Captive Desires

by Diane Whiteside

  His breath sighed out, deeper than a mountain spring.

  She closed her eyes. She needed to move on before matters went too far while they were still dressed, even if his mail and tunic were slit down the front. She pressed a kiss to his thigh and came up onto her feet.

  “Danae!” he protested, his eyes slumberous. Lust sparkled over her skin wherever they rested.

  “Would you want a sergeant to fail in her duty, sir?” She managed a teasing grin.

  He groaned. “Of course not.”

  “Your helmet . . .”

  “Is already removed and stowed in its magical pouch,” he returned sharply. “As is my mail coif and the linen coif underneath it.”

  “Gloves, too, sir?”

  “Yes, sergeant, they are.”

  “I’m glad to hear that, sir.” She circled him, daring to run her hand lightly over his hip. Narrow hips, too, leading to that hard sweep of muscular ass. She gulped and yanked her palm away.

  He shuddered and swayed slightly toward her.

  “May I ask, sir . . .”

  “Yes?” he demanded.

  “If you are wearing a leather codpiece under your armor, sir? I would want to treat it with all consideration, sir.” And pray my fingers don’t fumble so hard I break the laces in my rush to take it off.

  “Codpiece.” He closed his eyes. “Mother of All Life, she asks me about a codpiece—and she expects me to stand here calmly?”

  Danae’s pulse shot into triple time.

  “No, I am not wearing one. General’s armor renders that unnecessary since it’s enchanted, thanks be to all the gods.”

  “Uncomfortable, is it, sir?” She could tease a little now and try to ignore the tightness in her chest.

  “They are not shaped to fit all occasions, sergeant—such as the present circumstances.”

  “In that case, perhaps we should remove your surcoat and armor, sir. So you can be more at ease,” she suggested.

  “Certainly.” He bowed slightly to her, allowing her to lift off his dark green field tunic, which was made from heavy, textured silk. His mail was formed into a long shirt, or hauberk, which reached to his knees and elbows. The links were so finely made they shone under the light like the tiniest of fish scales rippling under the sea, a dream impossible to catch—like spending a week or month or lifetime with a lover like him.

  Her cream melted, heating her aching cunt. She dragged in a breath and reached for the next piece.

  Danae ran her finger along the intricately braided strip of leather, which made a stand-up collar for the hauberk and protected his neck. She’d seen its like before hundreds of times, making it far more comfortable to admire.

  “Beautiful. That’s the finest made one of these I’ve ever seen.”

  Her hand brushed his hot skin and tugged gently at his long hair, which he wore loose now. He leaned his head into the caress and rumbled something, which didn’t translate. She glanced up into his eyes.

  “Pray, continue—sergeant.” His voice had turned deep and slow.

  She nodded hastily, her skin hot and dry under her thin chemise and heavy brocade jacket.

  The hauberk came off easily into her arms and she quickly folded it, trying hard not to think about whether or not it was enchanted. It was far better to consider Alekhsiy, standing there with his chest heaving under that paler green tunic.

  “You need to get rid of those tigers, sir, before they jump off you.” Surely a joke would ease her.

  “Jump off me?”

  “You’re panting.” Well, so was she, but why mention it? “Plus, the gold trim doesn’t really flatter your breeches, sir.”

  Actually, she’d rather look at him in just the trousers.

  He peeled the tunic over his head, balled it up, and threw it into a corner.

  He propped his fists on his hips and lifted an eyebrow at her. His quilted tunic—or gambeson—emphasized the width of his shoulders, the depth of his chest, and the narrowness of his hips. If she could see the pattern more closely, she knew it’d be protection spells. No woman should have to see him in such garb and remain sane.

  Her nipples promptly hardened into desperate arrowheads of lust, pointed straight at him.

  “Sir!” She gasped in a last-ditch attempt at self-control.

  A wicked smile played around his lips.

  She wanted his mouth on her lips, on her breasts, on her . . . She gulped.

  He began to unbutton his tunic. “I believe I should remind you, Sergeant, that you appear overdressed for this occasion.”

  She blinked at him. Why was he mentioning her clothing?

  “Boots and jacket?” He clucked his tongue.

  He couldn’t have said anything she agreed with more. She sat down on the armchair and stripped off her boots and socks. The knots down her jacket’s front took longer.

  “Excellent, Sergeant.” Alekhsiy purred.

  “Sir?” She glanced at him over her shoulder and her mouth dropped.

  He was seated on the bed, wearing only his linen shirt and drawers—and fondling his cock. Very slowly, up and down.

  She watched him desperately, her breath condemned to match his every move. Up and down, in and out. Up and down . . .

  She managed to turn around and unbutton her breeches. She was wet, so very, very wet.

  He squeezed himself, showing off how very engorged his cock’s head was.

  Up and down . . .

  She dropped her breeches and her thong in the same movement, before snatching a condom out of the party box.

  “Why do you call it a party box?” Alekhsiy asked.

  “Huh?” She dropped the foil wrapper into the wastebasket. “It’s actually a variety pack, showcasing a bunch of different styles. A gay friend of mine bought two for a party he was throwing for his lover.”

  She dropped to her knees before him and swirled her tongue over his cock. And those fat, plump balls of his that nestled into her hand.

  Her hips rocked toward him, aching to join them. God, she was so fucking wet.

  She’d bet a mortgage payment he had no STDs—but she wasn’t about to gamble on a baby. Dear Lord, he tasted and felt almost good enough to take a chance on riding bareback. Beautiful, beautiful Alekhsiy.

  Better remember the moral of the story.

  “They broke up before the party took place. So I bought the two party packs from him.”

  She rolled the condom onto him, lingering to pet and stroke him. The fat mushroom cap, the generous shaft, the golden hairs gilding his balls . . .

  Hunger shafted her lungs.

  “You’re very generous,” he gritted out.

  “I try to help my friends.” She looked up at him and smiled shakily. God help her, he was quickly becoming too much more—for a man who’d be gone in a few days.

  “Am I that?” He caressed her shoulders.

  “Always.” She immediately came up to kneel astride him.

  “Dear heart.” He pulled her back to the center of the bed and tucked his legs into a lotus position, stabilizing them both.

  She promptly slid her legs over his hips and giggled at him. His rampant cock was so very neatly nestled against her cunt. “Friends—and lovers?”

  “But of course.” He caught her mouth with his, sucking her lower lip. She yielded happily and threw her head back for the series of kisses and gentle nips he bestowed on her throat and shoulders. Everywhere he touched, fire built, driving into her spine and lungs—and lower down, too, until it burned even hotter in her core.

  “Danae, lady of golden light.” He scraped his teeth along her collarbone.

  “Alekhsiy,” she moaned and clawed at his shoulders. “Please.”

  He kissed her again, deep and slow. His hands gathered her up and she sank down onto his cock. Oh yes, finally.

  He thrust lazily and she tightened herself around him. “Alekhsiy, darling.”

  “Sweeting.” He kissed her again, demanding more, linking her to him, heart and soul t
hrough their mouths.

  Waves of delight rocked through her bones, into her blood, and back up to him. More, she wanted more. She rode him recklessly, heedless of anything except the man who was the fire in her blood.

  Her breath sounded in her ears and came back to her from him. Her blood raced in her veins and echoed through his hands. His cock filled her core and brought heat and stability and . . .

  He suckled hard on her nipple. Pleasure, more intense than pain, shot straight to her heart and down to her core.

  Danae shrieked and climaxed, wracked by waves of sheer delight that shattered and remade her, like being swept into a giant tsunami. Alekhsiy growled and climaxed with her, the one sure thing in that ever-changing world.

  Afterward, she was too exhausted for small talk. She certainly wasn’t about to comment that his amulet had become so much lighter. Enough had happened that evening that all she wanted to do was sleep—and cuddle him as much as possible.

  Alekhsiy tucked the covers more firmly around his sleeping lady. She deserved her rest after the night’s terrors—and all the chi she’d poured into his amulet. It wasn’t enough to take him home, but it was much closer.

  He eased himself into bed. She promptly turned toward him, threw her arm over him, and rested her head on his chest, all without waking up.

  His bruised heart eased a trifle. He smiled and allowed himself to twine a lock of her hair around his finger.

  He’d willingly bound himself to her for life when he drank her intimate liquors, those carnal delights of a sorceress. He loved her gallant generosity more every day and her occasional flashes of arrogance and temper simply made her human. Yet she’d made it more than clear she saw him as little more than a pleasant bed partner—he, who half of Torhtremer’s maidens pursued avidly, if only for political gain!

  Yet even if he had wanted to stay, he dared not, lest more magic leak across the void and draw the Great Terrapin after him.

  Azherbhai and the catalyst he desired, the man who could make all of his evil become real—Boris Turner. And Turner hunted Danae, hoping to have her make all of Azherbhai’s dreams come true.

  She didn’t want to do that, of course. But would Turner or Azherbhai allow her any choice? He couldn’t afford to have her fall into Turner’s hands or for Turner to make any threats against her loved ones. There was simply too much at stake, both on this side of the void and at home.

  He’d have to stay very close to her, while he was here. No longer could he leave her alone for an hour or two while he visited McKinnon or fought in the tournament. No, he’d have to either travel with her or make sure she came with him, using whatever excuses were necessary. It might take a little wheedling but surely no outright lying would be needed.

  No matter what the cost to himself or anyone else, he had to ensure that everyone remained safe.

  SIX

  Danae gave her soy latte one final stir and sealed the lid, humming the guards’ theme music from the Torhtremer movies. Two steps down and one step back up, all syncopated just like Fosse might have done. There was nothing like a big flight of stone steps to inspire a dancer, even this early in the morning.

  She snapped her fingers to the beat in her head and repeated the pattern again, wishing she’d had a little more time for her exercises. Or maybe not. Alekhsiy was a magnificent distraction who wouldn’t be around for very long.

  Yeah, just keep telling yourself that. Like you won’t wake up the first morning he’s gone and reach for him . . .

  “That’s a very complicated step. Do you want me to hold your cup so you won’t spill any on your uniform?” he asked, obviously being careful not to mention the horde of attendees clumping down the stairs beside them.

  “Not at all. I’m used to dancing in crowds and my cup is a lot smaller than yours,” she pointed out virtuously and managed a very brief pirouette. She landed on a larger block of stone that created a small terrace and curtsied, safely out of harm’s way.

  “Bravo, my dear. Bravo.” He joined her and lifted his gigantic cup of chai high in salute.

  “Do you think you’ll finish it before we have to take our places in the parade?” she queried mildly. “Or will you be the only royal Torhtremer cadet carrying a modern, eco-friendly container?”

  She wore the cobalt and silver cadet’s uniform, which looked like a cross between an ancient Chinese military uniform and a West Point uniform. Her hip-length tunic was made from intensely blue brocade, woven with silver tigers in a variety of martial postures. Heavy silver braid trimmed the collar, center front, hem, and cuffs. The riding breeches were made from heavy silk in a matching shade of blue and tucked into calf-high boots, adorned with an ornate silver tassel.

  Alekhsiy’s embroidered pouch, the one marked with a crossed spool and scissors, had produced a uniform for him that matched hers, except for the knee-length jacket and ornate dragon embroidered on the shoulder. He’d chuckled when he saw it, commenting that he’d always wanted to command a cadet brigade. He’d even strutted a bit like an ecstatic teenager when he first put it on.

  “Certainly I’ll finish my tea. Would I waste it by throwing it away?” He took a long, clearly ecstatic swallow—one of the very few sensual actions she’d seen him do in public. Adam’s apple moving up and down in that strong throat, framed by the long blond hair, between the jutting jaw and the silver metal of his uniform. Hot skin begging to be kissed . . .

  Don’t start something now, Danae. Just keep matters platonic, even though Larissa’s well-designed tunic could be taken off far faster than Alekhsiy’s damn armor.

  “Now that you put it that way—no.” That sounded logical, right? And he was becoming addicted to Indian teas, at least the dark and strong ones that made the best chai.

  The hurly-burly of the parade’s first moments swept around them, isolating them in a bubble of noise and movement on the hotel steps, as GriffinCon attendees organized themselves to march in full costume through downtown Atlanta. Many would join prearranged units, like the 501st who dressed like Star Wars’ stormtroopers in their smooth white armor. Others would simply wear what suited their fancy, such as the many elves, Varrain fans, or myriad Star Wars variants. Some had spent months or even years on their wardrobes; others had rented their outfit, while many had simply picked up a T-shirt or an accessory to fit a theme. All would have fun.

  The towering high-rises and red brick palaces of a bygone era looked on tolerantly. The police watched them cautiously and probably thanked their lucky stars this conclave took place early on a Saturday morning rather than late at night.

  Two old acquaintances appeared beside them, hovering on the stairs as if uncertain whether they could enter the small terrace. Too many years of friendship—and her mother’s ghost—booted Danae into acknowledging them. Making up after one of Larissa’s more spectacular examples of shooting off her mouth usually came after a couple of days, not the next morning.

  “Good morning, Larissa.” Danae nodded politely, a little surprised at the other for making the first move. She was far better at sulking and dodging the spotlight than opening herself up to a public rebuff.

  “Good morning, Danae. Alek.” Larissa nodded nervously to Alekhsiy. “This is my husband, Sasha, who got in late last night from Dallas.”

  Uh-oh, Sasha the cop was furious and trying to put the best possible face on it. Had she told him what happened yesterday?

  “Pleased to meet you, Alek.” The two men shook hands, testing each other’s grip carefully. Obviously satisfied with the result, the ex-cowboy gave Danae a tentative smile. “How’re you doing, honey? Dance business been treating you okay?”

  Larissa must have told him something or he wouldn’t be so cautious. “Doing great. My agent negotiated a new contract with the troupe and I’ve even got some great guest gigs coming up. How’s the kid?”

  “Growing fast! I tell you, we buy him clothes one day and we’re putting him in new ones a couple of weeks later. If we didn’t have hand-me-downs f
rom my brothers, I don’t know what would happen.” Larissa had garbed her cowboy in the popular merc’s black leather costume, giving him the boon of letting him fade into the crowd. Given any choice, she’d dress her very fit husband in far more spectacular gear.

  “That’s so great. You’ll have to send me some more pictures of him; I don’t want to miss a moment of my godson.”

  “You should have one of your own. You’d make a great mom.” The beaming enthusiasm of every new convert broke out in Larissa’s smile, making Danae shift her feet uncomfortably.

  “Oh no, I’m a dancer. Us gypsies do airports, not babies.” She couldn’t stand to leave a kid behind whenever she hit the road, the way she’d seen others do. Dancing had kept her alive through the worst of times and still kept the blood pounding through her veins. Children didn’t fit into that.

  “Oh yeah, that’s right, no entanglements ever.” For a moment, glimpses of the old Larissa who’d talked her through long, hard nights of agony flashed between them.

  Alekhsiy made a low, raw sound and gulped some more chai.

  Danae frowned briefly, then shrugged. Any daylight agreement with Larissa’s comment would make it more solid.

  Larissa and Sasha exchanged an unreadable glance before she shook out her heavily decorated skirts.

  “Well, we—we don’t want to overwhelm you with pictures or gossip or anything,” Larissa demurred, hanging on her husband’s arm. “Sasha’s explained to me how a little bit of talk can get picked up and be blown into something really big. Especially in cyberspace by somebody who knows how to manipulate it.”

  Danae blinked. She hadn’t heard such a carefully calculated tone of voice from Larissa since they’d been ten.

  Alekhsiy glanced at Sasha, then silently sauntered onto the steps, cutting off the only easy observation point for eavesdroppers.

  Larissa stared at Danae, as if willing her to understand. “You know, really nasty stuff?” she added. She glanced around and Danae followed her look. Nobody was anywhere nearby.

  “I’d be very sorry if anything I said hurt somebody I cared about. Please forgive me,” she whispered. She blinked fiercely, willing back a tear.