The Taming

by Imogen Keeper

  It was as if they breathed for each other and there was no one else in the universe who could ever touch them.

  The bare skin of his back was hot under her fingers, hot enough to burn, and if it did, it was worth it, just to be so close, even for a moment. All thoughts of Argentus melted away. Her body took over, and her brain shut down, and she clutched at him, trying to get him closer, trying to get inside him. She raked her fingers across his back, dug them in, clutching and pulling, to put her marks on him.

  He growled into her mouth, and his enormous, hard hands closed on her bottom, lifting her up, pinning her against the wall. Her legs locked around his waist. He slid his hands up to capture her arms, pulling them over her head. So, she hung there, incapable of resistance. He caught her wrists in one hand, and with his other tore her dress down.

  Buttons sprayed through the air, scattering across the floor, and her breasts burst free.

  He groaned against her lips.

  His mouth slid down her neck, to her ear. He caught the lobe between his teeth.

  His hand worked its way up her skirt, a finger sliding inside, his thumb working a magical spell all its own. He knew her body far too well.

  Those swirling fingers had her head lolling against the wall like a ragdoll. Hot. Too hot. She was a thousand degrees. She’d explode if he kept on swirling his thumb like that.

  It was wrong, but it didn’t feel wrong at all. It felt like the best thing in the whole world.

  He bit her neck, and all of it boiled down, everything condensed into a single, ripe pinprick of violent pleasure, and exploded outward. Her body convulsed around him. Shaking and shuddering and bucking.

  She was moaning. Loudly. Gasping and panting and crying and not being the slightest bit civilized. He’d turned her into a beast again, and the windows were open, and she didn’t even care.

  Let them hear.

  Let every felana in the city hear, and know that no one touched Tor but her. Whatever they’d had with him, it wasn’t like this. It couldn’t have been. Could it?

  Maybe. The thought hit like a blast of ice water, and she shifted in his arms, instantly self-aware. Her chest was rising and falling, and her neck was bent at a weird angle. He was talking to her, in Vestigi again. Those beautiful words, the loving praise that made her want things from him that she would never have.

  Abellina in that gruff, gravelly voice.

  His hard length pressed against her belly. Pulsing, and calling to her.

  Her body was as limp as jelly, as he pushed away from the wall, moving her to the bed. He lowered her down, crawling above her, tugging at the scraps of her dress, until, with a great rent, it sheared away.

  The last of the pearl buttons flew into the air like tossed confetti, and the seam tore down the center of the dress. She’d have nothing to wear in the morning. But that was a problem for another time. His eyes were so dark, but his cheeks were flushed, and if his hair was that messy, hers must be a disaster.

  His body pressed down on her, heavy and warm, one of his thighs settling between hers. He stroked her hair back from her face. “You’re beautiful when you come. Someday soon, you’ll say my name as you do.”

  The searing head of his shaft nudged against her.

  “Can you imagine it, Klym?” He traced the head along her slippery entrance, up to the hard bead of her clit. “Can you imagine what it will feel like to let me inside?”

  She didn’t have to imagine. She knew. She’d dreamed it so many times it felt like it had already happened. He would push his way inside, so thick and hard and hot that she stopped thinking or caring or worrying about anything. He would push it all away until there was room for nothing but him. It would feel like being owned. Taken. Like everything that made her her would be replaced by him. And to give someone that sort of power over her, she’d have to trust them. And there was no part of her that trusted Tor. He was too unpredictable. Too different.

  But again, as always with him, her body overrode her sanity. Her hips moved, shifting to get the angle right, to drag her most sensitive flesh over his, answering the call of his body.

  He let out a long, protracted moan, almost anguished. “Give this a chance, amiera.”

  He stilled, his dark gaze burrowing into her, waiting.

  All she’d have to do is lift her hips, and she was so insanely wet he’d probably slide inside.

  “You have to say it, Klym.” He pressed just a little closer, and gods help her, the tip slid in, not much more than an inch, but it was so thick and hard, she had never, not once in her entire life, craved anything like she craved him at that moment.

  “You said you wouldn’t take me.”

  “All you have to do is ask. Let’s find out what really happens when a Prime fucks an Argenti woman.”

  He spoke of wanting her. And liking her. He never spoke of love. She opened her mouth, certain she would say yes. But she didn’t. Because she was a coward and he was an abductor. “No.”

  For a moment, she thought maybe he’d ignore her, take her anyway. It would be so easy. He was already there.

  He made a face like he was in terrible pain, his eyes squeezed tight, his mouth twisted, and finally pulled away, leaving her body empty and bereft as he took his shaft in his hands. He was shaking, and it only took two strokes before his stomach tightened, his face twisted, and his hips bucked. The veins on his lower belly thickened, and he came in thick, long ropes that splashed between her parted legs.

  He stayed there, looming over her on the bed, face dark and unreadable, panting and growling, barely even human.

  Moving as if under some strange spell, he gathered his seed on two fingers and slid them inside her, jamming them in deep, hooking behind her pelvic bone, grinding the heel of his hand against her clit in a jerk so hard she screamed out in surprised pain and pleasure. He forced a third finger inside, and did it again, and again, over and over until a deranged, manic orgasm ripped its way through her, and left her shuddering and sweating, fractured and breathless.

  Tears burned behind her eyes, and she rolled onto her side, unable to stand the possessive gleam in his eyes.

  How long could she continue like this? Melting for him, evaporating under the onslaught of his brutal possession. How long before she gave in?

  She was losing already.

  23

  I could pee on your feet

  But I’d rather do this

  TOR HAD FORGOTTEN about the shayassi birds. Smaller than his thumb, pink, with yellow breasts and purple wings, they strutted around the balcony, flitting from vine to vine, flapping their feathers, preening and squawking, like arrogant fops, nothing like the blood-hungry birds on Araa-Ara.

  As he woke to a rosy dawn, the scent of the tammin thick in the air and a sleepy Klym all over him wasn’t half bad.

  He trailed a hand along her spine, smiling when she pressed against him, all delicious tits and smooth thighs, warm and slack with sleep. Peaceful.

  For the moment. As soon as she woke, those bars of mistrust and hurt would slam shut like a gate, eroding all the progress they’d made.

  Last night, for a few moments, in his arms, it had melted away and they’d been together without anything between them.

  Peace with her never lasted long.

  He needed to mark her. Not that it was a permanent solution. But it would keep everyone confused.

  “Wake up, amiera,” he muttered against her temple.

  She mumbled and wriggled, but her eyes stayed stubbornly shut.

  He rolled them so she was on her back, and he was half on top of her.

  “What time is it?”

  “Early.”

  She shoved at his chest. “No more, I’m too tired.”

  “You can go back to sleep in a minute, but first, there’s something we have to do.”

  She didn’t stir as he pulled the covers away, revealing every honey-gold inch of her.

  His cock was already stiff with the morning and the sight of her. H
e wrapped his fist around it, wincing as his balls tightened, irritable and frustrated at routine abstinence punctuated by brief, cursory and largely unsatisfying jerk-off sessions.

  Klym had reached for him more than a few times. If he wanted to, he had no doubt he could manipulate her into using her hands or probably even her mouth on him, and a thousand times a day, he promised himself he’d let her, but somehow, the moment came, and he just couldn’t bring himself to take anything more from her.

  It had to be given.

  He climbed up the bed, so he knelt over her chest, and set up a quick stroking rhythm.

  Her lids flickered open, her gaze settled on his activity, and she tried to lurch upright, but he held her still with a hand on her shoulder. She glared at him as if he were the foremost pervert in the navigable universe. “What are you doing?”

  He just kept on stroking. “Just another minute.”

  “Don’t you dare point that thing at my face.” She scuttled backward into the pillows at the top of the bed. Her tits jiggled and bounced. “It’s one thing when we’re… you know. I was sleeping.”

  He kept on stroking. He was getting close. “Just be quiet.”

  Her tits bounced again as she tried and failed to shift away. He grabbed one and kneaded it hard with his palm, still stroking away.

  “Tor!” Her eyes bulged. “Have you gone mad?”

  “I said I had to mark you. Be still.”

  “Mark me? With your...” Her cheeks turned pink. “Is this really necessary?”

  “Yes.” It wouldn’t fool anyone, but it would confuse the issue, and with her being Argenti maybe no one would ask questions.

  “Isn’t what you did last night enough, pushing it inside?”

  Vintalla. “Shut up, Klym. No, it’s not. Argenti Bond, Vestige fuck. Shoving my cum inside you, while fun as hell, isn’t the same thing. If I don’t do this, the Alliance can take you. They’d lock me in prison, steal my throne, and if you think you’ve been taken captive now, it’s nothing to what the Alliance would do if they got their hands on you. And even this might not be enough.”

  Shockingly, she obeyed. Just lay there, glowering at him.

  He worked fast, and it didn’t take long. His balls tingled, and the tip of his cock exploded.

  Her nose wrinkled and she sputtered at the splash across her sternum and a second trail up her neck to her chin. “Honestly.”

  He laughed at her expression, ruining the shitty orgasm, but his balls felt slightly less bloated. It was sad, what she was doing to him. Ten years ago, he’d have been happily cavorting with a myriad of women and not a thought to spare.

  “Soon, Klym, I will do that inside you.” He rubbed it into her skin, spreading it over her sternum and up her neck. “And when I do, you’ll scream for me.”

  Something moved in her eyes. “Wh-what are you doing now?”

  “Marking you.”

  “I have to wear that around all day? That sounds a bit... sticky and rather unsanitary.”

  “Too bad.”

  “I’d rather not. Is there an alternative?”

  “I could fuck you right now? Say the word, I’m ready.”

  The light shifted from pale lavender to warm rose as she shifted uncomfortably. “No.”

  He toyed with a length of her hair. “I could pee on your feet.”

  A surprised bubble of laughter burst from her lips. “No.”

  He dropped his palm back on the splatters and spread it along her neck. “Then no, there’s no alternative. I’m rubbing my—what did you call it?—my stink all over you.”

  24

  They all hate me

  THE HOLO of Agammo’s butler snapped and cracked, fading from blue to gray. “Agammo is indisposed, miss.”

  Indisposed was probably code for lost in the red haze with Malina. Strangely, the thought brought no anger or hurt with it, merely frustration at being thwarted again. Her father wouldn’t help her. Agammo wouldn’t help her. If Agammo was indisposed, that meant Malina was too. She wasn’t close enough to any of the girls at home for them to help.

  Thanking him, she dragged her fingers along the reassuringly familiar pearls at her neck, and exited the room to find Janna waiting in the hallway.

  Janna’s brows lifted high when Klym exited. “Why is my brother letting you comm some other man’s house?”

  Klym lifted her shoulders, unsure how to answer. It was their agreement, and Tor hadn’t argued at all when she’d told him that morning.

  Janna—who she was fairly sure Tor had ordered to be kind to her—led her through the cassia to a cliffside grove of trees in the gardens of the Roq, pointedly ignoring the glares of the felanas. While Janna had been reserved but kind, not one of the other women had so much as smiled at her this morning.

  She tugged at her clothes. Tor must have arranged for her dress to be duplicated the night before, because a new dress, in the Argenti style, had appeared this morning, along with a seamstress.

  She’d ordered several new Vestan-style outfits, but they weren’t ready yet. And she felt silly now, wearing the long skirt, the tightly cinched waist, and fussy collar. As if she’d arrived at a tea party dressed in evening attire.

  She’d brushed her hair down after bathing, careful to follow Tor’s edict that she leave enough of his mark to preserve his scent. She could smell him now, woody and musky, but subtle. Just a reminder—Tor was here.

  Just thinking about it sent a low-level thrum across her skin. It was a bit disgusting, but there was a certain primal element, a carnality to it that, coupled with the possessive gleam in Tor’s eyes at that moment in time, that made it... not just disgusting.

  Sunlight flickered through the trees, warm but tempered by a cool breeze that tugged at her loose hair.

  Wearing it down in public felt exotic and wild.

  Vesta. Enemy planet. Backward planet. It was all of that. And so much more. The men wore dresses and the women wore pants, and the food was heady and rich.

  And Tor, as he’d dressed that morning, had looked anything but absurd in his togata. A cliff broke off to their right, and below that spread the city with all its riotous mix of styles and rooflines.

  She stared across at the city, glistening and humming below. Bright and busy.

  A trail of tinkling laughter danced on the breeze from the group of women seated on a cluster of divans nearby.

  They stared at Klym, eyes narrowed, mouths tight.

  “Are they all Tor’s?” she asked.

  “No. They were Dillan’s. They would have been Tor’s.”

  “And now?”

  Janna tucked a strand of her glossy hair behind an ear. “They are all to return to their homes.”

  “Isn’t this their home?”

  “It was when Dillan was alive. But…”

  She didn’t finish the thought, but then she didn’t need to. No wonder they were looking at her like they’d like to push her off the cliff.

  She’d displaced them.

  She studied the women, clustered together. They had the body language of old friends. A support system. Sisters almost. She recognized it well from her years in the Institute. The safety of long association, the trust that came with time and shared experience.

  “They’ve lived here for ten years?”

  Janna nodded. “Some came later.”

  “Do you know them well?”

  “Some of them.”

  “Do you like them?” Klym resumed her slow pace.

  Janna cast her a sly look under her lashes. “Some of them.”

  Klym smiled. “Where will they go?”

  “Back to their old homes, I suppose.”

  Home. Klym smiled bitterly. Such a strange concept. Her home had never been her father’s house, nor the Institute. Home had existed purely in her dreams, a place with Agammo and a family they’d create.

  How many of the felanas had lived with the same hope for Tor and the Roq? Only to have it all come crashing down around them as hers had?


  “What will happen to them?”

  “Their fathers or brothers will attempt to find new Primes for them. But they won’t make such a good match. Plus...” Janna glanced at Klym. “Tor is young and handsome. Most of the alternative Primes are older. More like Gaspart than Tor.”

  She thought about Gaspart’s gut overhanging his belt, and then about Tor’s hard abdomen, rippled, scarred and tattooed, with that vein running south. “And so they hate me.”

  “Primes do as they please. It’s not your fault.”

  But it was, in a way. It really was. She’d ruined the lives of twenty-seven innocent women, and she wasn’t even going to stay here.

  25

  I want a new chair

  TOR STOOD in the regio’s office, overlooking the gardens and bathhouses below.

  He tried to put his hands in his pockets, but they weren’t there. He’d put on the traditional togata that morning. Nothing but cotton met his hands, stopping too far up his thigh for comfort. The breeze around his cock was nice, but his balls felt a little too unprotected for his taste.

  He hadn’t actively thought about missing Vesta. If anything, he always looked back and felt a mild sense of shame. He’d laughed and fought and fucked his way through his twenty years on this planet, never really caring about all the men his father ordered to their death. He never worried about the stupid wars, or the miserable felanas who were traded like prize ships. It was only after Punt-Rayabad when he’d come home to his father demanding he rape Sanger’s wife in revenge, that he’d snapped.

  And the real shame of it, was that he hadn’t done a thing about it. Hadn’t even tried. He’d just left. And in the time since, he’d been a mean and miserable bastard. Only Jasto had cut through the gloom and made him smile. Until Klym.

  She’d made him feel…everything in the time since he’d known her. True rage, it was true. But also happiness, excitement, pleasure, doubt, worry, guilt. She’d brought him back to life, too.

  He turned away from the balcony toward Gaspart, seated on the chaise, popping salted elias in his mouth while the commander of troops for the largest segment of his army explained the fifth reason why war should be avoided.