, Princess.”

  Heart hammering, she looked back at him. She bit her lip, debating. Half of her craved to be in his arms, her body tight against his, once more caught up in his embrace.

  The other half remembered six years of heartbreak.

  “You can trust me,” Dragomir whispered, as she hesitated.

  Palms clammy with fear, Victory’s fingers found the hem of her shirt.

  “But before you do,” Dragomir said softly, watching her, “I want you to know, Princess, that if you share this bath with me, I will be making love to you tonight.” His blue gaze was intense when he said, “Tonight, tomorrow night, and every night thereafter. You will be mine, and I will show you the pleasures that you have missed each night for the rest of your life, to make up for lost time.”

  Oh gods, he had to go and say that, Victory thought, acutely aware of the heat suddenly pooling between her legs. Worse, he finished with such vehemence that, with his sweat-slickened body and the steam rising around him, he reminded her of the visage of an angry god. She almost lost her nerve.

  Then her fingers began to move of their own accord. She pulled her shirt up to the swell of her breasts, then hesitated as his gaze sharpened. She swallowed, feeling like a deer caught in a hunter’s sights.

  I will not be ruled by the past, she thought, meeting his eyes. Shaking, she yanked the shirt over her head and stood. She let her pants fall around her ankles and stepped free.

  Dragomir waited.

  Trembling, Victory went to the edge of the tub. Her heart crammed into her throat when she saw his manhood within, hard and erect against his flat stomach.

  “You can trust me, Princess,” Dragomir said softly. “You have my word.”

  She met his eyes and gave a nervous smile. “It’s Adjudicator, now,” she said. And slipped into the water with him.

  He moved toward her, then, water swirling as he placed a dripping hand on the tub’s rim on either side of her. His large body dwarfing hers, he grinned down at her. “Adjudicator,” he said, kissing her gently. “That might take awhile to learn.” He kissed her jaw, tenderly, then slid down to kiss her neck and throat.

  “You can call me Victory,” she managed, shivering beneath his great bulk as he brought the heat roiling within her to the surface with every brush of his lips.

  “Oh?” he asked, with a kiss. “You told me never to use that name for you, Princess.” His lips found her taut nipple just above the surface of the water and he closed his mouth around it, suckling. Victory gasped and arced her back as the pressure built in her core; a warm, aching heat that had already begun to devour her.

  He released her nipple and his tongue glided over it in a lazy caress, lapping, bringing a moan from Victory’s lips as she reached up and delicately wrapped her hands over his thick shoulders, pulling him closer in her need.

  Dragomir chuckled against her breast. “You like that, Princess?”

  “Victory,” she gasped, as he moved to the other. “Call me Victory.” She couldn’t think, could do anything but feel his body moving against hers.

  He gently took her other nipple into his mouth, drawing searing bolts of passion up from her core, filling her chest, making her heart pound crazily against her lungs. Victory felt dizzy with need as his great hands explored her, slipping beneath the water to glide against her hips, moving inward to part her thighs. She gasped as his fingers slid down to brush her nub, then gently began stroking her there to match the suckling of her breast.

  Immediately, a pressure began to build within her core, a searing, demanding heat that left Victory clinging to his body, moaning, as it tried to crest.

  Then, unbidden, she thought again of the last man who had been between her legs, of the horrible things he had done. A part of her quailed and she tensed, realizing what he meant to do.

  “I can’t,” she whimpered, feeling the hot, uncontrollable passion throbbing within, knowing what would come. Before it could finish building, she began to crawl backwards out of the tub.

  Dragomir’s big hand on her shoulder stopped her.

  “It’s okay, love,” he whispered, his hold gentle-yet-firm, his sincere blue eyes only inches from her own. “Trust me.”

  Victory met his gaze, hesitated. Could she trust him? He was bigger than she. He could take her if he wished. And yet, he was giving her a choice. She searched his soul, trying to find some reason to get out of the tub.

  He waited, motionless, allowing her to look, bearing his soul for her inspection. And, slowly, she felt her anxiety melt away under the honesty she saw in his eyes. He could use his Emp powers to calm me, she thought, But he’s not. He’s letting me decide for myself. Reluctantly, Victory slid back into the water.

  He smiled, then, beaming with genuine happiness as he slid back over her. He kissed her gently upon her forehead, then her jaw, then lowered his mouth and worked his tongue around her areola, teasing. She whimpered with the pleasure that once more began to build, overpowering even the fear she carried buried in her past. She once again dug her fingers into his shoulders as the pressure within became unbearable. He tenderly renewed his attentions to her nub, caressing it with expert fingers, stroking and rubbing as he tenderly suckled her breast. Then, gently, he caught her nipple between his teeth and tugged.

  Victory cried out as the warmth suddenly exploded within her core.

  Grinning, Dragomir wrapped his arms around her and lifted her from the water. As Victory tried to understand that, he took her to the other side of the bath and gently laid her back on a low shelf, so that her body was exposed to air. Laying there, looking up at him, Victory saw his manhood jutting from between his legs, a staff with which to impale her most sensitive parts.

  Knowing what he intended to do next, Victory whimpered and tried to crawl backwards, unable to paint a gentle picture of it in her mind.

  A firm hand on her thigh held her in place. “Trust me,” he whispered again. He knelt in the water, between her legs, watching her face.

  Trembling, Victory squeezed her eyes shut, knowing, as she always had, that she had no real choice. She should have known he would take her at his will. What was she thinking when she stepped out of her clothes and—

  Her thoughts imploded as she felt his tongue touch her innermost flesh. She gasped and started to sit
up. “What—?”

  She moaned and flexed back to the ledge when she felt him take her nub between his lips and suckle it. The full-body shudders that wracked her as he alternately suckled, then licked, then lapped at her sensitives left her clinging to the ledge, gasping for air as another, greater pressure built from within.

  This time, when he took her over the edge, Victory’s back arced and she cried out, wrapping her fingers in his hair and clinging to his head with her thighs. Then she collapsed, panting, staring at the stone ceiling in shock.

  To her horror, she felt movement between her thighs as he started working his tongue against her clitoris once more. His big hand slid upwards, tracing the curves of her body, stopping on a breast, kneading it in a tender caress. Even as she was sure she could take no more, he brought her to climax again. This time, she lost herself. Her fears drained away, overpowered by the pleasure that was coursing within her. She bucked and thrashed under his attentions, her sweaty body heaving, her fingers gripping the marble bathtub as he made her world narrow to the overwhelming tide of ecstasy rising within.

  When he finally lifted his head and kissed her stomach gently, Victory was in a semi-stupor, still reeling in the washes of pleasure. She groaned and lifted her head to watch as he moved away to let out some of the now-cold water from the tub, then replace it with fresh. Then, as she watched, he lathered a soapy sponge and brought it back to her.

  Gently, he eased her down into the water with him, pulling her small body to be enveloped in his own. She felt his manhood, then, pinned between where their stomachs met. He leaned back, so that she was using his stomach as her resting spot and his knees as her backrest, and as Victory looked on, dumbfounded, he began to lather her body with the sponge.

  He’s not going to take me, she realized, watching him. That knowledge hit her like a concussive blast of relief, and she felt her heart open to him, finally. He didn’t seem to notice. She watched his arms work as he finished scrubbing her clean, then began working on himself, following the sponge with his eyes as it traced the chiseled lines of his muscular body.

  Without uprooting her from her seat, he reached over with a long arm, grabbed a pitcher from the tub’s rim, and filled it. Then, tenderly, he began pouring water over her, careful to keep it out of her eyes. Her heart still pounding from his ministrations, Victory could only stare. He seemed no more concerned about what he had just done to her than he was about the bits of grime and dirt that he was now rinsing away.

  She looked down at the hardness she was resting on. She had untold experience with such pillars of flesh, but never had they felt so…innocent…as his felt now, pressed into his stomach with her weight.

  Victory swallowed. She had been assaulted a thousand times, by a hundred different men, but never before had she actually had the leisure to explore. Aside from the brief glimpses that she had seen before they were driven inside of her, she had no real idea of what they looked like or even how they worked. She had never been given—nor really wanted—the opportunity to investigate, to learn. And now it was there. Hers to examine.

  Once he finished the first rinse, Dragomir re-lathered the sponge and started soaping her again. She watched him, still befuddled by his gentleness, his lack of concern for what had just taken place, as he tenderly lifted each of her arms, washing, then gently ran his big hands up her back, rubbing away the grit there. He had finished with her and started again on his own body when Victory’s curiosity finally got the better of her.

  She let her hands slide under the water to touch the hard flesh against his stomach. Then she froze, biting her lip, wondering if she had gone too far.

  Dragomir hesitated for a second, his body going still, before he continued scrubbing, not even looking up at her.

  Somehow, his lack of response gave her the courage to continue. Victory shifted, slightly, feeling her way down his length to his scrotum. She touched him gently, there, knowing that it was a man’s most sensitive part, that too much pressure could damage, or even kill. She took the tender flesh between her fingers, lifting, cupping the sack with her palm as she examined what it contained, curious.

  When he didn’t stop her, she slid off of his stomach, into the water, and, when he simply kept cleaning his hands and then forearms, she knelt beside him to get a better look. She lowered her face as close as she dared to the surface, peering into the bath. The water was cloudy from the soap, but she thought she could see lumps…

  Clearing his throat, Dragomir pulled himself up onto the ledge she had just occupied, legs spread, dripping. He lifted a knee and started scrubbing, still appearing utterly engrossed in his bath.

  Victory bit her lip, watching his face. When he didn’t scowl or otherwise warn her off, she slid forward to get a better look. He kept washing, scrubbing the dirt and blood from his scabbed knee.

  Heart hammering, now, Victory once again reached out and touched his sensitive flesh. If he noticed, or even cared, he made no sign.

  Swallowing hard, she once again pulled at the loose skin of his sack, watching the egg-shaped lumps move within. She singled one out, took it into her hand, pulled it aside.

  “Gently,” he whispered.

  Victory froze. He was looking at her, now, blue eyes kind, sponge still dripping soap from where it rested against his knee. He gave her a sheepish grin and went back to his ablutions.

  She almost lost her nerve, then. Her heart pounded in her ears like a faulty engine, hammering at her skull like it wanted to break free. What was she doing? He was male and males used these parts to hurt people. She swallowed. She looked down at where her hand held him, her curiosity fighting with the instinct telling her to snatch it away.

  “Go on,” he whispered, still scrubbing.

  Trembling, now, she moved her hand back up the shaft. Heart doing tiny explosions in her chest, she moved it between her fingers. She froze when the skin slid down the shaft, revealing an odd, heart-shaped bulb at the end.

  She felt his sudden intake of breath, but he didn’t look at her. He started scrubbing his calf, then spent extra time on his foot, working the sponge between each toe.

  Victory eased closer, until she was between his knees, his manhood displayed for her on the ledge. She looked up at him nervously, then, when he continued washing, pulled the shaft further from his stomach, so that she could see the individual folds of skin, the odd ridges, the veins, the tiny slit at the top.

  She gasped and lurched backwards as he switched legs, dropping his soapy foot into the water beside her and lifting his other to the ledge. Dragomir glanced at her, then began lathering that leg, too.

  Heart thundering, she laughed nervously.

  Dragomir didn’t seem to notice.

  Victory narrowed her eyes.

  “I know you’re paying attention.”

  Dragomir hesitated in running the sponge across his thigh. Trying not to let his fear show, he looked up at her. He was so terrified that he would make a misstep, that he would return her to that dull-eyed state of shock, that he had almost cried out when he shifted legs and she lunged away from him. He had thought that giving her the opportunity to explore him would help ease her fears.

  Now, though, caught under her accusing green stare, he wondered if he had made a mistake. He was just about to apologize when she said, “Lean back.” It sounded half-command, half plea.

  Dragomir froze, watching her bite her lip, her emerald eyes flickering from his manhood and back to him. She looked like a frightened doe, and he instinctively knew that any stray movement on his part would send her bounding out of the bath. Slowly, he lowered the sponge into the water and leaned his body back against the rim of the tub.

  Once he was settled, she slid forward on her knees slowly, making the water ripple around her. Her face was flushed, her breathing elevated. Dragomir had his shields up, but he didn’t need to be an Emp to know that Victory was terrified. She kept glancing up at him like she thought he was going to suddenly lunge forward and ravish her
.

  Deciding to give her all the time she wanted to explore, Dragomir rested his head against the rim of the tub, staring up at the ceiling. He lowered his other foot into the water and spread his knees apart to give her better access. Offering everything, hiding nothing.

  He heard water dribble in the bath between his calves, and waited. She settled her hot, wet hand around his width and his breath caught. He remained absolutely still as she started her explorations anew, testing, tugging, teasing. Then she began to stroke the shaft, slowly, and his heart started doing laps around his chest. Realizing the slow, purposeful motions for what they were, his startled mind did a somersault. She can’t be… He began sitting up before he caught himself.

  But her hands began to increase their tempo, sliding up and down his length, gripping it with exquisite firmness as she worked his member. His manhood, already painfully sensitive from watching her body rock with pleasure and from the bounty of her delicate taste, was throbbing for release. His balls, already aching from the pressure of the night’s arousal, began to grow heavy as the acute tightness built rapidly under her small, graceful fingers. He felt himself squirm under her attentions, trying not to frighten her, but knowing that he wouldn’t be able to hold himself back for much longer. He’d gone too long without release, the thought not even having crossed his mind in weeks.

  He strained to hold back the automatic pelvic thrusts as Victory relentlessly massaged his manhood. Sweat began to break out over his body as the pressure became intense, the need to release like a building explosion within him. His heart, already hammering against his ribs, was taking flight, picking up speed with the increasing rhythm of her hands. He felt a tiny moan escape his lips before he clamped his jaw tight, determined not to scare her. He knew, though, that he had to say something, soon, or she would probably never speak to him again.

  He opened his mouth to tell her to stop.

  “Go on,” she whispered. “Let go.”

  Something about her soft, reassuring voice released all the triggers within him. His spine and hips surged as the pressure in his balls surrendered. His stomach tightened in an unsuppressable groan as wave after powerful wave worked its way up his manhood, spurting his seed onto his stomach in pulsing tides of pleasure.