by Jane Henry
Will I ever get accustomed to the ways of Avalere?
Do I want to?
To my surprise, I see a small door has been left ajar behind the bathtub. I quietly walk over and realize that the door is an exit to the garden, perhaps to allow servants to tend to this room without having to go through the main rooms and disturb the king. There is a silver key still in the lock, but on the inside of the door, so no guard outside would see me take it. Without a second thought, I remove the key and hide it deep in the recesses of my tunic, then I walk into the king’s chambers. There is a wine-colored rug that lines the hardwood floor between his bed and the desk. I kneel, lift the edge, and quickly slip the key beneath the carpet. Then I stand, straighten my shoulders, and prepare for the evening ahead.
Night has fallen. I feel like I have lived several lives just today. My body has been played and hummed with need, released and driven to both punishment and pleasure, and now he has further plans for me. What will the evening bring? I leave my bathing area, feeling magnificent in my soft tunic, gorgeous undergarments, my own scent invading my senses and leaving me lightheaded, almost dream-like. I find Lystava has left me with a few small things to eat, a large cut-glass pitcher filled with cold water, and a few books by my bed. I do not know when Aldric returns, but I am tired after my long day.
I pick up a small, flat, slightly browned biscuit and nibble. It is light but sweet, and tastes delicious. I finish that, and take the glass of ice water. I sigh, feeling refreshed and relaxed, as I lie upon the bed, waiting for my king. I don’t recall ever having felt so relaxed in all my life and wonder if the scented bath was enchanted. As I lay back upon the silken pillows, I think of the time that I have spent here on Avalere. I have mentally resisted allowing myself to enjoy being here. At first, I could not reconcile what I knew of Avalere and my own desire for freedom and independence, cleanliness, and modern conveniences. But here, though I am the property of a man, subject to his dictates and my free will removed, I feel alive. My senses are awash in what surrounds me, my present circumstance a vivid reminder of how different things are here on Avalere. My skin feels soft, my body warm, and it feels nice as I close my eyes, allowing myself the freedom to smell, hear, and taste. I realize with both a sudden pang and wonder that I do not miss much about Freanoss anymore. What I miss now above all is my own autonomy. If I were to stay here on Avalere, would I ever reconcile being mated to the Warrior King? And on Freanoss—was I truly free?
But haven’t the Avalerians harmed my people? I was told that they came to my planet of their own accord, stealing from our rich natural resources. My very presence here is due to their theft, and yet… I no longer believe those claims to be true. I am unsettled. The room is warm and I have experienced oh so very much today. I close my eyes and rest my head against the soft pillow. It is dark, the blanket warm, a fire flickering in the grate to my left. I feel lulled by the scent of my bath. With much on my mind and heart, I close my eyes.
* * *
I am in the forest by the Wise One, and there are people following me at my heels. I cannot see their faces, but I feel them. I feel him. I am on my knees, and the rain begins to fall, cold, biting rain unlike what we ever experience in Freanoss. I dig feverishly through the leaves, as I know it’s here, I know I left it, my communication device. If I could only find it. And then I see a gleam of moonlight hit my bag. With a gasp, I throw off the wet leaves from the pack and quickly move to use it. I must be quick, before those in pursuit of me find me. But the moment my finger hits the button, I hear him.
“Little one.” His voice is deep, the husky tone halting me in my feverish movements.
No one until him has ever called me little one. My eyes shut tight, my breath coming in gasps, as I feel his enigmatic pull.
He is so strong.
But he owns you.
He cares for me.
Only as your property.
He makes me feel alive. He protects me. No harm shall come to me if I am his.
But you are not free.
Then his voice comes lower, stern, but there’s pleading in his voice now. “Carina.”
I turn to him, and he is already by my side, his touch tender as he reaches for my neck, rubbing his fingers along my skin. He looks at the device in my hand and sadness flits across his features. He frowns, trying to be stern. His hand on my neck tightens, and he grips the back of my head, pulling me to him as his mouth crashes on mine. His lips move in time with mine, his tongue exploring and plundering.
It is then that I wake with a start, and realize the room is completely darkened. He is above me, invading my senses, one hand wrapped around my waist, and one around the back of my neck. It is late evening, and my king has returned. He pulls his mouth off mine and whispers in my ear, “You were dreaming, my sweet. What were you dreaming about?”
I cannot tell him. I merely place my hands on his broad shoulders and grip him as his hands span my waist, his eyes probing. Though I don’t respond, he is distracted suddenly as a stream of moonlight falls on my tunic. He sits up, reaches for something on the table beside the bed, and there is a flare of light as he strikes a match. Candlelight flickers. His eyes roam my body as the light brightens the room, joining the flickering of the fire at the grate, and then he returns to me, sitting on the other side of the bed and pulling me to him.
“Lystava has bathed you?” he asks. I nod my head as I snuggle up on his chest. If I am to only have this last night with him, then I will enjoy it, every minute, his strength and power.
“Yes, my lord,” I murmur.
“And you ate, little one?”
“A little, my lord,” I say, allowing my fingers to roam the breadth of his large, muscled chest, then lower to where his stomach flattens.
He growls low. “Does my sweet have an appetite of a different nature to be sated?”
I moan low, a mere purr as I nod against his chest, heat already pulsing between my thighs just being near to him like this.
One of his large hands travels to my tunic and he plays along the edge, raising it. I squirm at his touch, arousal pooling at my core, as he tugs it up and reveals the lace-edged undergarments. He gives an appreciative growl and explores the edge with one large, rough finger. The touch is exquisite; I am immediately aroused.
“You were dreaming,” he repeats, not a question but a statement. I nod, my body tensing. Will he probe more? I offer no details.
“Your body tenses,” he says gently, oh so gently, his thumb running over the silk center of my panties. He flicks over my tender mound and my breath comes in shallow gasps. I want more. I want it now. I want him.
“My lord,” I whisper.
“What did you dream of, little one?”
I close my eyes and shake my head.
“She wishes not to tell me,” he murmurs. “Then it is likely something that would earn my disapproval.” The lowness of his voice combined with the flicking of his thumb makes me moan out loud. I want more pressure, and no more touching along the edge of the fabric but beneath.
“Is that true, little one?” he asks. “Were you dreaming of something of which I would not approve?” I do not respond. His fingers flex on the edge, then dip to my thighs. I yelp as he gently pinches my inner thigh. “Answer me,” he commands. “Was it about another man?”
Shocked at his question, my mouth drops open. “Certainly not, my lord.”
He smoothes his hand on the outside of my leg, gently moving from the top downward, toward my knee, then back up again, traveling to the innermost part of my thigh, as one hand wraps around my leg so the tips of his fingers graze the edge of my bottom. His voice is stern. “Did you disobey me in your dream?” he asks.
I hesitate but finally blurt out an answer. “Perhaps,” I said. “I am not sure.”
He pauses, his hand drawing circles on my thigh. “Perhaps,” he repeats. “Hmmm. In your dream, did you try to get away from me?”
I turn my head to the side and merely nod. I do n
ot wish to deceive him but I feel strangely guilty, even though it was only my dream. He would not punish me for a dream… would he? To my surprise, his finger reaches for my panties and gently pushes them to the side, one finger exploring my folds. My back arches, my legs falling apart wide open.
“Your honesty will be rewarded, Carina. And I’ll not punish you for wanting to leave me.” His voice softens, as he leans down and kisses the uppermost part of my thigh. “It is natural to want to be home,” he says, his voice lowering as his mouth finds his way to my navel and he kisses me there. “I will, however, do everything I can so that you no longer wish to leave my side.” He braces himself up and over me, lowering his mouth to my legs, his rough, bearded jaw tickling my thighs. He kisses the silk of my panties right at my mound. My hips jerk, my back arching, and I am already near release. Ever so gently, he moves the silk to the side, revealing my sex to him. Slowly, his tongue flicks out and he laps lazily at my mound. His tongue hits my bud, my hips jerk, and I gasp, but he immediately pulls away. He sits up, looking at me with that wicked gleam I’ve come to recognize as dangerous.
“You wish for me to pleasure you with my mouth,” he says. “I certainly will, my sweet. But first, you must be prepared.” He is standing, walking away from me, and I feel bereft. What has he done? Has he taken me to the edge like this, only to leave me here? And haven’t I already been prepared for this by being bathed by Lystava?
He leaves the room, and I feel as if the warmth has gone out, my heart thundering in my chest. My fingers urge to explore the wet folds he’s left pulsing with desire, but I know that if I do, I will be punished. I squeeze my thighs together. Somehow, if I ignore my desperate need for him, I can handle this, this exquisite torture. I close my eyes and count backward from ten, then twenty, then I recite my given number and I.D. R-482. Carina. R-482. Carina.
I hear his footsteps approach. I sit up, opening my eyes. In his hands, he has two things: a steaming mug and a gleaming silver razor. Over his shoulder is a soft white cloth.
I push myself back on the bed, away from him.
What is he prepared to do?
“Come here, Carina,” he orders simply, coming to the side of the bed. He places his mug and razor down, and leans close to me. He brushes a strand of hair back from my face, and pushes my thighs apart.
“Do you trust me?” he asks. I look into his eyes, and I don’t know the answer. This is a man who has whipped me, taken me as his, and confined me to his quarters. He’s insisted on my utmost obedience. But he has also raised a sword in my name, prepared to slice the head off a man who kissed me, ready to kill another man who harmed me. I belong to no one but him, and if he has his way, I never shall.
This is the man who wiped away my tears, held me to his chest while I wept, and named me. I am his Carina, his little one. He stands above me with a gleaming razor demanding to know if I trust him.
“I don’t know,” I say.
Though his eyes harbor a touch of sadness, his lips quirk up. “So brave,” he whispers. “So honest.”
He stands between my legs, his eyes never leaving mine. “It is my desire that after this evening, you trust me all the more. Bend your legs at the knees, and keep them still,” he says.
I obey, while his fingers grip the edge of my panties and remove them. I am now bare to him, embarrassed that I am not fully clean-shaven. He places the cloth on me, and I gasp at the feel. It is steaming hot, but not so hot it is painful.
“I must ready you,” he whispers. I stare at him as his dark eyes challenge me.
“Yes, my lord,” I whisper.
He removes the cloth and tips a small bottle into his hand. A smooth, creamy liquid seeps onto his palm. He smoothes his palm over my sex. The liquid is warm and smells like vanilla. His fingers massage it into my skin, then one finger dips between my folds. I gasp as he rakes upward, my nerves suddenly vibrating.
“Already wet,” he growls, now grinning at me, his eyes heated. The light of the candle flickers on the silver handle of his razor. My eyes widen as he holds my gaze. I can hardly breathe for the anticipation.
“You came to me bare,” he says in a voice like a low purr. “You came to me shaven. As the air of Avalere fills your lungs and the fire of my home warms your limbs, your body returns to its natural state.” I squirm at his words. “Allow me to make you bare again,” he says, with a pause, before he says, “For me.”
I swallow, my mouth suddenly dry. Before I even know what I am doing, I nod, a quick bow of the head, my breath catching in my throat. He bends down to me, his warm, strong body pressed close against mine. “My sweet, trust me.”
“Yes, my lord,” I whisper. His lips brush my forehead. Before I can move, the sharp edge of the blade is on the sensitive skin at the top of my thigh. Down, down, he drags the blade. I feel the slow but painless scrape along my moistened skin. I draw in another shaky breath as he dips the blade in the cup of warm water and wipes it on the cloth, then returns to me, his brow furrowed in concentration, making him look stern and foreboding. I grip the edge of bed.
He takes the blade and again draws it along my skin. I feel the pull and then the smoothness. Removing the blade, he runs a thumb along the smoothed skin there. My sex throbs with need, but he gives me merely the lightest touch before his blade returns. He opens my folds and swipes the blade so slowly, so gently at the very edge, removing every bit of roughness. I close my eyes. He is so near me now that I can feel his breath as he bends over his work, alternating presses of the warm cloth and soothing liquid before the cool scrape of the razor. So slowly, so gently, he works. I squeeze my eyes shut, breathing in, then out.
“Good girl,” he croons. “You will be rewarded for your obedience and trust, little one.”
With every scrape of the razor, every touch of his hand, my pussy aches, the heat of my sex pulsing with every touch of his finger, until I am near ready to climax.
“I can smell you,” he growls. “I need to taste you, to see if my work has been done well.”
He places the razor in the mug and lays the cloth next to it, dropping to his knees in front of me. He drapes one of my legs over each of his shoulders. My legs tremble. Though I am warm, I am shaking as his mouth and rough whiskers graze the soft skin of my inner thigh.
“So sweet,” he whispers, then pauses, his gentle gaze capturing mine. “Relax, little one,” he says. “You’ve done so well.” Leaning in, he flicks his tongue along my slit. I moan out loud, fisting the blanket, the feel so exquisite. He pulls my sensitive bud into his mouth and sucks, then releases me, circling me with his tongue, slowly, up and down, as I close my eyes and sigh. I can hardly bear it.
“My lord,” I murmur. “Aldric.”
He growls. The king likes when I call him by name, here in the recesses of our room. I am building to release, and if he tells me this time I cannot climax, I know I will die. He swirls his tongue on my nub, flicking then sucking, alternating the wicked, exquisite torture until I can hardly bear it. My hips are straining so that he must hold them in his firm grip as he laps and sucks, lazy, powerful strokes of his tongue that undo me. My nerves are on edge, so taut I’m going to lose my mind.
“My lord,” I gasp. “I… I—” I don’t know what to say. My body is humming with need, shocks of ecstasy flooding my senses, but I know I haven’t yet reach the cusp, my need still not sated, the release before my climax more delicious than I thought possible. He eats at my sex hungrily, his whole mouth taking me in, then he moves back and licks again before he flicks against my most sensitive parts, my hips rising to meet his mouth. To my shock, the fingers grasping my thighs shift, and before I know what is happening, he plunges one into my core as he sucks hard.
“May I?” I beg, a near sob with desperation, and he moves himself back from me just long enough to growl, “Yes,” before his mouth comes back to my sex. My body thrums with a climax so powerful I scream his name, waves of pleasure flooding my senses. I do not realize at first that the scream I
hear is my own, I am so consumed with the vivid, intense release. I finally settle back down, utterly exhausted, unable to lift my head or limbs. I realize he is cleaning me, wiping me with a damp cloth, then drying me before he lifts me in his arms and tucks me under the blanket.
“Drink, little one,” he says, holding a cup of water to my lips. I obey, unable to do anything but what he says. I am utterly exhausted.
“My lord,” I say weakly, unable to move, as the spasms of pleasure have weakened me. I cannot move.
“No more speaking, Carina,” he orders. But how can I not speak? He has brought me to ecstasy, but thinks nothing of his own pleasure.
“But I—” I begin, but a quick, hard swat from him has my mouth clamping shut.
“I said no more speaking,” he reminds me, wagging a stern finger at me. I merely nod. “You sleep now, little one,” he urges. “I leave early in the morning. In my absence, I expect that you will obey those I have set as your watch.”
I nod.
“Lystava will oversee your needs. My men will be stationed here to attend to everything else.”
I frown. He raises a stern brow. “I expect your obedience, Carina. You know this.”
I nod.
“Tonight, take your fill of me,” he says. “Now rest.”
I have no idea what tomorrow will bring, but I am prepared. I know what it is I must do.
* * *
It is the absence of his strong, warm body next to mine that wakes me. I pretend I am still sleeping as he moves nearly soundlessly around the room. I wait until he leaves the room a moment to relieve himself, and I look about. It is easy to locate an extra pillow. I slip out of the tunic I am wearing and quickly locate a simple tunic I can wear for the purposes of travel and work, a more rustic one. I quickly sneak back under the covers and pull them up over my shoulder as he comes back in the room. I yawn, and shift a bit on the bed.
“Are you leaving now, my lord?” I whisper. He comes quickly to the bed and reaches for me. I allow myself to feel the strength of his embrace one last time.
