Wicked Empress:The Onic Empire, Book 4

by Anitra Lynn McLeod

  “I have nothing to say to you.” Up her chin went as she turned to her own reflection. “I will have this bonding dissolved or abolished or whatever they call it. I am not going to take any more of what you have to give.” She ran her fingers through her wet hair, fluffing the strands around her face, softening the harshness of her expression.

  He didn’t understand every word she used, but he got her meaning: She didn’t like how he gave. Whatever she was expecting, he didn’t provide it. He hung his head in shame. At the time, he’d been very proud of how hard and fast he’d given to her. He might have corrected his mistakes had he been watching her face and not her enormous breasts.

  “I gave hard I could. I couldn’t give again.” Perhaps if he had, she would not be so angry now. How many times was he expected to give in a session? He thought only once, but that had not been nearly enough for her.

  “You peckard,” she snarled over her shoulder, “I can’t believe you think your cock—” She stopped abruptly when she turned and faced him.

  He was so deeply humiliated he couldn’t even meet her gaze. Keeping his attention on her feet, he waited for her diatribe to continue. When it didn’t, he lifted his gaze to her without lifting his head.

  Confusion drew her brows together. “You really don’t understand.”

  That he actually understood. He nodded miserably. He barely comprehended the most basic customs of this strange new land. Apparently, his rudimentary grasp of mating in his own tribe was no help to him here. “I never gave to a woman before.”

  Her mouth fell open. “You’re a virgin? I mean you—I was your first?”

  Why would this surprise her so? Then he realized she did not know that none of the women in his tribe would touch him, not after his shame as a young boy. The mark on his face told everyone what he was. His curiosity had stripped him of his name and made him an outcast. The elders were very wise not to tell the sky people of his disgrace for they would not want him had they known. Now he realized he could not tell her or she would not want him either.

  Haltingly, he said, “I wait for you.” That wasn’t quite right, but he didn’t know how to say he’d deliberately waited to mate with her, even though that wasn’t the full truth. He’d wanted to mate desperately with a woman of his tribe, but of the two he’d approached, one laughed and the other screamed. Still, his words seemed to touch her for her face softened further.

  “That explains so much.” Turning to him, she cupped her hand to his face. He met her gaze but was perplexed when he discovered both her eyes were now the same translucent blue. Before, one had been blue and the other green. During the rite he’d been mesmerized by her odd eyes. For a moment, he considered this was not his chosen, but another sent to trick him, but he knew this was Bithia. Already he knew her scent. If ever she ran from him, he could hunt her down no matter what perfumes she slathered upon herself.

  She slid her hand from his face to his chest, teasing her fingertips through his hair, finally resting her palm above the beating place in his body.

  “You will kill me?” To touch one there was to imply such a threat.

  “No!” She shook her head. “It’s not your fault.” She sighed while smoothing both her hands across his chest to his shoulders.

  Fearing she sought to mate again, he captured her hands. “No go again.”

  Tilting her head to the side, she considered him, then followed his gaze down to his cock. “A touch doesn’t always mean a desire to mate. I just wanted to feel you.”

  He didn’t know why anyone would do such a thing. He thought any touch meant a desire to mate. Everything he thought he knew might be wrong, as he wasn’t properly instructed. He’d learned what he could by listening to the others and watching what they did.

  “We have to find a teacher to help us.” She stepped back, considering him from face to feet. “Because with some training, you’d be a magnificent lover.”

  He got about half of what she said, but his spirit lifted when she mentioned a teacher. “Have Viltori.”

  One brow lifted. “He’s your language teacher?”

  He nodded. If anyone could help them solve this dilemma, that man was Viltori.

  “Well, then, come morning, we will both be taking lessons from Viltori.” Smiling, she removed her crimson cloth and let it fall to the floor.

  Despite his best efforts, his gaze riveted to her breasts.

  “You really are fascinated with them, aren’t you?” She put her hands under them, lifting them, forcing them to go round and high against her chest. Nipples as dark as deep-day shadows peeked over the edges of her palms, almost as if her breasts looked back at him with as much interest as he gave them. Immediately he wanted to tell her to stop touching herself, but then realized such an action was clearly not taboo in her tribe as it was in his. To his shock, she lifted one breast as she lowered her face, then licked her own nipple!

  His cock, which he thought utterly drained, came slowly back to life. Each caress of her tongue hardened her nipple and his shaft. He couldn’t help but imagine her working her tongue on him down there, no matter how perverse such a thought was.

  She noticed that he hardened. After another quick swipe, she smiled up at him. “Why don’t you try?” She stepped close, offering her breast to him.

  Pushing away the wrongness that swept over him, just as he’d done during their rite when he’d had to kneel and kiss her down there, he lowered his head and ran his tongue over her nipple. He tasted something sweet and marveled at the different textures. Her breast was so soft, but her nipple so hard. She cupped his chin, curling her fingers around his mouth to open it and take the entire nipple within. When he did, she moaned. When he sucked softly, she arched her back and plunged her fingers into his hair, holding his head to her breast.

  Now he understood this was not like what a woman did with a child. She wasn’t feeding him—he was giving her pleasure, and she was greedily taking all he could give. Satisfied they’d come to this understanding, he switched to the other nipple, and then went back and forth, then managed to squeeze them together to take both into his mouth at once. Somehow, the idea that the elders thought this a great wrongness only thrilled him more.

  Bithia murmured encouragement with words he didn’t understand but didn’t need to fully grasp. When he looked up at her face, all he saw was satisfaction. Confidence surged another flow of pleasure across his cock. That was the word she and Viltori both used. Drahka liked the power in the sound of it. Cock sounded strong and hard, just like he was.

  When he leaned away from her breasts, Bithia slipped her hand around the heavy weight of his cock. He opened his mouth to admonish her and then forcefully shut it. She wasn’t going to give to him. She was going to take from him. Telling himself that helped him relax and let her explore.

  Strong fingers traced around the blunt tip, then pulled his foreskin down, exposing the sensitive skin below. Slowly she sank to her knees until her face was close to him, exciting him with her proximity and the heat of her breath.

  “Lovely uncut male.”

  He didn’t understand anything of what she said other than the word “male”, but he didn’t care as she stroked the loose skin up and down, making him so hard he strained as if to leap inside her. Holding himself back was difficult, but he sensed she did not wish to rush. Perhaps before, they’d gone too fast and that was what had displeased her. Even if she drove him mad with her touch, he would wait until she was ready for him to give.

  She continued her journey along the length until she cupped his sac in her palm. Carefully she felt the weight of him, rolling his balls back and forth, her fingertips tracing up and back to a spot of skin that was so sensitive he groaned.

  “You like?” Her whispered question caressed the swollen tip of his cock, sending fire along his flesh.

  Unable to speak, he nodded and grunted, causing her to glance up at him and smile. Parting her lips, she took the very tip of him into her mouth. Shocked, he simply
stood and watched as the length of his cock disappeared into her face. He knew what she did was wrong, but her mouth felt so good. Simultaneously, he wanted to step back and stop her, but he also wanted to step forward and thrust into her. Such duality held him immobile.

  Her eyes met his as she pulled back. She rolled her tongue around the tip, then drew him deeper within. Lost in her gaze, he couldn’t stop her even if he wanted to. This perverted act was what had cost him his name. He now let her do it because none from his tribe would ever know.

  As she held him in her mouth, she slid her hand up, behind his sac, past the sensitive spot to the puckered skin of his ass. Another shock surged. His instincts told him to step away, but he simply couldn’t move. When she pulled back to twirl her tongue around the tip this time, she also circled her finger around the tight ring of flesh. Bit by bit she worked her finger inside as she took his cock into her mouth. Now she had him firmly locked into place. He couldn’t step forward or back, so he stood and watched her, feeling a slew of mixed emotions about what she was doing to him.

  Drahka knew he should not climax this way. Doing so was a waste. If he came inside her, a child might come of his pleasure. Each time he tried to tell her this he would open his mouth, but all that emerged were short, sharp bursts of breath, panting groans and strangled gasps. Wasting his seed was against the most basic tenets of his tribe. Those who had gone before would see what he was. They would block him from joining them in the after place. Still, Drahka did not stop her or move away. With her encouragement, he rocked his hips, moving his cock in and out of her mouth as her finger slid in and out of his ass. He came suddenly, thrusting forward without intent, but she took him deep into her throat, her mouth and tongue working to drain him, as if she slaked her thirst from his climax. A twist of her finger caused another surge. Feeling dizzy, he gripped a wall as the last of his pleasure coated the back of her throat.

  He knew in that moment he could never go home again.

  Chapter Three

  Viltori floated on his back, examining the artwork above the great pool in the tishiary. This early, he had the place almost to himself. There was only one other person within the servant rooms, a serbred, who scrubbed her master’s clothing in the washing basin. Her owner was high ranking, given the deep green of the clothing she washed. Her face held the blankness of a child, as all the deliberately bred servant’s faces did. Shivering slightly, Viltori placed his ears under the water to drown out the sounds of her work. For a time, he wished to simply float, breathe and think upon his student.

  After three long cycles of teaching him Diolan, Viltori had finally discovered the man’s name was Drahka. Viltori didn’t think the name suited him, given his power and strength, but at least he had something to call him. He considered that a great victory, even more so than learning the man’s language in a scant cycle. He’d helped the magistrate negotiate with Drahka’s people. Viltori worried that the two different cultures would never come to an agreement, but with enough bribes and promises, Ambo got his way. Drahka belonged to Diola now and to Bithia forever.

  Warm water caressed Viltori’s body as he paddled in a lazy circle, gaze upon the depiction of a humble servant, bowing low before his master. The servant was dressed in brown, as all servants were, and he kept his eyes low, on his master’s feet. Light glowed from the master’s face as he placed his hand upon the head of his slave. Viltori thought the artwork was the most pathetic propaganda he’d ever seen. The artist tried to show that the servant enjoyed his subservient position and that the master was a paragon of kindness. This scenario he knew to be untrue. Viltori could not count the number of times he’d seen the marks of brutality on the bodies of those who served the elite. Since every servant came to the tishiary to bathe, acquire supplies, or clean their master’s clothing, he’d seen most of them at one time or another. True, most had gentle masters, but some had owners who were so vicious they injured their slaves or used them for perversities none should suffer. A desire to right those wrongs rose up in him. He deliberately quashed that yearning. He was not a hero. He was not responsible for fixing what he knew in his heart was wrong. If he could do something, he would, but if he alone rose up to decry the injustice, he would be put to the stone. Ambo himself would crush the very breath from his body until he spoke no more. Of all the most vile masters on Diola, Ambo was notorious for his cruelty and perversity, which often went hand in hand.

  With a sigh, Viltori closed his eyes, letting his awareness shift outside his mind. If he could, he would happily spend the day here, floating on his back. He did not care for the temple. Drugged air hurt his chest and caused bizarre hallucinations. Still, there was something sensual about the rituals that he enjoyed, something deeper than just the feel of the oils and fabrics, but nothing as profound as an actual connection to the gods. Viltori did not believe as most acolytes did, mainly because he was not truly an acolyte.

  They allowed him to wear the white robe and serve in the temple, but before the magistrate discovered his talent for languages, he’d been a recruit. High hopes of becoming the Harvester had been dashed when he’d entered the training rooms. Every man there seemed bigger than the last. Viltori, who’d always felt massive, felt almost puny in comparison. He would never master these men. He would languish just a few steps below greatness until he grew too old to compete. Then he would become a palace guard, forever trapped in service to the empress.

  All of that changed when the magistrate, Ambo Votny, had heard him translating a dispute between two recruits from different regions. Viltori could not explain how he understood what each was saying. He simply did. Given a chance to leave the obscurity of becoming a palace guard behind, Viltori had eagerly taken up Ambo on his offer to travel to a far distant world. Immersing himself in the customs of a unique and completely different culture had helped him grasp the subtleties of their language. He wasn’t an expert by any means, but he would do to teach the future consort to Empress Bithia.

  Just thinking of her made him smile. There were those who said she was the most vulgar woman. They disdained her unique look and mocked her awkwardness. They said she should not be allowed to sit upon the throne, not with her lascivious nature. Viltori adored her from afar. She was the only high-ranking person in the entire palace who said what she thought and did exactly what she felt like doing. She had whatever man she wanted and never let decorum or anything else stand in her way. So bold was she that Bithia had seduced several acolytes who’d been sent to teach her the language of the ancients. How he’d delighted in hearing the tales of her wild adventures. True, some stories were probably exaggerated, but if even a modicum of them was correct, she was a lusty woman indeed. He had sought a position to be her teacher but withdrew when he found out the men she seduced were quietly shipped to faraway regions. Viltori did not wish to lose his position in the palace.

  In a way, he felt close to Bithia, for he had taught Drahka, her now eternal bondmate and primary consort. Viltori hoped he’d done well enough that their first night was up to her demanding standards. Viltori knew he’d still be teaching Drahka, but they would not spend as much time together as they had been. A shame. He enjoyed the man and took pleasure in each burst of insight, each shining grasp of understanding that crossed Drahka’s stern face. As of yet, Viltori hadn’t seen the man smile, but he knew it was simply a matter of time.

  A great splash of water covered Viltori’s face and he sputtered himself upright.

  “Dangerous to sleep here.” Rown splashed water with a hard sweep of his right hand across the top of the pool.

  Swinging his head away, Viltori retaliated with a great blast of kicks from both his legs.

  Rown swam around him, trying to come up behind, but Viltori was too quick. He spun, catching Rown about the waist and pulling him under the water. Struggling with a half-hearted effort, Rown rubbed his nude body against Viltori’s form, causing him to harden with an almost automatic response.

  “You know better,�
� Viltori said, pushing Rown away. Not that he wouldn’t mind losing himself in those enigmatic eyes, but violating an ungati was a line he was not prepared to cross. Besides, Rown’s heart belonged to his master, Sterlave, a man who Viltori found most kind.

  “You wouldn’t know what to do with it anyway,” Rown teased, swimming away as fast as he could. “Acolytes are notoriously uneducated in the art of pleasure.”

  Viltori laughed, making a rude gesture with his thumb and fist. As an ungati, Rown’s entire life had been devoted to the study of pleasure, and yet he was forbidden to climax. Only alone and under strict protocol could Rown find release. Viltori often wondered how his master and mistress coped with such a restriction, but he’d never had the courage to ask.

  Still, their flirting was harmless and helped each forget what they simply could not have. Rown’s master cared for him, but Sterlave did not love him, not the way he loved his bondmate Kasmiri. And Viltori could not find love as an acolyte. He was supposed to be satisfied with the love of the gods. He wasn’t. Viltori realized far too late that he’d escaped one problem only to embrace another.

  “Tell me, Rown, what news have you heard?” Viltori swam near, settling himself on one of the lower steps of the sweeping underwater staircase.

  “I hear that the empress’ consort didn’t fulfill his part of the bonding rites.” Rown scrubbed a foamless soap through his black hair and over his face.

  Viltori’s heart plunged to his belly. He’d spent an entire cycle going over and over the exacting nature of the empress bonding ritual. What had he done wrong? Before he could ask, Rown plunged below the surface. Rown rinsed vigorously, then emerged, splashing water everywhere.