The prince growled something that sounded like an aborted apology and moderated his strokes. I convulsed, coming in waves, ecstasy replacing the pain to blaze up my spine like a shooting star.
“Odin’s balls!” Tendons worked in Arles’s powerful throat as he threw back his head and rammed deep. His cock jolted inside me, shooting streams of thick heat into my pussy.
I screamed, drowning in another wave of sumptuous, pulsing orgasm. But even as I writhed, I wondered if Arles meant what he’d said -- that he’d never forgive me.
Chapter Two
Twenty members of Arles’s crew sat around the octagonal serving tables in the Mjölnir’s mess. As we walked in, their voices filled the room with a cheerful babble of jokes, tech talk, and the usual playful taunts, reminding me of happier days aboard the Valkyrie.
But as they spotted Arles leading me toward the officer’s table, all conversation died away. Men and women alike turned to stare.
No wonder. A length of gold chain led from my jeweled collar to the prince’s big hand, and manacles bound my wrists. My bonds were as finely crafted and gem-studded as any jewelry I’d ever worn, but no one would mistake them for anything but symbols of my sexual captivity.
I lifted my chin and met the curious gazes, freezing my expression into one of cool disdain. I might wear chains, but I was still a royal princess of Swanhilde.
Still, the walk to the captain’s table stung. Women smirked in satisfaction at seeing an enemy so shamed. Men leered at the nipples visible through my filmy thrall tunic. One spacer made a comment that triggered barks of crude laughter.
My hands curled into fists. I wanted to rage at them, but I muzzled my fury and reminded myself of my bargain with Arles. A little shame was a small price to pay for the lives of my crew.
Even as I drew my shoulders back and stiffened my spine, eyes widened all across the room. Everyone promptly found something else to look at. The snap of heads turning to gaze elsewhere looked almost synchronized. What the hell…
Which was when I noticed the tension in Arles’s broad shoulders and his white-knuckled grip on my leash. I couldn’t see his expression -- I walked at his heels -- yet I could almost feel the radiating heat of his anger -- directed, for once, at someone other than me.
I stared at his stiff spine in speculation. Perhaps he was simply a jealous man, yet some naïve part of me hoped he’d felt my shame and silently defended me with a glare.
Ridiculous thought. Why would he care? Especially given that shaming me was obviously the intention behind the sex-thrall tunic and chains.
But as I trailed him across the gleaming faux marble floor to the table reserved for senior officers, I remembered the boy I’d loved. Arles had been an idealist then, devoted to his father’s vision of imperial honor and responsibility.
I’d been five years old the summer my mother had hand-fasted me to Prince Arles. Even then, the tall, handsome fifteen-year-old had fascinated me. He’d been kind, showing me the model starcraft he’d built, even teaching me to fly the little toy around the palace.
I’d proceeded to break one of my mother’s priceless Elderkind vases with a particularly ill-aimed dive. To my astonishment, Arles told our parents he was to blame. Though he suffered his mortified father’s thundering wrath, he didn’t reveal I was the true culprit. And I was deeply grateful.
Queen Zerelda expected her daughters to be worthy representatives of our royal House. Had Arles not claimed responsibility, Mother would have ordered the captain of the Royal Guard to flog me with his sword belt.
It would not have been the first time, nor the last.
From then on I’d worshipped my prince. And that was how I thought of him, My Prince, as though he were a hero from some ancient tale.
We spent hours together in the years that followed, arguing ancient battles and plotting wild strategies to defeat the Fafnar. I came to adore Arles with all the passion in my young heart. Not even Galon had been able to dislodge him.
But Arles was no longer that boy, as I was no longer the foolish girl trembling before her mother’s anger. It was past time I took responsibility for my actions.
I had indeed shamed the royal House of Vanda and voided the treaty that had been in place since our parents had hand-fasted us. It was a good thing Emperor Ragnar had not abandoned Swanhilde to its fate, or the Fafnar would have enslaved my people and wiped out my royal House. They’d done as much on the other worlds they’d preyed upon.
We wouldn’t have had any hope of defending ourselves. Swanhilde’s people were artisans and poets, farmers and philosophers. The Torreans, on the other hand, were the finest warriors in human space, which was why my mother had sought the treaty with Emperor Ragnar to begin with.
My stomach clenched as I considered the fate I’d almost brought down on my world. I deserve anything Arles wants to do to me.
The prince sat down at the server and waved me to the high-backed seat next to his. I settled into the chair, feeling its warm, dark blue padding shift and move around me until it cuddled my body like a living thing. I glanced over the room, lifting my brows. Every seat in the mess was of the same expensive type. “You pamper your crew, Captain.”
He shrugged. “Small comforts are the brick and mortar of crew loyalty. My people are well paid, and I treat them with respect. In return, they never hesitate to follow me wherever I lead.” Arles grimaced. “Including more than one hand-to-hand brawl with the lizards.”
“That couldn’t have been much fun.” Fafnarian warriors are built like biped tanks, more than two and a half meters tall, with armored black hides and claws like daggers. “I’ve had a scuffle or two with them myself. I killed one, but I damned near bled to death doing it.”
That particular lizard had slain Galon, which was why I went after the reptilian fucker with a quark-splitter’s axe. I’d been so blind with rage and grief, it was a wonder I lived through the fight at all.
Galon had been dead two years now, but I still missed him.
Blue brows lifted. Arles eyed me as if he saw far more than I wanted him to. With his sensor implants, he probably did. Finally he nodded shortly and turned his attention to the tabletop menu display.
I watched his clever fingers tap meal choices for both of us. I was not surprised he didn’t ask my preferences. I was his thrall, not a guest, and he wanted to make sure I knew it.
While we waited for the server to produce our plates, the prince propped his elbows on the table and studied me. I decided it was time to own up to my mistakes.
“I was a stupid girl ten years ago, Arles.” I had to force my gaze not to drop. “I know you may not believe me, but I’ve rued my flight every day since. It was cowardly, and I was not raised to be a coward. I have spent the last decade trying to become a woman who could meet her own eyes in the mirror.”
Arles bared even white teeth, not sympathetic in the least. “While my House endured the shit-storm of rumor you left behind -- rumors my enemies used against me to erode my reputation and stain my honor.”
I swallowed. “Yes, I’ve seen the news vids.” The galactic news coverage had been vicious. Reporters brought up my jilting him in every story about his victories.
“And we won’t even mention your sister’s antics once she became my brother’s wife.” The prince grimaced. “Had I not redeemed myself in the Fafnar war, our nobility would have refused to acknowledge me as my father’s heir. You damned near wrecked my career before it even began.”
“I know.”
“Meals are served,” the table announced before I could say any more. Panels in its gleaming surface opened, and the server lifted our food into place.
I picked up my fork, only to put it down again, unable to eat for the tension knotting my belly. “I wish there was a way to make up for my actions.”
“There is.” Arles studied me with a gambler’s cool calculation. “My tour of duty here is done. I’m returning to Tor. If you truly mean to make up for your transgressions, ser
ve as my thrall until I find a wife.”
I gaped at him. It was one thing to parade around his ship on a leash, playing sex games. To do so on Tor, where the news services would beam every juicy detail to Swanhilde… ”But my mother…”
“Yes, I imagine it will be quite the scandal. A Swanhilde princess in bondage to her former betrothed.”
Another woman might have mistaken the nasty curve of his mouth for a smile. “Fortunately, you’ve seen to it that I’m inured to scandal. You, however, will experience the same depths of shame I knew when you jilted me before the whole of my father’s empire.”
Outrage shot through me, and I almost told him exactly what I thought of his offer. But even as I opened my mouth, I saw his expectation and satisfaction glint in his eyes.
So I shut my teeth, sat back in my seat, and wrestled my anger until I could make my own calculations. Galon had taught me to read an opponent’s intentions, and I knew when I was being played. “And if I refuse?”
“Then I fuck you for a week, punish you as it suits me, and turn you lose. You’ll go back to your ship and hide from your mother and your people while you tell yourself you’re not a coward.” Arles shrugged his broad shoulders. “Your choice, Gisel. Just how sorry are you?”
He expects me to refuse.
And if I did, my life would proceed just as he predicted. I had built a comfortable identity as Captain Zel Bera, fighting other people’s wars, courting death for money, just as my mentor had. Very good money, true, but still, only money. And one day I would lose, just as Galon had.
It was not as if I defended my world and people, as Arles had. I’d studied his spectacular battles with the Fafnar, and I knew he’d fought with brilliance and guts.
If I went to Tor with him, I could finally face my mother and confront my wretched sister. I’d long since realized Isa had manipulated me into running, probably intending to wed Arles herself so that she could one day be Empress of Tor. Arles, being no fool, had wanted nothing to do with her, and she’d ended up with his brother. Jarrat was a handsome, witty man, but he was not the heir. Isa must have been beside herself with rage at the way her plans had backfired.
While I set all that to rights, I could atone to the boy Arles had once been. My young Paladin.
“I accept.”
Arles’s eyes widened in astonishment, only to narrow as his lips parted in a snarl.
Here it comes, I thought.
Chapter Three
The field shackles held me a foot off the ground, arms and legs spread helplessly wide in mid air. Hanging by my wrists and ankles should have been murderously painful, but the shackles’ null-grav field reduced my weight until the strain was no more than mildly uncomfortable.
“So how do you like our recreational facilities?” Arles drawled, all lazy, wicked humor. His mood had definitely improved since he’d strung me up.
“You Torreans have an interesting concept of recreation.” I eyed the surrounding chamber with a combination of dread and arousal.
A varied selection of whips, clamps, and dildos occupied niches in the bulkheads, along with assorted toys I couldn’t identify despite my extensive spacer’s education in kink. Larger devices stood around the room, constructed of leather straps and gleaming rods that curved in suggestive shapes, obviously engineered for bondage.
As if to complete the dungeon effect, the walls and floor appeared to be built of irregular black stone blocks. Torches clamped to the walls provided the only illumination, the flames casting sinister shadows.
I realized much of the scene must be a three-dimensional projection over the real chamber. “Isn’t this supposed to be a military vessel?” I curled my lip to disguise my nervous excitement behind a show of contempt. “How the hell does bondage play encourage order and discipline?”
“Torreans enjoy erotic games.” Arles paced around me, studying my nudity with hooded interest. “And as I said, I like to oblige my crew with the… simpler things.”
“Especially since you get to reap the benefits.”
“Of course.” He stepped in close to cup one bare breast. His long fingers felt deliciously warm as he stroked and weighed my flesh, eyeing the full curves like a connoisseur. “And what lovely benefits they are.”
“Thank you -- I think.”
“Oh, don’t thank me.” Arles leaned in, and I caught my breath. His mouth closed over my nipple, sucking hard, licking and nibbling and tugging until the glittering pleasure made me want to writhe in my bonds. I controlled the impulse, but it took every ounce of discipline I had.
At last he released his erotic hold to smirk into my eyes. “You’re going to wish you were a hag by the time I’m done with you.”
Arles gave my nipple a teasing flick with his tongue, then leaned back to observe its stiff, rosy jut. His hand lifted, holding a small golden object studded with emeralds. Before I could ask what it was, he attached it to my nipple, and the thing promptly clamped down hard. I swore in startled pain.
Meeting my gaze, Arles grinned like a wolf. “Does it hurt, darling?”
“Yes, you bastard!” The clamp seemed to be chewing now, its gemstone jaws opening and closing on the aching pink peak. Every bite sent fire radiating through my chest until I could only speak through gritted teeth. “When I get down from here, we’ll see how you like wearing them -- on your balls.”
“Now that’s no way for a thrall to talk.” He produced another clamp and let its jaws snap closed on the other stiff, ruddy nipple. Smiling like a devil, he stepped back to watch his little toys gnaw.
Odin’s one eye, they stung! Fire blazed a trail along my nerves, and I ground my teeth against a shout. Just before my control shattered, the pain vanished, replaced by a dark, radiating delight. I arched in surprise as each nipple pulsed in time to my racing heartbeat. “Gods! What the hell is that?”
“The clamps produce a field that stimulates the pleasure receptors.” Arles flashed his teeth at me. “And a few others. I’m sure you can guess which ones.”
The left clamp began to sting again, just as the right produced a sweet throbbing. They started alternating, first torturing my tits, then pleasuring them like a man’s wicked mouth. The waves of sensation intensified until I twisted in the air, panting and tugging at my bonds. Arles watched my helpless reaction, his powerful arms crossed as he rocked back on one booted heel.
I’ve got to regain control, I thought desperately. I can’t make this too easy for him. I have to hold his interest, or he’ll grow bored. Arles had a reputation of going through mistresses like canapés.
I stared at him, struggling to mask my expression. He’d stripped off his blue uniform jacket, which left him in black trousers and gleaming armored boots that rose above the knee. Judging from the smirk he gave me when he noticed my besotted gaze, he knew I loved every ripple of his brawny chest, every gleaming blue strand of his shoulder-length hair.
He turned his back and sauntered to a selection of whips hanging from the wall. The play of muscle rolling from his shoulders to his tight waist so enthralled me, I didn’t realize what he was doing until he turned with a light, long-tailed whip in his hand.
I drew in an alarmed breath. He grinned at me and gave the whip an echoing snap. I’d been fantasizing about this moment for a decade. Heat clenched in my belly, followed by a stab of cold fear. “Bastard,” I breathed.
“Bitch.” He strolled toward me, letting the whip trail on the floor at his heels. I watched in helpless fascination as he lifted it to strike.
Arles paused, staring into eyes I suspected had gone wide and wild. “Are you sure you want to be my thrall, Gisel? Wouldn’t you rather go back to the Valkyrie? My agents tell me you’ve become a rich and respected mercenary. Why would you give that up to be my slave?”
I swallowed. “I’m tired of hiding. I am a princess of Swanhilde, and I’ve shamed my blood. I want my honor back.” I want you back.
And there was the truth of it, naked and stark in my brain. I still lo
ved Arles. I wanted him. I would suffer any punishment he chose if it meant his forgiveness.
Lifting my chin, I stared into his jungle cat eyes. I didn’t flinch as he swung the whip.
The lash hit me right across my breasts, adding a hot sting to the throb of the clamps. I sucked in a breath, but I didn’t scream. The whip was lighter than it looked, black silk rather than leather. Which didn’t mean it wouldn’t hurt, especially if he put that gene-sculpted strength into it.
Arles gave me a demon’s smile, his green eyes taking on a hot glitter as he watched the pink stripe rise across my breasts. “Niiiiice,” he purred, and began to prowl around me, studying my body as I hung helpless in the air.
Heat pooled low in my belly as my sex tightened and grew wet. Gods, I wanted his cock. I wanted him to fuck me, ached to feel him pound his hips into the cradle of mine.
The click of his boots stopped right behind me. A quiver of helpless anticipation rolled over me, and I closed my eyes, fighting not to pant. Arles stepped in so close I could feel his breath on my ear. “I love your ass.” He cupped one cheek in his long, warm fingers, squeezed, stroked. “It’s so round and tight and perfect. I want to fuck it.”
The tip of his tongue flicked out to caress the curve of my ear, and I jerked in surprise. He chuckled and caught my earlobe in his teeth for a gentle bite. Goosebumps rose on my arms.
He drew away, only an inch or so. “Ever taken it up the ass, Gisel?”
“Noooo!” I bit my lip. A bit too much moan in that. Control. Control it, damn it. Don’t give him too much too fast. Fight him, or he’ll get bored.
“I’ll wager you’re tight as a miser’s fist.” Arles reached under my ass, seeking the mouth of my pussy. He pushed a finger in deep and growled in arousal, the sound rumbling in my ear. “Odin’s balls, you’re wet. You do like this, don’t you?”
I said nothing. The clamps still worked their evil sorcery on my aching tits. Arles pumped the finger in my sex, sliding between slick, swollen lips, each stroke sending another jolt of pleasure up my spine. His thumb circled my clit, adding to the heat that boiled in my veins. I was surprised I didn’t steam.
Chain of Kisses Page 2
