Once he filled her, his cock hitting the very depth her body could take, he rocked back, pulling almost all the way out before he slammed back in. Viltori held her for his aggressive movements, encouraging him with more powerful words said in both languages. When he reached out to hold her hips, he felt his teacher’s knees and held them too, as if he held both of them for his giving. Below their weight, the bed gave in time to his movements, bouncing them with his powerful thrusts. And then his balls slapped against his teacher’s hand as Viltori teased Bithia’s clit. When she came, she released a moaning scream, and clamped around Drahka’s cock. As he released into her, Viltori cupped his balls, teasing him, making his climax even greater. Shivering against her, Drahka opened his eyes, but all he saw was a gleam of triumph on Viltori’s face.
Chapter Twelve
Still hard, Viltori held Bithia as she recovered from Drahka’s wicked thrusts. The man had enough power in his body to light a small village. It took her locking her hips and Viltori’s knees cradling her to keep her steady as her bondmate slammed into her. Lifting his hand to her creamy clit sent her into a screaming orgasm that clamped her cunt around Drahka. Viltori knew the precise moment when it happened by the look on Drahka’s face; pleasure so intense it practically bordered on pain.
Viltori had to struggle to reach his sac, but he did, pleased when Drahka did not bellow for him to stop. Feeling the power of his balls lifting his climax into Bithia had almost pushed Viltori over the edge. Almost. But what he’d said to Bithia was not just words said in the heat of the moment. He meant what he’d whispered into her ear as she laid panting against his neck.
Once she caught her breath, she moved away from them and rolled onto her back. Stretching out along the bed, she sighed and closed her eyes, a satisfied smile on her face. None the worse for wear after having been soaked, she actually looked much better without her hair carefully coifed. Wild and tangled, her short black hair spiked up from her head in tousled, sexy disarray. Her dress was probably ruined, but she didn’t seem to care. Amazing how one good orgasm could mellow the empress into languid ease.
Drahka fell back on his heels, his eyes closed, his long hair barely mussed. No doubt he was replaying everything in his mind and regretting it. Viltori sighed. Why couldn’t Drahka simply accept that he desired both a man and a woman? Viltori had accepted it with ease, although, to be fair, he had not been reared in a culture that punished such relationships.
“As little as I want to, we must attend the bonding celebration.” Bithia sat up with a sigh, her breasts swaying gently as she moved off to the basin room after summoning a large group of servants.
Everything Drahka had stripped off they put back on him. Despite his struggles, they encased his cock in the dreaded echalle. Viltori watched, understanding why he disliked the garment; however, he had to say it did have the desired effect. The echalle lifted his cock up and out, placing it on display for the envy of others. Viltori certainly felt envious. Not that he was lacking in that area, but he would enjoy knowing Drahka’s cock was not just for Bithia’s pleasure, but his too.
Viltori puzzled over his outfit, trying to understand the meaning of the colors. Drab brown pants indicated his station as a servant, but a white shirt proclaimed him an acolyte. His boots were brown and simple, just like the trousers. The fabrics were of the highest quality but he wasn’t certain what this particular combination of colors would say to the elite.
Encased in another clinging crimson dress, Bithia moved toward him with a red sash draped across her palms. She wrapped the astle around his waist, tying a knot above his right hip.
“This shows you belong to me.” She gave the sash a tug, yanking him close so only he could hear her whisper, “If I catch you with anyone other than myself, I will have you put to the stone.”
Meeting her gaze, he whispered back, “I meant what I said, Bithia. There is no other for me but you.”
“What about Drahka?” She glanced back at him over her shoulder, then returned her gaze to his. “I see how you look at him.”
“I want him too, but only if I am with you as your consort.”
A quick roll of her eyes said she did not believe him. He didn’t expect her to, not yet. She would have to see for herself that what he’d sworn to he would hold to, even if it killed him. As she’d clung to his shoulders to brace herself for the powerful thrusts of her bondmate, she’d encouraged Viltori to lift up and spend himself by rubbing against her belly. Viltori flatly refused. He swore he would not climax until he was inside her. Bithia shivered as she met his gaze but in her eyes, he saw her disbelief. She didn’t believe him because, of course, he could not penetrate her unless he was her official consort.
Viltori knew what he’d done was crazy. Bithia could claim him if she chose to, but why would she? She only needed him to help train Drahka. Once that was finished, his usefulness to her was at an end. As soon as she gave Drahka and the people of Diola a daughter, she could return to her wicked ways, sampling every man on the planet without repercussion, or any kind of commitment. Why would she bind herself to him when she didn’t have to?
Still, he’d spoken from the heart. He wanted to be with her and Drahka. A formal declaration was the only way he could have them both. He was willing to suffer to reach his objective. Not that he hadn’t already suffered. Getting aroused and letting his cock return to normal without climaxing had started a slow burning ache in his balls. Still, there was something powerful in holding back. As Rown said, there was satisfaction in knowing he’d greatly pleased the two people he cared about the most. Before he would find pleasure for himself, he would have their commitment to him. They couldn’t just say they cared; he needed them to show they cared.
Bithia brushed off her servant’s attempts to style her hair or replace her washed-away makeup. Instead, she motioned Drahka forward. He came with ground-eating strides, his boots booming against the white tiled floor. Dressed all in red, he seemed taller, somehow, bigger. Especially in the mostly white room. Bithia’s servants had pulled his long hair back and tied it with a strip of red leather. Drahka was the only man Viltori had ever seen with long hair who didn’t look feminine. Actually, his long hair made a striking contrast to Bithia’s short locks.
From below a length of decorative fabric, Bithia removed a gem-encrusted sword that glittered under the crystals.
“I’m sure there is some great ceremony and certain words I am to say, but I didn’t listen to Undanna when she gave me instructions, so…” Bithia held out the sword. “This is the Sword of the Empress. I give it to you because if ever there is a war, you will lead the palace guards into battle.” She considered for a moment. “I’m supposed to say something about this making you my protector, the father of my children and the defender of the empire.” With that, she attached the sword to a thick belt that hung low on Drahka’s hips.
The reverence that glowed from his face would have been almost funny on any other man, but Drahka took the gift very seriously. “I will defend the empire,” he said, his voice solemn. Lifting his face, he looked right at Bithia. “I will protect you.” He bowed to her. “And I will happily father your children.” A film of tears glittered in his eyes, but he refused to let them fall. Clearly, though, he was touched by the symbolic meaning of the gift.
Bithia smiled. “You certainly are taking care of the last part. I’ve never known a man so eager to produce children.”
Viltori tried not to make a comparison between his sash and Drahka’s sword, but it was difficult not to. Drahka’s sword gave him power where Viltori’s sash took away all his rights. A sword was a symbol of dominance and strength, a sash was a symbol of submission and powerlessness. Bithia had deliberately put the sash on him herself, because she could have let the servants do it, but that would not have ground his face in his worthless position. As she turned from Drahka, she caught his gaze and smiled mischievously.
Viltori smiled back, lifting one brow up higher than the other, twistin
g his face into a smirk of contempt.
Bithia’s confidence faltered into confusion. With a huff, she turned on her heel, giving him her back. Her crimson dress plunged down almost to the split of her bottom, yet covered her everywhere else. Never had he seen a more provocative dress. Between her outfit and Drahka’s, he couldn’t decide who was more alluring. Together they were a stunning couple that all on Diola would envy, especially him.
No matter how badly what she had done to him hurt his pride, Viltori would never let her know. Even if his face froze into a mask, he would smile all throughout this celebration and forever afterward until he again had Bithia and Drahka in bed. Once there, they would all realize who the real master was. Viltori could survive his self-imposed celibacy if he had the rich, exhilarating power of commanding them into ecstasy.
Surrounded by palace guards, the three of them walked along wide hallways, Viltori ten paces behind, until they came upon the Room of Ceremonies. Every color of the elite made up the mosaic tiled floor, but tables and chairs decked in crimson dominated the color of the room. A clear spot in the center was obviously reserved for dancing. Men and women clad in deep jewel tones sat at the long tables eating, drinking and gossiping. All mouths closed when the empress and her consort entered.
Forced smiles and half-hearted cheers resounded as the entire room rose to their feet. Bithia nodded to the left, the right, then lifted Drahka’s hand in hers. Another brief round of bellowing approval rang false to Viltori’s ears as he stood in the doorway, waiting. Once Bithia and Drahka were seated, he was ushered behind.
Viltori felt the eyes of the elite upon him, the looks on their faces puzzled as they considered the curious colors he wore. However, once they saw the brown of his trousers, they dismissed him, their eyes now riveted to the couple before him.
As Bithia and Drahka settled at the high table, he stood behind, unsure of exactly what he should do. A servant rushed forward and pointed at the floor between Bithia and Drahka. After a moment of confusion, the order was clear; the servant wanted Viltori to kneel down by Bithia’s side.
Viltori refused.
The last thing he would ever do was sit at her feet like a domesticated animal. Baffled by his resistance, the servant finally left when Bithia waved him away with a flick of her wrist.
“You may stand, then, if you wish.” With that, she turned her attention to Drahka.
Standing between them, Viltori kept his hands clasped behind his back, leaning forward when she or Drahka needed something translated. Food-covered platters weighted down the table as wine flowed freely. Viltori had to stand and watch as servants filled Bithia and Drahka’s plates and cups to overflowing. His empty belly rumbled. Drahka glanced at him, concerned, then frowned at Bithia. He leaned near and said something to her that Viltori couldn’t hear, but clearly, Drahka did not like the way she was treating his teacher. Whatever he said, Bithia ignored him. Deliberately she turned to the person on the other side and began chatting about the woman’s dress.
Excusing himself, Viltori headed toward the basin rooms in the back. Pushing open the door, he walked into the middle of two men conversing. They stopped for a moment, considered his odd combination of colors, and then dismissed him. Only the elite could snub so thoroughly when they saw the color brown. Viltori moved to the basin at the back to relieve himself.
“I’m amazed she even showed up,” one man said to another, inspecting his deep blue-green jacket.
“And dressed!” the other quipped. Fastidiously he picked bits of lint off the back of the man’s suit.
“What do you make of her consort?” the first asked, turning this way and that, making sure nothing else marred his fancy clothing.
“The idiot?” The two men switched places so the other man, in a slightly less bright blue-green suit, could examine his clothing for wayward smut. “I imagine the only thing he has going for him is that enormous cock!” Leaning over to the mirror, he smiled, exposing his teeth. He picked out a bit of food, flicked it away, and then rinsed his mouth.
“He’d have to be an idiot to bond to Bithia,” said the first. “No man on Diola would want a woman who found it impossible to keep her legs together.”
Snickering, the other said, “Even with her legs glued together all she would have to do is bend over.”
Viltori finished and turned to the long row of sinks. Washing his hands, he felt the eyes of both men on him. They considered the red sash around his waist.
“You belong to the empress?” the second one asked, his voice a curious mixture of disdain and dismissal.
A thousand denials sprang to mind, but in the end, he softly said, “I do.” How he wished he really did belong to her, and not as her servant.
The first one approached. His face was flushed red and his eyes were glittering from too much drink. Possessively, he ran his fingers along the sash. “Then she must have you well trained.”
Viltori stood silently, unsure of what, exactly, the man was implying.
His intent became clear as he nodded to the other, who grinned and moved over, blocking the door.
Fumbling, the first began to lower his trousers. “Show us how a slave of the empress sucks cock.”
Both men focused intently on his face, waiting to see if he would comply willingly, or if they would have to force him. Viltori was convinced they would enjoy the latter.
“On your knees, slave,” the first said, pointing to the floor as if Viltori might be too stupid to know what he meant.
“Why don’t you get on your knees?” Viltori settled his hands on his hips. Slave or not, he was not a toy to be passed around.
Snarling, the man lunged for him, but Viltori stepped aside, sending the man into a drunken sprawl on the floor. He let out a blood-curdling howl when he landed on his penis.
“I will have you put to the stone!” he sputtered, rolling over and glaring up at him. He cupped his hand over his rapidly deflating prick.
“And you will tell of what happened here?” Viltori cocked his head to the side. “You will stand at the inquisition and tell how you tried to force a servant of the empress to suck your cock during her bonding celebration?” Viltori plucked his white shirt away from his chest. “Do you know what this color means?”
Both men did, but they’d never seen the white of an acolyte mixed with the brown of a slave.
“I am a teacher. I am the translator for the empress and her consort. Do you think Bithia would let any harm befall me?” Even as he asked the question, he felt sure of the answer. Bithia would protect him, if only so that she could play with him herself. “If you are in dire need to have your cock sucked, ask him to do it.” Viltori pointed to the man blocking the door. “The bulge in his trousers indicates he is in need himself. You two could assist one another.” Viltori walked toward the door, but the second man took a solid stance, refusing to move aside. Viltori asked him politely to step away. He refused. Using the palm of his hand, he shot his arm forward in a quick snap, smacking the heel of his hand into the center of the man’s chest. He oofed out a breath, then slowly sank. Leaning over him, Viltori said, “Before I was a slave, I was a recruit.”
Viltori pushed the man aside and left before they could say anymore. Nevertheless, they had said enough. Bithia’s subjects mocked her reign and her consort. Something in his heart hardened. As the door whooshed shut behind him, his eyes sought out the high table. Bithia’s gaze met his. Despite her forced gaiety, he saw the vulnerability in her eyes. Did she know her own people had no respect for her?
Chapter Thirteen
Bithia saw something in Viltori’s gaze she had tried very hard not to see—concern. Not for himself, not even for Drahka, but for her. When he’d whispered his oath to her ear, she thought he was only doing so to increase her passion in that moment, but he was serious. He would not have his release until he could be with her as her consort. Swallowing down the sudden fear that filled her, she turned her gaze away as she reached for her drink. Strong, t
he wine flowed over her tongue with the lightest burn. Warmth filled her belly first, then spread out along her limbs. Tension faded, allowing her to return her gaze to Viltori.
He was moving toward her, the lights gleaming in his golden hair. Bouncing steps caused strands to lift and fall, giving life to his features. She avoided looking directly into his eyes and instead looked at each part of his face from the dark brows slanted sharply above his brown eyes, to the harsh set of his lips, to the barest bit of stubble darkening his cheeks and chin. Open against his chest, the white shirt only accented the darker skin that peeked through the V. Intrigued by his mixture of light hair on top and dark hair below, she let her gaze fall naturally down to his hips. Brown trousers were loose against his muscular body, but each step he took pushed the fabric against his cock. He wasn’t hard, but he didn’t have to be. She licked her lips, thinking that one kiss would awaken his member to full attention. Now that he’d put the thought in her head, she could not stop thinking of having him fully inside her. To feel him erupt within the grasping strength of her cunt caused her to shiver.
Viltori was a master of sex. She would never admit that to him, but she had to acknowledge in her own mind he knew more about pleasure than she did. His knowledge had turned her opinion of Drahka around. Never had her body been so sated. For the first time in her life, she didn’t feel an obsession to find new and greater pleasures with another man. All she wanted was the two men she already had. She tried to push that truth away, but there it was. What had the man done to her? Bithia couldn’t remember a time when she didn’t feel a constant ache so deep inside she feared it would never be filled. Now, that pain was gone. Viltori had eased her compulsion and yet started a new one: She had to have him.
Without turning, she felt him come up behind her. Blinded in a room full of men, she would know Viltori and Drahka without touching just by their presence. Each man gave off strong, unnamable sensations she responded to. If she were a believer in mystical powers, she would think the men had bewitched her. Although, only children and the foolish people of Beserrah believed in such occult powers.
Wicked Empress:The Onic Empire, Book 4 Page 10
