by Kim Knox
She felt the blood heat in her cheeks, knowing that everything now below her waist was exposed to him. Ceta took a calming breath. No doubt he did this with every candidate chosen, though he’d said, with them, he hadn’t ravaged their mouths. She closed her eyes and yanked the robe free, dropping it in a puddle of cloth to the floor.
Stray strands of hair dropped over her forehead as she’d pulled apart the intricate weaving. She held his gaze. “What now?”
His jaw tightened, the muscles shifting under his clean-shaven jaw and he took a step back from her. Color flared over his cheeks. “Your clothes are there.” He pointed to his right, but his eyes never left hers and the lurking hunger in their depths made her flesh tight, her nipples peaking.
Ceta willed herself to look to her left and found a rail jutting out from the smooth wall. Delicate silks in soft shades of taupe and pale gold hung from it. She ran her fingers over a long, narrow coat, the material slipping like wet skin over her fingertips.
“Get dressed, Ceta.” Iason’s voice had roughened with tension.
She glanced at him. The paladin’s focus wasn’t on her face and she couldn’t help the smile that curved her mouth. Deliberately, she shifted from foot to foot, wiggling her behind at him. The color in his face increased. “Is the ship playing with you now, lord?”
“I have to watch you dress.” Iason swore under his breath and lifted his chin. His arms folded across his chest, the chain clanking against the burnished gold of his breastplate. “Just do it.”
Ceta unclipped a small pair of shorts, with a leather belt loose through the fabric links. She turned to face Iason, her heart pounding in her ears. She shouldn’t taunt him, but she could feel it, the leashed need tight in his body. And the thought of a man like Iason losing control… Nothing she’d invented in the simulator could compare.
She stepped into the cool silk, sliding the shorts up her thighs, aware of his hot, dark gaze following her every turn and shift. Tension coiled in her belly and she watched him as she pulled the skin-warmed, skimpy material over her backside and cinched the belt tight. The silk caressed her skin, the sensation heating her blood almost as much as Iason’s piercing stare.
She pulled on the sleeveless gold-silk top, copper clasps securing it under her breasts and leaving her stomach bare. Her fingers played down her taut stomach, cool against her hot skin. She hissed as her own touch pulsed need into her flesh. Ceta swung on the long coat and its smooth silk slid cool against her back. It had a narrow cut, and only the collar, with its copper hooks secured it at her throat, covered the front of her body. Silken boots followed, her hands smoothing, shaping the cool silk to her calves and thighs, the desire rioting through her body curling her toes against the hardened leather soles. With trembling fingers, she clipped the top of the boots to her shorts with more copper clasps.
Ceta looked up after she’d secured them. Iason had stepped closer, beads of sweat edging his brow. His fingers reached out to her hair and slowly, carefully he untangled more of the intricate weave.
She pulled in a deep breath and wet her lips.
Iason paused, his fingers buried in her hair. “Don’t,” he murmured.
Ceta tilted her head up to him, making him cup her head. “Why is it wrong?”
His eyes closed and for several heartbeats he simply breathed. Her lips brushed his and he groaned, his eyelids crushing tight. Iason opened his eyes and his gaze gripped her. She couldn’t read anything in its darkness. “I can’t have you because of what you are.” He eased his fingers free and stepped back from her again. “That will have to do. The sovereign likes the tousled look.”
Need for him swirled through her. Damn it, he wanted her. “What am I?”
“You belong to the sovereign.”
“We all belong to him.”
Iason snorted and slid the manacle around her wrist again, the mechanism clicking into place. “But for three tastings you’re granted special privileges by him. I will not form a part of them.”
Anger burned at the edges of stretched-tight nerves. “Iason.” His name was almost a growl and he narrowed his gaze on her, his face stern. “I have no idea what is going on, what will happen to me. Now you…”
“Do not ever use my name again.” Iason’s mouth thinned and he turned to the door, the chain stretched between them. “It’s time to go.”
Pain stabbed into her gut. And she thought that being chosen was the hardest part of the day. “Fine. Lord.”
Iason stopped and he turned to face her again, his expression dark. Ceta’s heart contracted and panic sank into the pit of her stomach. She’d forgotten the first rule drilled into her by her instructors when she entered the temple—she had to hold a deep respect for the paladin.
“Lord, I—”
“I see you’ve remembered how you should act toward me, Ceta Lars.” The cold edge to his voice inched needles under her skin. His head tilted. “Remember what I am. What my role is.” He moved closer and she fought the need to back away. She was chained to him—escape was impossible. “I maintain order on this ship. I’m the iron hand of the sovereign.” His finger edged her lip and she gasped, fighting the wild mix of arousal and fear that twisted through her body. “If it was the sovereign’s will that I have you, then I would.” A hard smile curved his mouth. “I’ve performed for him before.”
Ceta’s gut tightened and her heart clenched. What was he doing? He’d changed, turned brutal, nasty. Gone was the man who had kissed her on the transport.
His hand withdrew from her skin, curling his fingers to a tight fist as his arm dropped to his side. His gaze pierced her and something about it seemed to cut down to her soul. “Yes, this is the man I am. Keep that at the front of your mind. Always.” The door opened before him with a soft rasp. He strode through it and had Ceta stumbling after him.
He followed the curve of the narrow corridor, the slow, hollow beat of the ship surrounding her. More questions pushed at her thoughts, but she couldn’t voice them. So she followed in silence, trying not to panic. She had to think about the ceremony, to proving herself worthy to the sovereign, not dwell on Iason’s behavior.
She couldn’t think of him by his first name. He should have always remained the paladin, but now that she knew his name… Ceta winced. Yes, it wouldn’t leave her.
A large section of wall shrank back before them and cool air washed over her. Ceta shivered, her exposed stomach and the tops of her thighs rioting with goose bumps. The great, domed hall beyond stretched her already straining nerves.
It was a mass of people, most of them dressed in skimpy costumes mirroring hers. Some wore a lot less. They talked, ate, some looked like they were working as data wrapped around them in a glowing rush, and others—Ceta blushed—entwined themselves in numerous bodies.
She recognized none of them, none of the candidates from years gone by. The hum of sound, of chatter, technology and the soft grunts and moans of too many of them fucking, washed over her senses. Her stomach hollowed. After the tight repression of the temple, the sea of exposed flesh, the scent of it, had her heart in her throat and her body too aware.
A black dais with its wide throne jutted out from the center of the crowd. The man lounging on the wide, ornate chair narrowed his gaze, straightened and pushed the woman’s mouth from his cock. She shrank back, licking her lips. He lifted his hand, a finger curled toward them and Iason started forward.
The mass of bodies parted before the paladin and Ceta followed in his wake. A small platform jutted out in front of the throne. In its center sat a pale block of thickened cream in a large golden dish. Frost thickened the bowl’s sculpted edges. Training kicked in, and she breathed in its scent, the sweet, sensuous power of it making her breath short and her knees weak.
“It’s incredible, isn’t it?” The sovereign pushed himself from his throne and padded the short distance to the platform. His smooth, brown suit, clinging to his lean body as a second skin, wrapped around him completely. When had he
covered himself up? “Welcome to my ship. Are you honored to be here?”
Ceta realized she was staring and fixed her gaze on the floor. His feet moved into her vision. She dropped to her knees, her head bowed. Breath eased in and out of her lungs and she concentrated on it, trying to keep herself calm. “Yes, Master.”
His feet shifted away from her, the strange leather that molded to his body in a single sheath of soft brown reminding her of the walls, the floor of the ship itself. “Not a blonde, paladin. Unusual choice for you.”
“Her skills proved superior to the rest, Master.” The quiet professionalism in Iason’s voice presented another aspect of the man to Ceta. She wondered how many masks he wore in service to their sovereign. “I strive always to provide you with the best.”
“Yes, you do.”
A smooth, leather-covered hand slid over her chin and her skin prickled. The sovereign tilted her head to him. He was beautiful, holding a lithe, ethereal splendor that didn’t feel quite…real. And his eyes, a pure and burning gold, tightened a knot in her stomach. Something about him felt wrong and her senses screamed out against it. Thoughts burst into her head. His humanity. She swallowed and pushed down the fast rise of fear. Feodor Kyrillos had stopped being human a long, long time before.
“So…”
“Ceta Lars,” Iason murmured.
“Ceta. The paladin has explained that you must taste the essence of my ship.” His thumb brushed her skin, the leather of his glove smooth, cool against her flushed cheek. He glanced up. “Did you enjoy seeing her naked, paladin?”
A fist tightened around her heart at his words.
Iason didn’t pause, but gave him a quick, “Of course, Master.”
Feodor’s hand slipped from her jaw. “The rote reply, paladin, as always. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you had no interest in women at all.”
“Yes, Master.”
Feodor sighed a soft, semi-dramatic sound, but Ceta wasn’t fooled into relaxing, into thinking that she was safe with this man. The underlying itch that something about him was just…wrong…continued to plague her. “Stand, Ceta.” She scrambled to her feet, trying to keep her eyes averted. His burning gaze slid down over her body. “Yes, even though she isn’t your preferred blonde, paladin, you must have enjoyed seeing her body.” A lazy smile cut his mouth. “If the temple is finding candidates like this one, I may have to make a personal visit.”
He turned his attention away from her body to the platform. Picking up a long, golden spoon, he dipped it into the dish. His grin became sharp, wicked, and fear had her chest tight. “Your service to me as begun. Open your month, Ceta.”
Chapter Four
The spoon burned cold against her tongue and the first, warming tendrils of the thick, frozen cream’s scent wafted through her. Ceta closed her mouth, and the sovereign pulled the spoon free. The icy dessert warmed and then melted on her tongue, a slow, languorous sensation that had every nerve tingling. Essences of cinnamon, vanilla eased over her tongue, a pure simple taste that almost forced a sigh. Her eyes drifted shut.
Then it changed and exotic flavors burst over her senses, fired through her blood. Her brain labeled each spice from the across the quadrant, but then something burned under them. A heat, a need. Ceta swallowed and tried to deny the hot flush to her flesh, the very real pounding of searing lust. What was happening to her?
“Only the finest palate can unlock the dessert for others to enjoy.” Her eyes flashed open and she found the sovereign smirking at her. His head tilted to one side. “Can you feel the rush? The need to fuck something, anything?”
His words burned through her. Ceta could only nod, not trusting herself to speak.
“Good. Very good.” He turned her, his hands on her shoulders. She shivered. Yes, she wanted a man, someone to get wild and naked with, but that man was most definitely not their sovereign. “Choose, Ceta. You may choose anyone from amongst my favorites. They are all very good.” His hands tightened against her shoulders and his lips almost brushed her ear. She held down a shudder. “I’ve sampled all of them. I can testify to being very satisfied.”
The manacle and chain still pulled at her wrist, a heavy reminder of the paladin standing just behind her. Ceta sucked in a breath. Iason. Five times, she’d clothed tech in his face and body, though she’d never had the nerve to go through with sleeping with him. Her conscience niggled at his obvious reluctance, but it became a tiny speck lost in the rush of lust burning through her body. Even the revelation of his commanding, possibly brutal nature couldn’t deny her need for him. “The paladin,” she said, her voice barely a croak.
The man at her side barked his laughter. “Iason? You want the dour paladin?”
He turned her to face Iason and the stern expression on the paladin’s face only fueled the need in her flesh. If she could she would jump him there, have him buried inside her, have everyone see the slick slide of his cock in and out of her flesh in a driving rhythm that would— “Then feed him.” The sovereign gave her another golden spoon, the dessert glistening on its icy surface. “Put lust in his cold flesh.” He grinned at Iason. “The candidate chooses you. Well, there has to be a first time for everything. Open your mouth.”
Ceta, her hand trembling, eased the long spoon over his lips. Her heart pounded. What the hell was she doing, coercing this man? But she couldn’t stop. Her flesh demanded him.
Iason’s lips closed over the spoon and a tremor ran along the golden metal. She knew he licked, sucked the chilled cream, melting it against his tongue. It was there in his eyes, the sudden dark flare of lust. Her chest tightened and she ached to close the distance between them, strip him, fuck him.
A hard smirk tugged at the sovereign’s mouth and Ceta fought to stay focused, not to claw her way through Iason’s breastplate to the flesh it kept from her. “Fuck her as I would.” Feodor turned from them, dipping a spoon again into the softening dessert, sighing at the first mouthful. He crooked his finger at eager faces and they scrambled up to eat from him.
Iason’s hand closed around hers, tight, hot, and his touch had her gasping. He set a fast pace out of the hall, leaving behind the first stirrings of a wild orgy, and pulled her down the narrow corridor. All too quickly, he dragged her into the little room and the door puckered into a solid wall behind him.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Iason pushed her against the smooth wall, crushing his body into hers. The ornate metal of his breastplate scraped her exposed skin. “Do you think it’s your revenge choosing me?”
His mouth tempted her, so close she could simply take it and stop his argument. “Everything in me wants to strip you naked and devour you. If you want to call that my revenge. Fine.”
“Ceta…” He growled her name. Sparks danced behind her eyes and she arched into him. “I didn’t want this.”
Her hands snaked over the leather strips of his kirtle and gripped the solid muscle of his ass through thin, tight cotton. He groaned and pressed his hips hard into her. His erection pushed firmly into her belly. “You think I did?”
Iason’s eyes narrowed on her and a pulse of pure need swept through her flesh. “Then why?” His breath brushed her lips, the sweet heat of his mouth too much temptation.
“Can we talk later?”
“We’re in the ship’s thrall.”
“So?” She nipped at his lip, the taste of him flooding through her. Ceta groaned and took his lip again, tugging, biting, aching for him to return the kiss, for him to satisfy the need that pounded through her flesh. “Iason.”
Her deliberate use of his name shortened his breath and she felt his tense anger in the bite of his fingers into her hips. “You are not to use my name.”
“Then stop me.”
“Ceta…”
The low growl of her name coursed a shiver over her skin and she arched into him, gripping his buttocks. She wanted her skin against his, him buried in her. Not this, not his resistance. “Then let me find someone else. Someo
ne who will satisfy me.”
Fury burned in the darkness of his eyes and she knew her words had hit a nerve. She hoped it was the right one.
“We shared the ship’s essence, the milk that is her life.” His hand eased its hard grip and traced over her waist. He pulled away so that he could tease a slow path across her stomach, his fingertips burning against her bare skin. “We should play by her rules now.”
“And what are they?” Ceta’s words came out on a gasp as his palm slipped over her breast, the hot press of his skin against hers hollowing her belly.
Iason’s thumb circled her hard nipple. “They’re…interesting.”
The promise in his voice almost had her squirming. But she could play too. Her hands eased away from the solid muscles of his ass to skim over his breastplate to the buckles on his shoulders. Quick fingers slid the leather through the metal and Iason’s cloak dropped to the floor. The leather straps securing his breastplate gave way easily too.
“How, interesting?”
Iason yanked the loosened metal over his head with one hand and let it drop to the floor with a clatter. His grin turned hard and Ceta’s heart squeezed. “From the instructions tearing through my head? Very.”
She blinked and stopped herself from asking “How very?” Her heart pounded and with each breath she drew in his scent, pulling what he was deep inside her. That thought flared fresh need. Her fingers tugged at the thin tunic hiding him from her, but his hands gripped hers and held them, tight.
“Oh no.” He pushed her arms above her head, pinning her, making her arch into his body. “By feeding me, you made me a party to this madness.” His eyes narrowed, the darkness in them sparking the first unexpected flare of orgasm in her flesh. “You want me, Ceta? Fine. Then you have me, but only for this night. Tomorrow, you pick a more willing man.”
His words twisted her insides, the sourness mixing with the rising arousal as his hand slid from her breast to grab her ass. His fingers pushed under the tight silk and he pressed her hard against his erection, his thigh pushing between hers. The rough heat of his skin against her thighs had sparks dancing behind her eyes, her spine arching. “You seem willing.”
