by Chloe Cole
I breathed in the clean, heady scent of him that was singularly Connor. Leather and lemons, if I had to name it. I shook my head, trying not to get caught up in it so I might stay on top of the conversation. "Massage-wear? What in the world is that?"
He led me out of my room and down the hall to where his room was located and, I couldn't deny, my heartbeat kicked up a fuss.
"When I traveled the world a few years back to see Michael, I came across a band of shifters--leopards, they were. Each band consisted of around twenty cats, but there were dozens of bands scattered across a five hundred-mile desert-like territory. Needless to say, they scuffled quite a bit over water and land. Mostly, they didn't fight to the death, but the females had taken to treating their warriors with a rub down at the end of a tough battle. They'd bathe them, and rub the soreness from their muscles, keeping them distracted as their bodies healed."
My nipples went tight beneath my dress as I reflexively closed my hand more tightly over Connor's arm. "Bathe them? Is...is that what the lesson is today? I'm to--" The words stuck in my throat as carnal images rushed in from every direction. I tried to force them out but nothing came out except a strangled groan.
Connor either ignored or didn't notice my distress and continued on smoothly. "No, not today. Mainly because, if you've bathed yourself or had a maid bathe you, you've probably got an idea of how that should go. Today, we'll focus on the massage portion of things. That's a skill that the king will appreciate after days in the saddle or after a long battle, don't you think?"
I nodded dumbly as he led me through an open door at the end of the hall.
"This is my room," he said, gesturing around absently. "I chose it because I've got a special table used for precisely this purpose. It makes it easier."
I was pretty sure nothing would make this exercise easier. I hadn't even touched him yet, and already I was tingling from head to toe, my breath coming in short pants.
"Why don't you strip down while I get some lotion, all right?" he asked, releasing me and crossing the room toward the bathroom.
I stared after him, mouth opening and closing like a beached carp.
Strip down?
Lotion?
I'd massaged plenty of birthing animals on the farm, and I didn't recall either of those things being requirements.
"I'm not sure I understand," I called after him. "Why do I need to be naked to massage you, Connor?"
His laughter was short and full of mirth as he poked his head from the bathroom. "You won't be massaging me, love. At least, not today. The best way to show you how it's done is to do it to you. You'll be the one getting the massage. Now, go on with you, take off that dress."
He disappeared again but his words lingered like a tattoo in my mind. Surely, he had to be teasing me? Surely, if he spent the next hour running his hands over my body over and over, I'd explode into a million pieces and catch this whole place on fire?
But as he came back in the room, glass bottles in hand, he stopped short and frowned. "Come now, Anaya. You've got to get undressed." He stepped closer, reading my expression, and his frown faded. "You needn't be shy or feel frightened. I'd never hurt you."
That was the least of my worries, but I couldn't voice those without humiliating myself more than I already had.
Instead, I turned my back to him and swept the mass of curls running down my back to the side.
"Ah, yes. Sorry about that." He set the bottles down on a nearby table and began unbuttoning my dress. Unlike Michael, who had been slow and almost painfully meticulous in his task, Connor was quick about it, which was a blessing. I was pretty sure if I couldn't get onto that table and under the sheet a few yards away I was going to melt straight into the floor.
"Go on, then," Connor murmured, as his hands fell away. To his credit, he didn't urge me to slip the dress off right there, allowing me to get over to the table and maneuver it with at least a modicum of modesty.
I made quick work of it and then scurried over to the table like I was running across hot coals, anticipation and abject terror warring for dominance inside me. It was only as I lifted the sheets that I realized that the table had a hole in it. I climbed on, unsure of which way to face, finally opting to lie on my back and nestle my head in the hole. If it wasn't for the fact that every nerve ending was alight, it was fairly comfortable as the wood was covered with a thick padding. I yanked the sheet up to cover me to my neck and then cleared my throat.
"Um, okay, ready."
Connor turned and retrieved the bottles of lotion on the table and crossed the room to join me. Without glancing my way, he moved around the room in near silence, extinguishing lamps and shuttering windows until the space was dimly lit by flickering candlelight.
"It will help you relax," he explained softly as he pulled up beside the table and finally looked down at me.
I did my best not to squirm as his heated gaze roved down over my shoulders, over my breasts, which swelled beneath the sheets and then lower.
"All right then, let's begin." His voice sounded strange, like he'd been sucking on glass, but I couldn't be bothered to wonder about it when he moved to stand by my feet and tugged the sheet away, baring my legs to the thigh. The room was so quiet that the sound of his sharp, indrawn breath was clearly audible, making my palms go damp with sweat.
"First thing is, you should probably turn over. We'll start with the back."
I held the sheets to my chest and rolled, not letting go and shifting them until I was flat on my stomach.
I'd barely stilled when I felt a cool wash of something on the back of one calf.
Lavender lotion. The scent filled my head and ignited my senses.
"The most important thing to remember when giving a massage," he said, his fingers tripping gently over my calf as he spoke, "is to stay connected to your subject. It's one thing to feel good physically. Hands kneading flesh can be sublime. But the human connections and the intention of the masseuse is just as affecting." His soft touch grew more firm as he ground the heel of his palm into my calf, working the muscle there. A moan slipped past my lips and I instinctively apologized.
"Never apologize for pleasure, love," he instructed, rubbing harder now.
Until that very moment, I would've said I didn't suffer from sore muscles. But right then, it was as if he'd discovered an itch I didn't even know I had and I lay perfectly still, afraid to move in case it made him stop.
To my relief, he continued on, working his way up that leg and back down turning the tight muscles to jelly.
"Can you feel it through my hands? How much I want to make you feel good? How important your pleasure is to me?"
He moved to my other leg and even that brief lack of contact made me feel bereft.
"I-I feel it," I whispered as he started anew, first running the very tips of his fingers over my flesh before kneading deeper.
"I'm thinking of nothing else. Nothing but what I can do to your body next."
His tone was hypnotic and I let my eyes drift closed as he worked his magic.
"Sometimes, the recipient will like it harder." He demonstrated, massaging to the point of near pain before gentling again to barely a whisper of a touch. "And sometimes, they will want to be teased by just the barest of touches. The cues are there, you needn't have to ask. Just engage all of your senses and let your instinct guide you."
He continued upward, skimming now over the back of one knee, making me shiver, before sliding up to grind into the backs of my thighs with delicious, sustained pressure.
My legs felt languid and loose but I realized I was anything but relaxed. My pulse pounded like a trapped bird even as my stomach curled with a pressure I was coming to know only too well.
"Connor..." I murmured. But then my breath caught as his hands moved higher, the pads of his thumbs tracing the very edge of my bottom. It took everything I had not to wriggle beneath his touch, to keep from pulsing my hips against the table and easing the ache between my thighs.
I should've felt embarrassed. Tried to cover myself, but all I felt was need. Another cool shot of lotion on my back had me arching but I didn't pull away as his hands moved over the rounded curve of my ass. He let out a hiss and I groaned, my muscles tensing as a hot rush of wet heat pooled between my thighs.
"Fuck, ah...Anaya," he muttered, pausing for a moment. “I can scent your need.”
I couldn't help it. I lifted my head and turned it to sneak a glance up at him, and instantly wished I hadn't. His face was tense with desire, his lion's fangs distended over his bottom lip as his gaze stayed locked on my bare backside.
He looked away then, sucking in a long, shuddering breath before moving his fingers higher, to trace the muscles of my lower back.
This was torture. Sheer torture. Every instinct was demanding that I roll over again. That I spear my hands into his hair, pull him on top of me and--
"I can feel your thoughts, Anaya, and it's making it-" he broke off with a short, harsh laugh, "hard for me, to say the least. Please forgive me."
"There's nothing to forgive. It's me who's sorry. I'm not trying to make it difficult for you. I just don’t know how to manage the way…”
…you make me feel.
"I already told you. Never apologize for pleasure. It's me who needs to mentally adjust." His touch became less personal and I knew he'd done exactly as he'd counseled me not to. He'd mentally and emotionally disengaged. His hands still felt good--too good, if I was being honest. But the loss of that deep connection had me feeling like I could weep.
"You're doing well, but are you paying attention to the motions, Anaya? Are you learning?" he asked, his fingers curling around my shoulders and working the tense muscles there.
"I am." I should've left it there, but the devil had hold of my tongue and I couldn't seem to stop myself. "Shall I prove it to you?"
Chapter 17
Who was this brazen woman? I'd been nothing if not obedient and easy to manage my whole life. In the past week, a whole new person had begun to peek her head out and I couldn't say I hated it.
Apparently, Connor wasn't as sure, because he stood motionless and silent.
"Connor?" I asked. Throwing caution to the wind, I lifted my torso up slowly and turned to rest on one elbow, knowing that my bare breasts were exposed and, wonder of wonders, not caring.
Except when his gaze locked on me and his face went tight with need in the golden light.
"Jesus, Anaya," he muttered, body swaying toward mine. He dropped to his knees with a growl and took my breast in his lavender-scented hands, cupping the globe so delicately that the sharp nip of his teeth on my nipple was a shock.
I gasped, waiting for pain that never came. Instead, it was a rush of white-hot pleasure. His growl reverberated through his chest as he sucked the tip of my breast into his mouth, batting it with his tongue, sending ripples of want through me.
Dear god, it was heaven. I slid my hand into his hair and held him closer. This. This was what I needed right now, and more. If only I could touch him too. If only I could--
A sharp knock on the door shattered the spell and Connor pulled away, his eyes swirling with a mix of rage and desire so keen it stole my breath.
"Be gone!" he shouted toward the door, his thunderous expression more fitting for Lucian than himself.
I stayed perfectly still, heart hammering as a hesitant reply came bouncing back through the thick oak door.
"I'm sorry, master, but I'm afraid I can't. His Highness is here and would like an audience with Miss Anaya in the great room at once."
My stomach dropped and I instantly released my grip on Connor's hair.
Connor stood, yanking the sheet back up to cover me, his face growing shuttered. It was like watching a cloud pass through a blue sky, and was almost as shocking as finding out that the king had come to visit me unannounced.
What did this mean?
"Dress, quickly. I need to change as well and I'll bring you to His Highness," he said, before stalking toward the bathroom and closing the door behind him.
"Master?" the low, feminine voice called through the door again, tentatively.
"Please, let His Highness know I'll be right down," I managed.
I sat up and dressed quickly. I was about to call one of the maids to help with my dress, but Connor emerged fully dressed and gestured for me to turn, his expression giving away nothing.
There were so many things I wanted to say, but we had little time, so I settled on the most pressing. "Is this...usual?" I murmured urgently. "Does he come here unannounced often?"
He hesitated and I could sense he was deliberating, trying to decide whether or not to lie. Finally, as he fastened the last button and turned me to face him, he replied. "No. Never, in fact. But I'm thinking it's only because he's impatient to get you there. He seemed very...intrigued at the castle. I imagine he is coming to check on your progress." He chucked me gently under the chin and offered a tight smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.
"He's not a cruel man, love. Just be yourself and you'll be fine." He lifted a hand to my hair and ran his fingers through it quickly before stepping back and nodding with satisfaction. "Come on. We don't want to keep him waiting."
He held out his arm and I took it, my brain reeling. One second, I'd been on the brink of something glorious. Now, in spite of Connor's reassurances, I couldn't help but wonder if something terrible was about to happen.
Helpless to do anything but follow along, I let him lead me down the hall to the wide staircase. I couldn't help leaning on him heavily for support but he didn't seem to mind until we reached the entrance to the great room.
"Stand up straight, there's a good girl," he murmured, pausing to give my shoulder a gentle squeeze before leading me into the room.
King Sebastian sat on a high-backed armchair, looking every bit the monarch with his regal bearing and the crown perched on his golden head. He rose as we entered, his scowling mouth turning to a smile as he caught my eye.
"Angela," he murmured, shaking his head slowly as his eyes traveled over me from head to toe. "You're just as lovely as I remember."
"Anaya, Your Highness," Connor corrected, a polite smile fixed on his lips but no dimple in sight. "Her name is Anaya."
"Yes, of course. That's what I said," the king grumbled, looking slightly perturbed that Connor had called him on the mispronunciation.
Connor's grin stretched and his dimple flashed, making my fear abate some.
The relationship between the king and the Saint John brothers was an interesting one. For sure, Sebastian still called the shots, but to a man, none of the Saint Johns cowed to him, either. I wondered if that was the way the king preferred to have the people he trusted most treat him, or if he just hadn't found anyone better suited for the job so he suffered their borderline insolence in silence.
In any case, he seemed to brush it off quickly as he stepped forward and took my hand, drawing me toward the couch and away from Connor.
"Leave us," he said, not bothering to turn back to Connor.
Part of me wanted to yank my hand away and dive at Connor's feet. Beg him not to leave me alone with this stranger, but the rest of me knew I was being overly dramatic. What was he going to do? Demand a demonstration of my new and decidedly limited skills right here in the great room?
Hardly likely.
Connor hesitated for a second before backing out of the room and leaving the door ajar a few inches.
"Alone at last, my sweet," Sebastian said, raising his brow as he sat and pulled me down beside him. "Tell me, are you as anxious as I am for you to come join the harem?" His keen gaze searched mine and I tried to ignore the frantic beat of my heart. He might be king but he was a lion shifter, same as me. It wasn't like he could read my mind.
I fixed a smile onto my lips and inclined my head as grac
efully as I could manage. "I am, Your Highness."
He held my gaze for a beat too long before nodding. "Glad to hear it. And your lessons? How are they going?" His hand, that had been perched on his own knee, traveled to mine and for the first time in his presence I knew true fear. Rather than warmth and anticipation, or even passive curiosity, I felt...nothing.
There went my whole theory that I'd turned into some sort of depraved sex addict who wanted every man that laid a hand on her. But worse than that? I allowed my mind to imagine what it would feel like to have that touch grow more intimate. I shuddered with revulsion and was about to instinctively draw back when I froze. It was only some deep-seated crumb of self-preservation that had me amping my smile up another few notches despite the icy fear coating my veins.
"Anaya? Your lessons?" he asked, his voice deceptively soft as his grip on my knee tightened.
I swallowed the knot in my throat and tucked a loose curl behind my ear. "Well, I think. Or, at least that's what my tutors would have me believe. You may want to check with them, though. They might just be kind in their assessment." My laugh felt brittle and shrill. Luckily, the king didn't seem to notice as he refocused his attention on the hand resting on my knee.
"You are a different one, aren't you?" he murmured, his hand skating higher and his eyes taking on a light I knew only too well of late.
This was good, a voice in my head shouted through the void threatening to overcome me. He wanted me. According to the books I'd read, a favored harem girl was given the highest of honors, the best sleeping quarters and much more.
So why did I want to slap his face and run from the room or shift into lioness form and shred his belly with my claws?
I managed to keep my revulsion under control but then his hand was on the move again, moving up, and up.
"I have to confess, I don't have another like you. I’ve had ones with dark hair, but the rest are much trimmer. They don't have breasts so full as this," he whispered, his jaw going slack as he closed his hand over the body part in question.
And suddenly, just like that, something inside me snapped and I was right back in the woods ready to fight off that marauder. I lurched upright, towering over him as fury coursed through me in waves.
