by Jane Henry
My cheeks flush as I look down and try to pull my hand from his, but he holds firm. “I-I am not staring,” I protest.
He halts, right here in the middle of the forest, and I’m not sure if it’s the shade that makes me shiver or his austerity. His blue eyes fix on mine, narrowed. “Have you not yet surmised what happens if you lie, Svali?” he asks. “I’ve punished you once for your dishonesty, and now you lie about the simplest fact. You are wedded to me, and your body responds to me. I can feel it in your grip, hear it in your voice, and smell it on you.”
I gasp. “Smell what?” I ask, trying to tug my hand away from his, my jaw clenched in anger. The nerve!
He yanks my hand, pulling me to him, and delivers one sharp swat to my backside. I squeal and pull away, but he tugs again, until my body lies flush against the hardened planes of his chest. His fingers thread through the hair at my nape, twisting, and he pulls, just hard enough to make my mouth gape open, a flurry of arousal racing through my chest. His eyes fix on mine, the blue darkening in the shade of the forest, storm clouds beneath furrowed brows.
“Smell what?” he repeats, leaning down to whisper in my ear. “You know not, my sweet? As a warrior of the highest order, I can detect the scent of your emotions. On you, I smell fear. I also detect anger. It pours through your limbs. I can see it in the clenching of your jaw and flash of your eyes. But, no, lovely. That is not what I detect above all.” His whiskers scrape along my bare skin, and I gasp as the flick of his tongue on my neck causes slithering desire to tingle between my legs. “Arousal permeates you. You wear it like a fragrance.” He walks me backward until my back hits the bark of a tree. He places me up against it, holding my wrists as his mouth travels to my collarbone, his tongue along my skin.
“Your body rises to meet mine,” he says, pulling me closer to him, and I realize he’s lowering me, right here on the floor of the forest, my back upon a bed of dry, soft leaves. Holding himself over me, he takes my wrists and pins them above my head. His jaw clenches. “You do not move unless I allow it,” he commands.
I gasp. “Yes, my lord.”
His eyes smolder, causing my heart to thump as he releases my wrists, but I dare not move. He removes first one sword then the second, laying them on the ground before he removes his leather belt, and leans down over me. “Remember what I have told you,” he instructs. “Now I only plan to bind your hands with my belt, but in the future, if you disobey me, I will not hesitate to the take the folded leather to your naked backside.”
The threat of another spanking makes me push my legs together as I squirm beneath him, my pulse racing, my nipples hardening. “Yes, my lord.”
He leans over me, and I can smell him: leather, wine and wood smoke all rolled into one scent, strong and masculine. The leather brushes against my wrists. I hear the clink of metal as he fastens the looped belt. With my wrists secured, he straddles me, his hands now free to roam my body.
“You are my wife, Svali,” he growls, his voice deep and husky. “And as such, I will have honesty from you. I will teach you to obey me, and though I will be firm, you will see I can be a fair though exacting master.” One large, warm hand passes my thigh and travels beneath my backside, squeezing. I gasp. “I will train you to serve me.”
“Y-yes, my lord,” I stutter, as he raises my tunic, gazing at my nakedness beneath the cloth. I can see his own desire tented in his breeches, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows. With my tunic gone, he lifts my bottom and raises my mound to his mouth. I freeze, my body immobile as his warm tongue laps at the soft fold between my thigh and my sex. A low moan escapes me as he continues to tease, my lower body held within his firm grip.
“I will pleasure you when you please me,” he says, parting the folds of my sex with the tip of his tongue. I cannot breathe, the feeling is so exquisite. Though I have bedded more men than I will ever admit, it has always been pleasure I’ve granted, not received. Softly, he circles my most sensitive part. Fire pools in my sex, my chest rising as I turn my head away, my wrists still fastened in leather. My breath catches, as he continues the delicious, most intimate pleasure. He takes my bud between his lips and sucks, my body jerking in response. It is both divine and excruciating. I cannot hide or turn away from him, and yet I wish for nothing more than for him to bring me to ecstasy.
“Do you wish for me to pleasure you, lovely?” he asks, the warmth of his breath tickling my sex as his eyes meet mine.
“Y-yes, my lord,” I pant.
“Then you will learn with obedience comes pleasure, and with disobedience — pain.” Without warning, his teeth graze the soft, fullest part of my inner thigh. I scream out of fear, but it isn’t terribly painful. Rather, I am vulnerable, with the knowledge that he can hurt me if he chooses to. He licks the place he nipped before returning to my sex. Somehow, the stab of fear has made me even more desirous of his touch. Ever so slowly, he pulls his tongue through my folds. My lower back arches. His coarse beard scrapes along my inner thighs, his fingers pinching my bottom so hard I yelp out loud. The contrast of pleasure and pain has my mind reeling, my body yielding, and I plead with him, nearly sobbing. “Yes, yes, my lord, please my lord.”
“You wish me to pleasure you?” he asks, lifting his mouth just long enough to flash me a wicked grin. “Then tell me the truth. Your body yearns for mine.” He lowers his head, and his tongue flicks out, circling the pink mark from his teeth. “Do not be ashamed. There is no shame in desire,” he says, drawing his tongue again through my swollen, pulsing folds. “Lies are what shame. Will you tell me the truth, Svali?”
I gasp. “Yes,” I moan. “Certainly, my lord. My body longs for yours. I wish to feel pleasure. I will submit to your will and do as you say if it kills me.”
To my shock, he laughs, a deep, rumbling, manly laugh that makes my belly quiver. “It will not kill you, my sweet,” he says. “But you might find yourself resistant to obedience when you are not on the cusp of release.”
His mouth comes back to my sex, and he circles my sensitive parts, my arousal reaching heights I never thought possible. I can hardly breathe. I can hardly think.
“That’s a good girl,” he says, with a brief nod of approval. “A very good girl.” Somehow, my heart thumps at his praise, as he continues to bring me near climax. “Lovely, you have my permission.”
My mind rejects the idea of needing his permission, but my body overrides intellect, and I fall over the edge into ecstasy. Waves of delight flood my body and my head falls to the side, as I writhe under the wicked, delicious assault of his tongue. I soar, my mind a haze of delight and wonder, my body wrapped in a cocoon of bliss, when he releases me, unfastening his breeches.
“You will take me again, wife,” he groans, and I feel his cock at my entrance, warm and hard. I need to feel him in me. My thighs fall open, his warm hands at my hips as he positions me just so, cradling me under his firm grasp before he pushes himself in. I gasp, a sharp intake of breath, as his hips rock against my pelvis. He holds me tight against him, my wrists still bound in leather. His strong, muscled back, tanned beneath the slashes that adorn his arms and shoulders, damp with perspiration, rises and falls as makes love to me, his body against mine. I am helpless, his to command, as his breath hitches, nearing his own climax. He holds me. His body tenses, and then he groans, filling me before he slumps against me. The forest is quiet, a perfect oasis for our lovemaking. His head drops to my chest. We are both damp with perspiration, sated from pleasure, and quiet in the stillness.
After a time, his fingers fumble at my wrists, and he removes the leather belt, his eyes fixed on mine, twinkling now. “You have bewitched me, woman. I ought to punish you for your sorcery.”
I smile. Does the forbidding warrior jest?
“You commanded me, my lord.”
He grunts in approval. “Is that right, woman?” he asks with a shrug. “So be it. Now rise, as we have much to do before we go to dinner with King Aldric this evening.”
My heart flutt
ers within me. Go to the king? I have never been inside the royal palace and can barely handle my own warrior husband. What awaits me at the throne?
⊱⟢⋯⟣⊰
Our journey to Aldric’s throne is a long one. My new husband, though sated by our time together in the forest, seems uneasy. He shifts upon his seat as the driver brings us to the main palace. Idan’s jaw clenches and unclenches, his hands so tight upon his knees the knuckles are white. “My lord,” I say. “You seem perturbed. Do you feel ill?”
His blue eyes, stormy now beneath furrowed brows, come to me, and he frowns.
“I do not wish to discuss this.”
I don’t like being told to mind my own business. How am I supposed to help my husband if he hides truth from me? I pull my hand away from his. “Really?” I ask with a note of petulance in my voice. I gasp as he squeezes my knee, a firm reminder to watch my tone.
His voice lowers. “You will not push me, Svali.”
My temper still rises. “You expect me to be your mate, to lead with you, and yet you hide from me.”
His scowl deepens. “I do not owe you an accounting for every one of my actions, woman,” he says. “Now end this conversation before you find yourself draped over my knee once again. Is that what you need, Svali? Another spanking?”
I swallow. He is a man of his word and pushing him now will not end well for me. “No, my lord.” I am still flushed from the exertion in the forest, still sore where he took me hard upon the bed of leaves.
“On our return trip, I wish to learn more of your family,” he insists. I did not expect such a statement, and my heart races, my palms dampen. If he notices the abrupt change in my demeanor, he does not let on, however.
“Yes, my lord.” I hope my voice does not tremble and betray my anxiety. Soon, however, the looming palace of Avalere comes into view, and our conversation is cut short.
“Magnificent,” I whisper, as we approach. Gleaming white from the light of the sun and moons, it appears to be made of marble and ivory. Turrets point heavenward, the blue sky behind the castle highlighting the lines of the palace. Cloaked in sunlight, adorned with a garden that wraps around the front and back, the majestic palace lies in front of us as we approach the entrance. It is here — right here, on the pathway leading to the entrance — where I propositioned my now husband. I still remember his narrowed eyes, the feel of his hands about me as he rejected me, the way I took my ignominious leave. I glance at him. Does he remember?
“We have not yet had time for you to learn deference to me, Svali,” Idan says, sitting up straighter, his shoulders going back.
We haven’t?
“But you will. When you accompany me to places such as we now go, you will not contradict me or disgrace me in any way. Anything you wish to discuss you may, but only if you do so respectfully, and, in most cases, privately. Understood?”
“Yes, my lord,” I say.
“Carina is kind and welcoming, but heavy with child. She may not wish to socialize, so, if that is the case, I expect you to occupy yourself while King Aldric and I meet. Do you understand me?”
“Yes…my lord,” I falter, because submission does not come easily to me, and I am not sure how well I will do.
He smirks. “Do not fear your reactions too much for now,” he says. “In time, you will learn to obey.” Pausing, he squeezes my thigh, fingers traveling upward toward my sex. “I will see to it.”
My thighs clench together, an instinctive response to the throbbing need between my legs at both his touch and his words. I have no doubt he will indeed “see” to my training.
That is the problem.
I swallow.
The carriage comes to a halt, and Idan gets down before I do then lifts his hand to take mine. I step down, and together we walk to the entrance. The soft summer breeze stirs my hair, the warmth of the sun on my face both soothing and blinding. The door opens, and, to my surprise, the queen herself stands there, her smile wide and welcoming, though shadows ring her eyes. A petite woman, her swollen abdomen indicates her baby will be here soon. Her blue eyes are brighter than Idan’s and kind, her pale face accentuated by curly dark waves of hair.
“Idan!” she greets. “I regret I did not attend the choosing, but it seems the wee one wishes to stay put a bit longer anyhow.” Idan releases my hand, embracing the queen and kissing both cheeks before turning back to me.
“My lady, allow me to introduce Svali, my new wife.”
Carina’s eyes light up as she takes my hand and draws me to her in an embrace. I have heard the queen once lived on Freanoss, whose civilization forbids human touch, but Freanoss is no longer in contact with Avalere. It seems the Avalerian men know how to transform their young brides. I smile to myself.
“Welcome, Svali,” Carina says, drawing me inside, as Idan follows behind us. She leans in and whispers, “It’s about time I had another woman to commiserate with. The servants are very busy, and none are as familiar with the high-handed ways of the warrior husband as you soon will be.” She winks at me. “If you need to talk with me, please do.”
“Thank you, my lady,” I say, uncertain as to how to respond. It might be nice to have a fellow woman to share with, but right now I am still reeling from all that’s transpired.
“We will join the king in the dining hall,” she says. “I will have Lystava fetch us tea.” She raises a hand to a gray-haired servant who stands apart, ready to do the bidding of her lady.
“Bring us tea, please,” she orders. The servant bows, but when she lifts her head, her eyes meet mine and widen. She stares a moment, longer than is proper, before composing herself and scurrying away. I swallow against the nerves that rise at her reaction. Has she recognized me? Is she familiar with my past? Or has she rather recognized something else? I have little time to dwell, as Idan stands by my side, his hand tugging mine. The servant scurries away.
Idan leads me into a large dining hall, as Carina moves ahead. “Please, make yourself at home,” she says. King Aldric sits at the table, next to another bare-chested soldier. The soldier’s weapons are about his waist, his arms crossed on his chest. He scowls. When he sees Idan approach, both he and the king rise to their feet, welcoming my husband to sit with them. The dark-haired warrior bows his head to Idan, and something stirs within me.
I like when others show deference to my husband.
He is powerful, strong, and stern. He is mine.
I blink, surprised by the sudden possessiveness that has claimed me. From where did such thoughts arise?
Avalere is a strange place indeed.
“King Aldric, Gregor, please meet my new wife,” Idan says, gesturing to me as he pulls me to him. I like being introduced like this, as there is an edge of pride in his voice.
“Svali,” Gregor inclines his head. “Welcome. I did not see you in the circle last night? How strange.” He shrugs, as if to himself, and my heart twists. I did not anticipate this type of conversation and already wish I were back at my new home.
I clear my throat. “No, my lord? I was there. I witnessed you choose a wife of your own.”
He smiles. “My new wife was tired, so I allowed her to stay at home and rest.” His eyes look toward Idan, a hidden implication. If Idan was man enough, he’d have bedded me so sufficiently I’d not be joining them in their dining hall today.
Unexpected heat rises in my chest. Does he not think my husband capable of leaving me sated? “I understand being tired,” I say to the warrior whose gaze is now fixed on my husband. He looks back at me. “My new husband has”—I intentionally hesitate, trying to be sure he sees my attempts to act demure—”kept me busy. However, I have heard such remarkable things of the palace I begged to see it with my own eyes.”
Idan’s eyes twinkle as he meets mine, but they narrow as well, an appreciation for my show of support, but warning.
“Svali, you may take your time looking around this room and the next,” Idan says. “There are paintings and tapestries upon the walls y
ou may enjoy, and I fear our talk will bore you.” The twinkle vanishes, and his gaze sobers. “Go now.”
Obediently, I turn from him, but can’t help but smirk as I do his bidding. I wonder if I will feel the sting of his palm for my insolence. I care not if I do.
I enjoy taking my time, observing the wonders around me. It is lovely perusing the paintings in the great hall. Forest scenes, mountainous landscapes, and a lake at sunset are all painted in majestic hues, the magnificence vibrant and awe-inspiring.
“Do you like the paintings, my lady?” comes a soft female voice at my elbow.
Mistaking the voice for Carina, I answer. “Oh, I do. They’re amazing,” I breathe. But when I turn my head, I start. The voice does not belong to Carina, but to a servant, one who waited in the ranks as Carina ushered us into her house. Her dark hair, pulled back into a bun at the nape of her neck, accentuates her severe mouth and tight lips. Why do her eyes narrow at me? Have I done something to offend her?
She leans in to whisper to me, “The warriors, the king, the queen, and your husband may be ignorant of who you are and why you are here. But I am not.”
I blink, and swallow, but do not know how to respond, and before I get my bearings, she leaves. Unnerved, I barely take in the rest of our surroundings. I feel cold and wrap my arms around my bare arms. How long can I hide my past from my new husband? And what will he do when he finds out?
“Svali.” I nearly jump out of my skin, looking up at the face of my new husband. His eyes grow concerned. “Why are you so preoccupied, woman? Thrice I have called you with no response.”
“My lord?” I ask. Has he?
He frowns. “It seems you need to be trained to listen better,” he warns, leaning in to whisper in my ear. “Perhaps a trip across my knee will help you learn to respond to my voice?” Though his tone is casual, his hand wrapped around my neck, there is a thread of the sultry in it. He means what he says. He does demand my obedience, and I know he will punish me as he sees fit. But I also know he enjoys his power over me, and likes seeing my nipples harden as my thighs clench in arousal. His warm fingers tighten at my nape, causing a tingle to race down my spine.
