Courting Kel

by Dee Brice

  Withdrawing his fingers, he stroked them up her body then held them under her nose. She inhaled a light caill scent from her bath coupled with a hint of musk. He smiled and lowered his gaze to her lips, a silent command for her to open her mouth. She did and licked her juices from his fingers. He watched her with that same intensity as when he’d bright her to climax. That look alone made her pant.

  “Let me,” she said, reaching for his cock, “return the favor.”

  Shaking his head, he rested his chin on her thigh, shifted until his cock kissed her cheek. He lifted her, deposited on top of him with her thighs on either side of his face, her knees on the mattress.

  “Lick me, Flame. Suck me while I eat you. We’ll share our favors.”

  “I-I don’t see how that’s possible.” Her blush told him she remembered doing this before, but she wouldn’t admit it.

  “Lick me and find out. Again.”

  Still thinking it impossible to make it better than it had been before, she tilted his rigid cock toward her face then licked its length, lapping precum from its tip. His musky scent drew her like bees to flowers. His salty taste reminded her of the brutteunt she’d fed on in the snow. Lifting her hips, circling his cock base with one hand, she slid down his body and took him into her mouth. And almost choked on him when his tongue flicked over her clit.

  “Told you.” His lips vibrated against her labia, making her laugh around his cock. Then everything except the pleasure they gave each other blurred into nothingness.

  On the verge of another climax, she shouted when he pulled her away then rolled her to her back.

  “Lie on your belly,” he said, sitting on its heels, his magical hands on his powerful thighs. His cock… The sight of him made her ache with need.

  “I’m a puddle. You can’t move a puddle, Aren.”

  “Bet I can.” Parting her legs, he eased his cock inside her, slid so deep his balls rubbed her swollen, sensitive labia. Slipping his hands under her shoulders and hips, he rolled to his back.

  “Ahh,” she sighed, wiggling her bottom and feeling his cock pulse in her pussy.

  “I guess the puddle contained some clay and has now reformed into a more substantial body.”

  “A body that wants to ride.”

  “As we rode in our dream—”

  “That wasn’t a dream.”

  “Are you sorry?”

  “If you don’t shut up, you’ll be sorry,” she threatened, gliding up his cock as if intending to dismount.

  Grasping her hips, he eased her down. “Put some pillows behind my back and I’ll give you pleasure you’ve not yet known.”

  Eyeing him warily, she complied. When he half sat, her breasts rubbed against his chest and she felt as if his cock curved deeper inside her pussy.

  “Mmm.”

  “Good?”

  “Yes.” A breathless agreement.

  “Then you’ll like this even more.” Pressing her breasts together, he lapped each nipple in quick succession. She squirmed, her pussy tightening around his cock.

  She moaned. “I…need…”

  “Let go, Flame. Look at me and fly.”

  “Y-you too.”

  As if he’d needed her permission, he drove into her. His balls slapped against her heated core. His groans mingled with her own. Even their juices made a sound like kniqudac made when it sucked a body to its death, to her mind now more like a song that drove them together again and again. The scent of their mingling musk created a perfume she would remember all her life.

  Biting her lower lip, she gazed into his eyes. His pupils dilated to fill his eyes with need. Dark. So dark it seemed he drew her into the blackest hole in the galaxy. And yet…beneath the devouring lust she saw tenderness and longing. Caring and myriad other emotions she was powerless to define. But she knew…knew in every fiber of her being that he was meant for her.

  * * * * *

  Castle Storr

  When Basalia finally appeared on his vidscreen, Storr was struck anew by her beauty. The years had been kind, having left only a few lines around her eyes and mouth, that single streak of silver in her hair. Had he noticed any of those small signs of aging before? On a subliminal level, perhaps. If he’d consciously noticed he might have accompanied Aren and his bride to Amazonia. The woman still had the power to arouse him.

  “What troubles you, Storr?”

  Taken aback by the kindness in her voice, he said, “You make me feel old.”

  “You, old? Never!”

  The teasing glint in her emerald eyes made him chuckle. “If what Aren believes is true, we are about to become grandparents.”

  “Very young grandparents.”

  “Has your daughter…? Has Keleos accepted this marriage and her possible pregnancy?”

  “She and Aren are considering where to live.”

  Storr grunted. If he insisted their children must live on Ondrican, he’d lose any chance for peace. Basalia might look like an angel this morning but her red hair reminded him she could turn devil in an instant.

  “There is that planet,” he began cautiously.

  “Halfway between our worlds,” she finished, a smug grin flashing dimples in her right cheek. “That would solve the immediate problem. For our children at least.”

  “Yes. But when we die…”

  They lapsed into silence, each weighted by inherited responsibilities.

  Basalia finally broke the morose quiet. “In the books invaders left behind I have read about democracies.”

  “Too unstable,” Storr muttered.

  “Constitutional monarchies?”

  “Mmm.”

  Basalia rubbed the frown from her forehead. “We cannot decide for ourselves, let alone for three planets whose people must live in harmony.”

  “Maybe we should leave that to our—”

  “Granddaughter.”

  “Grandson.”

  They exchanged smiles.

  She sighed. “I hope Keleos doesn’t come to hate me for this whole charade.”

  “It’s too late to change our minds now. We agreed we wouldn’t force them into marriage.”

  “Then you should have kept Aren away from her longer.”

  “How could I know he’d go to meet The Herald? How could I have prevented that?” He paced beyond her view, allowing himself to regain his composure. Basalia still had the power to get under his skin and goad him into anger. Returning to where she could see him, he said, “How could either of us know the attraction would bring them together that fast?”

  For a brief moment fondness shone in her eyes. “It happened just as quickly for us. Had I not been too young for mating…”

  “I could be Kel’s father and we wouldn’t be in this predicament.”

  “Perhaps not. Or we might be seeking suitable mates for our own two children.”

  “Finding one is difficult enough.”

  Basalia’s sigh again drew his gaze to her face “Were it not for this guanshit feud between our planets making them natural enemies, we could have introduced them. Let the attraction run its course without our interference.”

  “Yes, but we’ll no longer have to war with one another once our children—”

  “Stop their own war with each other!”

  Storr cleared his throat. “Has Aren learned he is, in fact, on Amazonia?”

  “Not yet. Tage must be very clever to fool Aren’s ship to bring him here.”

  “A tweak here, another there,” Storr said, unwilling to reveal more. Aren had limited piloting skills and Storr wanted to keep it that way. One relative gallivanting around the galaxy was enough. He didn’t want or need his son to follow suit. “Besides, I think Aren had other things on his mind.”

  Basalia snorted. “I’ll just bet he did.” And so, I suspect, did Keleos.

  Chapter Eleven

  The Next Morning

  Aren stirred when he felt Kel leave the bed. She soothed him with a gentle touch at his forehead and a soft kiss on his che
ek. He fell back into deep, dreamless slumber, awakening only when sunlight touched him. Reaching out for her, he discovered cold and vacant sheets.

  A twinge of unease hit his belly. Had Kel run away to escape their pending discussion—the one they’d agreed to put off until this morning? How would she react when she discovered that this Amazonia was only part of her homeworld, created solely to prove the prophecy cloth’s truths?

  Perhaps his feelings of being off balance were the result of lying to her. Perhaps she’d left him only to talk with Basalia in private. If Kel were pregnant, most likely he would find her in the queen’s quarters, sipping herbal tea and munching on something to settle her stomach. He remembered his mother doing so in the early stages of her pregnancies.

  Having dealt with his morning ablutions, he went in search, his panic growing when each guard and servant claimed not to have seen their princess. Uncertain where to look, he stalked to Basalia’s quarters and paced before her massive doors. Storr never saw anyone before ten although he rose much earlier. Unless one were in dire straits, no one dared to disturb him. Deciding Kel’s absence constituted an emergency, Aren rapped on the door and strode inside.

  Basalia glanced up then waved him deeper into her receiving room. Her expression bland, she motioned him to a chair in front of a massive desk that hadn’t been there the night before. A dozen or more parchment scrolls cluttered its surface, a clear indication that someone on Amazonia knew how to write—even if they had no written history.

  He sat but soon grew restive. He paced to the curved windows and looked out at the vast courtyard where Basalia’s warriors battled one another with intense ferocity. Spying Kel, a sword raised high above her head, he swore and headed for the door.

  “Stay,” Basalia said, her voice soft but commanding.

  “If she is pregnant… She risks her life.”

  “Unless you’re willing to risk your own life, you’ll leave her alone.” Dipping a quill pen into her inkwell, Basalia signed the parchment, sanded it and affixed her seal to it. Leaning back in her chair, she regarded him as if taking his measure.

  He studied her as well. This morning her hair flowed over her shoulders, her tresses rioting curls of red-gold. The sun revealed other strands of silver unseen before. Her patrician nose and sculpted cheekbones bore a smattering of freckles. Just like Kel, Aren thought, approving the modest, high-waisted gown that accented Basalia’s creamy chest and bosom without revealing much of either. Her eyes, last night the same emerald green as her dress, this morning matched one of pale green with hints of gold. He found himself wondering if her eyes would swirl with other colors if she grew angry.

  “Keleos is fighting her feelings for you,” Basalia said at last. “She is also fighting the customs of this world—customs she grew up expecting to follow all her life.”

  “Fighting, fucking and bearing female children. To fight and fuck—”

  “Ad nauseam.” Basalia’s smile seemed rueful. “We need to change our customs, Aren. Otherwise Amazonia, like Ondrican not so long ago, will face extinction. More and more of my women bear sons. Sons who leave with their fathers. As is our custom.”

  “While Ondrican suffers a lack of females—women and daughters.”

  She granted him another rueful smile. “Your father and I recognized the need for change years ago. We remained at odds as to how to resolve the problem until…” She shrugged. “You and Keleos matured and the time of The Choosing drew nearer.”

  Aren grunted. “Kel’s involuntary relocation being the beginning of your schemes to solve the problem of both homeworlds.”

  “Yes,” Basalia agreed.

  “It began years before,” Kel said, slamming the curved doors so hard the windows rattled. “You deliberately kept me from mating for years after other young women had taken their first lovers. Didn’t you, Mother?”

  Aren had no idea where Kel had found the vest and pants she wore. But she’d borrowed them from someone much larger than she. The violent pink blouse clashed with her hair—redder, now, and sweat-drenched.

  Basalia tilted her head, watching Kel as she strode across the wide room. “Yes.”

  “Why?” Kel demanded, her face flushed, her voice belligerent.

  Aren took Kel’s arm then pressed her into his chair. She glared up at him but took the goblet of water he offered her.

  “On Ondrican, during The Choosing men and women may fuck with whomever. Everyone, even the future king. Until he marries. His mate—his wife—”

  “Must be a virgin,” Kel said bitterly. She gulped the water, swiping her mouth with her forearm.

  “Keleos,” Basalia warned.

  Kel glared, sat up straighter and put her hands in her lap, the goblet between them. She looked like a little girl reminded of her manners.

  Aren coughed, hiding a grin behind his hand.

  “A virgin, yes,” he said agreeably. “On Ondrican, parentage matters.”

  “But the princesses—”

  “Could have been pregnant with a suitor’s child when they arrived on Ondrican, yes. A suitor from their homeworlds.”

  “Or Tage,” Kel muttered, her fingers clenching around the goblet.

  “All the princesses who agreed to immigrate to Ondrican are either widows or daughters far removed from ruling on their own worlds. All of whom have already relinquished their virginity.”

  “But they are still granted their choice of mates.” Kel shot him yet another glare.

  “Because—” His anger flaring, Aren raked his hair and flashed a glare of his own. “I am done excusing my customs, Kel.” Turning to Basalia, he sketched a bow. “If I may borrow a horse, Majesty, I would like to see more of Amazonia.”

  “Explore where you will,” the queen replied.

  Without looking at Kel, Aren departed, his teeth clench so tight his jaw ached.

  “Aren!” Kel shouted. Ignored, she glowered at Basalia. “No man rides here. No man has free rein to come and go as he pleases.”

  “Get used to it, Keleos. The changes I intend to make—that Storr intends to make as well—are long overdue.” Cocking an eyebrow, Basalia asked, “Has Aren mistreated you? Beaten you? Raped you?”

  Kel closed her gaping mouth. “In truth, he has done little I did not welcome. If anything disturbs me, it’s his kindness. I find it most distressing that he never—seldom—loses his temper. Even—” Her lips twitched. “When I behave like a spoiled little girl.”

  “You?” Basalia teased.

  “More often than I wish to admit.” Kel sighed as she watched Basalia’s smile widened. “You want me to accept him, don’t you?”

  “For Amazonia, yes. For you…most definitely.”

  “Why? Why for me, Mother?”

  Shaking her head, Basalia shrugged. “I believe Aren is a fair man. Unlike Storr, even when Aren disagrees with you I believe he will listen and weigh your opinions along with his own.”

  “Then do exactly as he pleases. Just like Storr.”

  “They are men, Keleos, and rulers. Indecisiveness can, and too often does, lead to chaos. Or worse, civil unrest.”

  “Here, Mother?”

  “Even here, Keleos. Of late I have noticed many warriors mourning the loss of their sons and lovers. The idea of new lovers and other babies no longer appeals to them. They seem to suffer some malady that sucks the spirit from them.”

  “What malady? Are you…? Do you suffer this illness, Mother?” Kel had always believed Basalia immortal. But this confession, the longing in her mother’s voice and eyes filled Kel’s heart with dread. Basalia couldn’t die. Not now, when Kel still needed her mother’s wisdom. Not now! Not ever! Yes, she’d trained to succeed Basalia but this…her mother’s surrender to mortality, left Kel drowning in her own uncertainty. She wasn’t ready to rule.

  Basalia’s smile seemed wan. “I have suffered it for many, many years. Ever since Storr first visited Amazonia. Had your grandmother’s warriors failed to pull him from my arms, he would have bec
ome my first lover. Perhaps my only lover.”

  “You love Aren’s father?” Even to herself, Kel sounded incredulous.

  Basalia chuckled. “I lusted for him all those years ago. I lust for him still.”

  “B-but…why haven’t you slipped away for a secret rendezvous?”

  “When? Soon after Storr returned to Ondrican, his father commanded him to marry. He had no way to contact me. His father forbade it and ensured Storr had no means of communicating with Amazonia. Even if he could have gotten word to me, my mother would not have consented to our marriage. I was a queen in training. She would not—could not—let me go.”

  “But Aunt Gracia is older than you,” Kel objected.

  Basalia fingered a lock of her hair. “Older, true. But my sister lacked the ruler’s mark.”

  “Wh-what ruler’s mark?”

  “Gracia’s hair is dark. Yours, like mine and your grandmother’s, is red. As was every queen’s in our history. Aren’s hair and eyes are dark like Storr’s, which is why Tage, although older than Aren, cannot rule Ondrican. Tage lacks the ruler’s mark.”

  Shocked, Kel fought to breathe. “Tage is Storr’s son?”

  “No. Tage isn’t Storr’s son but his older brother’s. Who, like my older sister Gracia, bears no resemblance to our mother.” Basalia shrugged. “As absurd as it seems, both our worlds are steeped in tradition. It matters little what abilities our descendents have, only that their appearance…conforms to our antecedents.”

  Relieved, Kel gulped. “Do you know that Storr has at least six other sons who bear his mark?”

  Basalia laughed. “It doesn’t surprise me, Keleos. It does, however, make me want him. Perhaps I can have a girl from him at last.”

  “Mother!” Kel protested through her laugh. “Still… Why haven’t you slipped away to be together?”

  “When have we had time to do so? Storr sends some men here to learn what most pleases a woman sexually. Some of my warriors go to Ondrican. There, unlike here where I choose their mates, they decide. Storr and I are so busy governing, we have little time to think about each other. If he thinks of me at all, it’s most likely with resentment.”