Dark Harvest

by Anitra Lynn McLeod

  His abdomen tightened as he pulled himself up as far as he could, so he could see what she was doing. Once he saw her foot twining next to his sex, he rocked his hips and uttered a guttural growl. If the straps had not held him back, he would have grasped her feet and used them to stroke himself to fulfillment. She knew just by the look in his beautiful eyes.

  She was thrilled that she had found a way to delight him so deeply. Moreover, now she had a way to even their erotic games. All he had to do to command her was tease the tip of his tongue to the edge of his mouth. When he did, all she could think of was his talented tongue between her thighs. Now she knew all she had to do was flash him her feet.

  Delicately, she added her other foot until she cradled him between them. His skin was slick, hot, and unbelievably sensual. She never knew how sensitive her feet were until he’d played with them. Carefully, she stroked her feet up and down, gripping him with her toes, pressing her heel against the sensitive area below his balls. More pearly drops of moisture escaped. Sterlave continued to hold himself up as he rocked in time to her movements.

  “Such sweet torture,” she said, pressing her feet together until she gripped him more firmly. Usually by now she’d be worried about her own release, but this time was all about him. Just the thought of spending the entire day with her sex aching aroused her tremendously. Also, she knew that later he would return the favor. Tonight, Sterlave would torture her until she begged for release. He would push her past the point she thought she would break and then, and only then, would he allow her to climax.

  Her excitement compelled her to make movements that were more vigorous. He caught his breath on a gasp, then expelled it slowly in a desperate effort to maintain control, but she wanted him out of control. She longed to see him in his primal state. Wanton. Animal.

  Deftly she rested her calves against his thighs, then bent at the waist so she could use her hands to guide her feet. The combined pressure caused Sterlave to fall back so he could thrust deeply. He swore in a torrent, tugging at his restraints until he caused the straps to cut across the surface of the bed. Afraid she was hurting him, she started to back away, but he begged her to continue.

  “I want to thrust hard between your feet. Press them tightly together, so tight I have to fight to push through.”

  Aroused and curious, she did as he asked.

  Ruthlessly he rocked his hips, forcing his cock between her feet. At first, his violent thrusts tickled, but his intensity stripped her of any mirth. Sterlave strove toward climax. His entire body writhed in need, moving in desperate waves. Drops of moisture oozed from the tip of his cock, slicking her soles. When he slid more easily, she pressed them even closer together.

  His panting breath grew deeper, harsher, then with one last mighty thrust he pushed between her tight feet and climaxed, gushing high in the air, then splattering along her toes.

  Sterlave collapsed. As he tried to catch his breath, he gasped laughter. “I don’t think I’ve ever had a climax that intense.” Wonderment filled his voice. His delighted tone complimented her for her ingenuity and her willingness to experiment.

  “No woman has ever used her feet this way on you?” she asked, leaning back to balance on her hands. She didn’t want to move her feet just yet.

  “Never. And I’ve thought about it many, many times.” He leaned up until he looked right into her eyes. “I’m pleased you are the first and only woman to ever satisfy me this way.”

  A surge of pride straightened her shoulders while a shiver of possessiveness made her reluctant to release him. In a rush, she wanted to keep him bound. She wanted to ensure only she could tease and please him. Their truce from last night reminded her that he did not think of other women, and she had no reason to doubt his word. Still, she wanted to ensure his fidelity. On the other hand, Sterlave was not her father.

  She wondered if all men, deep inside, were the same. Did all men hunger to know a variety of women? Had Sterlave wanted to become the Harvester for just this reason? And honestly, was any man truly happy with one woman? Question after question swirled in her mind until she felt lost in the jumble of words.

  “Kasmiri?” Sterlave said her name softly, as if awakening her from sleep.

  With a shake of her head, she tossed off her introspection. “I’m fine.” A thousand demands already awaited her attention. She leaned forward and freed him with a flick of her finger. Rown had done as she asked and had the clasps redesigned. Before she could move away, Sterlave rose up, wrapped his arms around her torso, and flipped her down on the bed. He swallowed up her protest with a kiss. How she wanted to melt into his embrace and spend the day lost in a haze of pleasure. She couldn’t.

  “I’m sorry, I have to meet with my advisors.” She’d approved the agenda before retiring last night. Today they had multiple issues to attend to, including the repair to her mother’s suite. She sighed. It was her suite now.

  He growled and nipped her lips playfully. “But I want to please you.”

  “Tonight.” She eased out from under him.

  “Is that a promise?”

  “I swear that tonight, you can have your wicked way with me.” Such was a promise she would have no problem keeping.

  With a grin, he flopped back on the bed.

  She bathed, then summoned Rown to help set her hair and put on her makeup. Again, his movements were jerky, as if his muscles were wound too tight. He wouldn’t meet her eyes and gave only nods to her light banter. When she directly asked him what was wrong, he shook his head and scuttled away.

  Her concerned gaze met Sterlave’s. His nod indicated he’d noticed Rown’s odd behavior as well.

  “Go to your meeting. I’ll find out what’s going on.”

  Once Kasmiri swept out of the room, Sterlave slid out of bed. After the nonstop activity yesterday, he didn’t think he’d be able to sleep. One good release with Kasmiri was all he needed. To wake this morning to another was a dream come true. Just thinking about her delicate feet, crimson-tipped toes and all, wrapped around his cock aroused him all over again.

  Only once before had he shared with a woman how much feet excited him. She’d mocked him. Between gales of laughter, she’d denigrated him with vile names and tossed him out of her bed. Of course, she’d done so after he’d pleasured her. Since then, he’d kept his unique interest to himself. Somehow, with Kasmiri, he felt safe. She wasn’t opposed to trying something different. He’d been building up the courage to ask for what she’d done this morning. Lucky was he that his bondmate could read his mind.

  While Sterlave bathed, he repeatedly replayed the moment her foot touched his shaft. He turned the water to cold because if he didn’t, he wouldn’t be able to focus all day. When he exited the bathing unit, Rown was setting a platter on the table. Before he could shuffle away, Sterlave called him over.

  Rown came near but kept his head down. Rown responded to his questions but refused to meet his gaze. Puzzled, Sterlave asked him to help him dress, something that Rown usually enjoyed. Today he practically threw his clothing on him with no lingering sighs or stolen touches.

  “What’s wrong?”

  Rown shook his head and moved to go.

  Sterlave grasped his shoulder. Rown flinched and then shuddered deep into his bones. Instantly, Sterlave removed his hand. Never had Rown reacted to his touch with terror. His greatest fear was hurting this young man and apparently, he had.

  Regret filled him with tremendous shame. “I’m sorry if I hurt you.”

  At that, Rown looked up, shaking his head. “You didn’t hurt me.” Bloodshot eyes only intensified the soft blue of his irises and caused the white shards to seem impossibly bright.

  It was clear he’d been crying. His pale cheeks were chapped, and his lips looked chewed. Even the tip of his nose was red from wiping away the tears. Whatever tormented him was not something minor. Someone had traumatized the normally bubbly, effusive servant into a cowering young man filled with fear.

  Sterlave’s g
ut plummeted when he put it all together.

  “Who hurt you?” There was no other explanation. Someone raped Rown. Sterlave was positive. The flinching from even the gentlest touch, the tears, the slumped shoulders, and the shame-lowered face—Sterlave had done all of those things after Loban’s attack.

  Rown’s eyes went wide, terrified. “No one, it’s nothing. Please, I have chores to attend to.”

  He spun away, but Sterlave grasped his hand. This time he didn’t flinch but clung to him desperately.

  “Tell me, Rown. I can help you.” Sterlave would not let Rown do this alone. If he’d had someone to lean on, perhaps the pain and shame wouldn’t have lingered for quite so long. Chur had tried, but Sterlave’s pride wouldn’t allow him to accept his help. He’d be damned to the nothingness before he’d let Rown suffer alone.

  “I can’t,” Rown whispered. “He said if I told anyone he’d kill you.”

  A bitter taste of fury burned at the back of Sterlave’s throat. Whoever attacked Rown knew how much he cared for Sterlave. To use that against the young man infuriated him. When he caught the bastard who’d hurt Rown, he was going to destroy him.

  “Look at me.” Sterlave encouraged him with a touch to his chin. “No one is going to hurt me.”

  “He will.” Rown glanced away. “He’s crazy.”

  Sterlave considered the information. “What does he look like?”

  Rown shook his head but didn’t let go of his hand. Rown’s hand was so small compared to his. Fragile, even. How could anyone take pleasure in hurting such an innocent?

  Sterlave drew him to the couch so they could sit side by side. Rown sniffed deeply, then rested his head against Sterlave’s shoulder. Carefully, Sterlave wrapped his arm around Rown’s waist. They sat together for a long time in silence until Rown calmed. Sterlave waited, knowing he would talk when he was ready.

  “He was hideous. How could the gods create one so perfectly formed yet still so repulsive?”

  Something about the description jarred a memory. “Was he very pale?”

  “Yes, with tiny bronze blotches. His lips were red, as if smeared with fresh blood.”

  “And the blackest eyes you’ve ever seen.” Sterlave shivered as that horrible night rushed back. Forced into position after position, taking Loban’s verbal and physical abuse as he prayed desperately for him to climax and leave him alone. Endlessly, Loban violated him, and then when he was done, he simply laughed and walked away.

  “How did you know?” Rown lifted his head.

  For a brief moment, Sterlave considered lying. What happened to him was shameful and not something he wished to discuss. However, it wasn’t his fault any more than it was Rown’s fault. All the blame lay squarely on Loban.

  “I know because he raped me too.”

  Rown shook his head in disbelief. “But you’re a Harvester, one of the strongest men in all the empire.”

  “I wasn’t always a Harvester. Three seasons ago, I was simply another raw recruit. Back then I was skinny, undernourished, barely a young man when I arrived in the training rooms. Something about me set Loban off. His predatory eyes followed me everywhere. Whenever it was time to spar, he inevitably chose me as his partner, and then he would pummel me until I begged for surcease. After one such beating, he came to my cell under the pretext of apologizing, and that’s when he raped me.”

  Rown slipped his arm around his waist in comfort. “Why didn’t you tell someone?”

  If he’d known Loban would continue, he would have, just to save someone else from the trauma. “I was afraid he’d do it to me again. Afraid of people looking at me differently, like I was weak, or I deserved it, or worse, that I asked for it.” Sterlave tilted his head down until he caught Rown’s gaze. “I’m telling you because I don’t want you to feel that way too.”

  Rown shook his head. “I won’t, not now.”

  Some of Sterlave’s guilt eased. “Someone found out and I told him the truth, but I begged him not to tell anyone else.” Chur Zenge hadn’t wanted to keep the secret, but he did because he respected Sterlave’s decision. “Thank you for trusting me enough to tell me.”

  Rown nodded, rubbing his chapped cheek against his shoulder. “You won’t tell anyone?”

  “No.” He knew Kasmiri was going to ask about Rown’s behavior. He’d have to tell her something. “How badly are you hurt? Are you bleeding?”

  “He used some kind of oil. I’m sore but not torn.” Rown ducked his head and lowered his voice. “I always thought my first time would be special, with someone who wanted me.”

  Sterlave wished he could undo the damage. Servant or no, Rown’s initial encounter should have been with someone who truly desired him. Sterlave didn’t think he was that man, but if he were his first, he never would have hurt him.

  “He violated everything I am as an ungati.”

  “I don’t understand.” Sterlave’s knowledge of the ungati was limited to what he’d learned in the last few days.

  “By my station I’m not allowed to climax by the hand of another. Only alone and by strict ritual may I seek fulfillment.”

  Sterlave’s brows rose. He had wondered why Rown would willingly participate in his and Kasmiri’s games but always leave before he climaxed. Now he understood. So not only had Loban raped him, but also he’d forced him to go against his code. The idea of forcing him to enjoy the act turned his stomach. At least Loban had not done that to him. But why Rown? There had to be hundreds of ungati servants in the palace. Was it a coincidence that Loban had selected the only one connected to him?

  “Did he follow you from here?” Sterlave asked, thinking it was personal, that Loban had deliberately sought out someone from his house.

  “I don’t know. He came upon me in the tishiary.” At Sterlave’s blank look, he explained, “Where the servants gather to clean their master’s clothing, bathe, and gossip.”

  “Did he know who you were?”

  Rown shook his head. “He would know I was of the empress due to the crimson sash on my robe.” Delicately, Rown trailed his fingertips over the elaborately embroidered sash. “All who see me know my mistress.”

  They’d also know your master, Sterlave thought. But why after all this time would Loban seek revenge on him? Not once had Sterlave sought him out for payback. Only one ugly incident, where Chur had challenged Loban in a misguided attempt to honor Sterlave, had ever occurred. Even that was not at Sterlave’s behest. Chur acted out of his own indignity at Loban’s rude words that denigrated the role of Harvester. When the two fought and Loban cheated, the recruits hauled him away, placing him kneel bound in the gannett. When Sterlave discovered those same recruits raping Loban, he stopped them and released Loban. At that moment, Sterlave considered the entire mess ended. Apparently, he’d been wrong. But why after he’d saved him would Loban desire revenge?

  “I don’t want you to go there anymore. I’ll send—” He cut himself off. He couldn’t send anyone until he knew if Loban would continue to attack those who worked for him. With a shock, he bolted straight up, dislodging Rown from his shoulder.

  Rown recovered himself, and asked, “What?”

  “Kasmiri.”

  19

  Kasmiri faced her advisors. Around an open pit, what everyone called the circle, seating went from high to low depending on that person’s station. She sat in the highest and most luxurious chair. Her two personal guards loomed behind her.

  At face height before each person floated a blue screen that flashed data, diagrams, and charts—information to explain whatever topic of discussion they’d reached. Half a day into the meeting, after they’d discussed how to repair the damage left by the horde of peasants, and a multitude of minor issues, the bulk of the advisors left. They would see to the resolutions by passing on her edicts to the workers. A handful of her closest people turned their attention to the repair of the empress suite.

  Helton Ook, someone her mother installed as the head of the palace guard right before she
died, sat several levels down from her. His sooty gray eyes calmly assessed everything and everyone. Distressed by his bulky appearance, Kasmiri tried not to look at him, but she couldn’t seem to stop. He was so oddly formed that her gaze continually tried to understand how he could move without pain. His shock of white hair made him seem old, but he possessed the grace of a much younger man. Bulky muscles crossed his shoulders, swallowing up his neck, so he had to move his entire upper body to turn his head. His arms were too short, his legs too long, but there was something so familiar about him. When he caught her staring, she turned her attention elsewhere.

  Her gaze fell on Ambo.

  Ambo had stumbled in late, then collapsed gratefully into his seat. All throughout the meeting, Ambo continued to shift uneasily in his chair, as if he couldn’t sit still but didn’t want to leave. Back and forth he rocked, with his hands cupped around his distended belly, almost as if he were comforting himself. For once, he wasn’t picking his nose. In fact, every time his hand crept up, he would wince and forcefully lower it, as if someone were hitting him. He’d paid no attention to the problems under discussion and barely glanced at his information screen. Lost in his own little world, Ambo did not respond to Kasmiri’s question until she shouted his name.

  Ambo startled. “What?” He hit her with huge, terrified eyes. For several moments, he forgot to blink, then did so in rapid succession.

  “I asked for an account of the royal treasury.” Her mother, her grandmother, and all the women back for generations had contributed to the royal account. With a multitude of galactic investments over several thousand seasons, the total must be more than she could comprehend.

  With shaking hands, he reached for his touch screen. Page after page whisked by, but no information was forthcoming.

  “I can’t seem to locate the file.” Ambo stopped his halfhearted effort. He darted a glace to Helton, then clutched his hands together, dropping them into his lap.