Slaves of Love

by Carew, Opal

  Unwanted admiration flickered through him.

  He took another step toward her, putting his chest within an inch of the tips of her breasts.

  Keern expected her to retreat, to step back from his looming presence, but she stood firm, claiming a small piece of ground as her own.

  Surveying her with a cool sweep of his eyes, intending to shake her damnable calm, he felt his body tense with anticipation of what was to come. Her simple white gown followed the curves of her body in an alluring fashion -- and only two thin straps held it up.

  He’d waited so long. He’d imagined his revenge a thousand times. Now he could barely restrain himself. But he would. He planned to enjoy this to the fullest. He would linger over every step. Her breasts rose and fell in an unsteady rhythm, though she held her head high and didn’t flinch at his perusal.

  He could wait. To feel her body writhe beneath his own as her vulnerable flesh succumbed to his strength. To taste her sweet flesh with his tongue, especially the honey-tipped nipples that remained in his dreams, perpetually glazed with shimmering droplets of water. To smell the womanly scent of her as she responded to him with the slippery glaze of feminine readiness. To see her face, tilted back in the agony of blissful passion, overwhelmed into vibrant submission. To hear her beg for the release only he could provide, as he was so sure she would, then the strangled moan of pleasure as she slipped from this reality to the “little death” of orgasm.

  Yes, he would enjoy this. But if his desire was for revenge, why did his fantasy include her pleasure? Perhaps it was simply the male need to know he could satisfy his woman.

  He grabbed her wrist and dragged her into his bedroom. “Are you going to fight me?”

  Fear sparked in her eyes, but she jerked her head up defiantly, her tumultuous mane of golden hair tumbling over her shoulders.

  “No,” she stated simply.

  Proud and beautiful. But also deadly, he reminded himself, pushing aside the reluctant admiration.

  “Really?”

  He grabbed her, dragging her into his arms. Her bound hands jerked up between them, sweeping across his groin, triggering a pulsing heat through him. Her palms jammed against his ribs, and she shoved against him, hard, but her struggles were insignificant against his greater strength. He loosened his hold on her, pleased to see the scarlet anger coloring her face as she realized she’d lost control of her composure and belied her claim.

  He brought his teeth to her neck and nipped.

  “I don’t mind if you fight. It’ll be all the more challenging. On the other hand, a quiet submission on your part could provide its own reward -- to us both.” His hand skimmed her form from her hip to the side swell of her breast.

  “If you actually participate, we might both enjoy this.”

  The stiffening of her spine gave him his answer -- the answer he wanted. She would not willingly enjoy this -- did not intend to give him the satisfaction. That would make his revenge even sweeter. Because she would enjoy it, making her humiliation more complete.

  “I won’t fight you. And I won’t enjoy this. If you prefer taking defenseless women against their will, that’s your weakness, not mine.”

  She glared into his eyes with a fierceness of utter strength, of spirit if not of body. Anger prodded him at his growing admiration of her, but he pushed it aside, not allowing anything to spoil this experience.

  “It’s no weakness to carry a battle through to completion. You started the war. I am simply finishing the fight. If I am victorious, you have no right to complain.”

  She sucked in a breath, seemed ready to say something, then shook her head and looked away. He stepped forward and tore the straps of her gown, shoved the fabric down her body until it slid to the floor. She stood before him, tall and proud, even with brief white panties her only protection from his eyes. The only sign of her trepidation was her averted gaze. Her breasts, as full and tempting as he remembered, swept forward in a graceful curve, the taut nipples beckoning to him. He covered her firm white breasts with his hands, pressing against the soft flesh, feeling her nipples peak in automatic response to his touch. The feel of her sent tremors of need thundering through him.

  He wanted her. More than he’d ever wanted any woman before. Once again he tried to convince himself it was because he wanted to hurt her, to make her pay for Will’s death. He wouldn’t take her life -- though as her master, he could do so legally -- but he could take her innocence. With one as strong as her, that would be worse than losing her life. Still, the pulsing need within him threatened to make him slave to her, not the other way around. It would be so easy to succumb to the desire to hold her close, to whisper sweet words of love in her ear, to beg her to love him with all the gentleness he knew she had inside her. Something deep inside him wanted to hear her speak words of loving encouragement, wanted her to want him in the most basic of ways. He wanted her to invite him inside her body, to beg for his love, not because he wanted her to submit, but because he wanted to fulfill her wish with loving intent.

  Anger flared as he realized how vulnerable he’d become to her. If she were a man, this would be simple. They would battle with weapons until only one remained standing.

  With a conniving woman like this one, things were far more complicated.

  Thrusting away the unwanted feelings she’d aroused in him, he similarly thrust her onto the bed. He flung her hands over her head, pinning them with one of his while he claimed one taut nipple with his mouth. He savored the feel of her soft skin pebbling under his tongue, the thrust of the nub hardening in his moist warmth. His teeth nipped gently, and she cried out in distress, though more imagined than real, since he’d been careful not to hurt her. Though she may deserve it, he would not hurt a woman as part of love play. He might enjoy her trepidation, but he would not inflict real pain. Turning his head sideways while he stroked her other nipple with his index finger, he watched as the flesh puckered erect. Her chest rose and fell in an unsteady rhythm under his cheek, and her heartbeat sounded erratic. Lifting his head to stare at her face, he saw her eyes scrunched tightly closed, as though she were undergoing some unbearable agony. Searing pain slashed through his chest.

  His whole world seemed to tilt beneath him, sending him off kilter. He had wanted her to fear him, had needed it for what seemed like forever, but now ... but now he needed her to want him. Needed it so desperately, it almost consumed him.

  As though his gaze touched her like a physical caress, her eyelids flipped open and she stared at him. He released her wrists.

  “Put your arms around me,” he commanded.

  She failed to comply, and he glared at her.

  “Do it!” he commanded tightly.

  She shook her head. The clinking of the chain as she shifted her hands drew his attention, and he snatched the key to her cuffs from the shelf at the head of his bed. She flinched, shielding her face with her linked hands. Clearly, she’d thought he’d intended to strike her. His protective instincts lurched to the surface, unwanted and dangerous.

  “My God, you really are afraid of me.” The realization flashed like ice water through his veins.

  He grabbed her wrists and unlocked the bonds.

  “Isn’t that what you wanted?” She rubbed at the red, raw marks left on her wrists from the iron bands.

  It was. But now ...

  Darg’ra! He couldn’t let her get to him. On the other hand, he couldn’t look into those blue eyes -- calm surfaces that hinted at levels of pain so intense, he dared not allow himself to be drawn into them -- without wondering what had caused that intensity. He jerked to his feet, desperate to get away from her.

  “Yes, but I’ve tired of the game for now.” He strode across the room, toward the door. “Sleep. You’ll need your strength later.”

  He hazarded one last glance at the bed, to see her curled into a ball, her back toward him.

  Snaky red lines marred the surface of her soft white flesh. Most were the fresh markings of the lash, a
result of discipline inflicted during her captivity with the slavers. As he moved closer, barely aware he’d changed direction, drawn to her like a mother grizzly to a wounded cub, he noticed older scars, healed over, but a map of previous ill-treatment. They were faint enough that he had not noticed them when he’d first seen her, but now, highlighted by the new scars, they stood out clearly.

  Chapter Ten

  Shena felt his overwhelming presence behind her. She hugged her knees tight to her chest.

  Why didn’t he leave? He’d just told her he’d tired of her for now. Why didn’t he just leave her in peace? Give her time to build up her immunity? She felt herself weakening. She had caused him pain, and he needed to strike out at her. She felt his pain, like a hideous weight crushing her body.

  He wanted her to fear him, but what she feared most was her need for him. Could she survive this with her heart intact?

  The bed compressed under his weight as he sat behind her. His finger traced a crooked line down her back, probably following one of her scars. She flinched at the remembered pain.

  The searing heat of the lash cracking against her skin. Barely able to stop herself from crying out, she lay rigid and still, waiting for him to leave. A moment later, he rose, and she heard his footsteps as he left the room. Sighing, she relaxed a little, wondering when he’d return and what he would do then. She had little time for such contemplation, as he returned moments later. She felt him apply a thick ointment to her back with gentle strokes of his fingers.

  “With one as bold as you, I assume you were beaten to force submission.”

  “No worse than the others,” she replied, remembering the tawny redhead who’d lain battered on the cell floor beside her. The girl, no more than seventeen, had died in her arms.

  She’d been an example to the others, the guard had told them.

  “I fared better than some.”

  “I find that hard to believe, with your insolence.”

  She could almost believe he was teasing her, if it weren’t for the hatred she’d seen in his bronze eyes. She remained silent, allowing herself to enjoy the gentle flow of his fingers along her back, the soothing feel of ointment relieving the stinging pain of her wounds.

  “What about these old ones?” he asked. “There are scars that have been here some time.”

  Oh, God, why did he ask about those? Did her humiliation have to be so complete? Too exhausted to face the prolonged questioning she was sure he’d put her through, she answered.

  “I was a selfish, unworthy daughter.” She repeated the words her father had flung at her so many times that she accepted them as unquestioned truth.

  His fingers stopped moving on her back. He must hate the thought of touching someone as vile as she.

  “Unworthy? In what way?”

  “I ... I displeased my father in many ways.”

  “So he beat you?” His voice rose in mild interest.

  “Yes, he ... he had to teach me proper discipline.”

  “By whipping you? What grave sins did you commit for such a punishment? Did he find you with a man?”

  “Oh, no,” she cried, horrified at the very thought. “I told you that my father threatened dire consequences if ever I gave myself to a man.”

  Realizing her current situation and what would soon happen between them, she spun her head around to stare at him, eyes wide, then quickly turned away once she’d met his fierce, angry stare. Of course, he’d be angry assuming the auctioneer had lied about her.

  “I ... I am still a virgin.”

  “Never mind that. You don’t think being given lashes is dire consequences? Especially from your father?”

  She didn’t know what to say. What did he expect? She refused to think about what her father had threatened, what she’d seen him do to others.

  “Answer me.”

  His voice grated against her raw nerves, and she felt incredibly vulnerable. She couldn’t find her own voice and refused to remember the threats and the agony her father had inflicted.

  His hand clamped down on her shoulder, and he urged her onto her back.

  “I want you to ...” His words started off angry and sharp, but trailed off as he stared down at her, his dark eyes narrowing. She knew she’d gone pale; her cheeks felt cold and empty. Maybe he was afraid she’d be ill if he pushed her. Or could he be showing her some kind of mercy? The thought quickly dissipated as he tugged the sheet from her naked body.

  “Are there scars anywhere else?” he asked, his voice flat.

  Her eyelids closed for a moment, to head off a flow of tears she refused to shed. Of course, he’d be worried about having bought damaged goods.

  “No.”

  Her father had been careful to limit scars to her back, in case, as he’d often threatened, he ever decided to send her to the auctioneer’s block. How ironic, she thought, not for the first time, that she had wound up on that block after all, and yet her father had not been able to enjoy the profit from it.

  His fingers trailed down the center of her chest, traced the lower line of her ribcage, then back up her side. Her breasts swelled to the feel of his fingers so close, and she tried to deny to herself that she wanted his large, warm hands to capture them, draw them into his mouth. She remembered his gentle touch by the lake, the way he had made her feel special and wanted. How safe she had felt in his arms. She wanted to feel that again.

  “Why the hell are you looking at me like that?”

  At his sharp words, her gaze jerked into focus on his face. She’d been seeing him as he’d been that first day they’d met, remembering his roguish grin, his debonair demeanor. At this moment, a scowl marred his finely featured face.

  “I ...” Shaking her head, she averted her gaze, not sure what to say, not sure what he wanted to hear.

  “Shet’ra, you’re driving me to distraction with your wide, innocent eyes and your helpless act. Remember, I know how good an actress you are. Do you think that because I showed you some compassion, I’ve forgotten why I brought you here and what I intend to do with you?”

  His hands slid across her shoulders and down over her chest to cup each breast in a firm hold. He kneaded them with a pulsing rhythm. Like two pebbles tossed in a pond, waves of arousal radiated from them in mounting need. His hands slid under her breasts, supporting the weight of them, and his thumbs circled over her nipples. Jagged spikes of need shot through her, and she sucked in a ragged breath. He flung his leg over her, straddling her, holding his weight on his knees. He tore off his robe and balled it up before tossing it across the room to fall haphazardly across the settee.

  He was fully aroused, and his erection fell across her belly. The heat of his huge cock burned into her flesh, and she wanted to shift and swivel her hips to capture him inside her, to let the heat of it melt the cold that had held her frozen for so long. He leaned over her and licked her nipple, and she thought she’d go insane with wanting. Involuntarily, she arched beneath him, and he pushed her down with his body, his swollen flesh so close to where she wanted it to be.

  He tugged her nipple deep into his mouth and suckled, while his hand caressed her other breast, keeping it swollen with need. Switching, he warmed the other with his mouth, then slid his hands down her sides, over her hips. His fingers slid inside her panties, and she felt the slick wetness lubricate his touch. Unerringly, he found the small point of pleasure within her fold and stroked it with the tip of his finger, lightly at first, then more firmly until she could barely catch her breath.

  She caught sight of his face once, in her hazy cocoon of need, and his cold, calculating look sent shivers of trepidation through her.

  She clamped her eyes shut against that cruel glare.

  Images flung themselves against her closed eyelids, dragging her into the agony of memory. She remembered the housekeeper, two years older than her at the time, chained, her clothes torn from her body, a scream tearing from her throat as the first man thrust into her, the sound of his flesh smacking against
hers as he took his pleasure at the cost of her pain. Her screams tore through the night, haunting Shena, turning dreams to nightmares.

  His cock nudged at her sensitive, womanly flesh, and ice tore through her insides. In a moment he would plunge into her, causing unbearable pain and blood.

  “No!” The sound wailed from her own throat, drawing her back to now.

  At his sharp expletive, her eyes snapped open and the evil memories were replaced by the reality of her current situation. Would Keern hurt her like that? Everything she’d learned about him told her he wouldn’t, even in anger, even hating her as he did.

  “Dehn’ra!” He flung himself away from her and strode from the room, this time without looking back.

  Curled into a tight ball, Shena sobbed herself to sleep. A fitful sleep full of ominous shadows and fear. She awoke with a start, slipping out of the nightmare world into the darkness of reality.

  She slid from under the covers and pulled on the remnants of her gown, then moved to the window. The shimmering light of two moons caressed the courtyard below the window. Where had Keern gone? Fear started deep inside her, building up to a steady thrum. What if he’d decided he didn’t want her? He was her only link to her home. If he left her here, she would be stranded on this strange world, destined to live life as a slave. Even with the horrendous memories of her past, she suffered a gnawing desire to return home.

  And she wanted to see Keern again. Even if he hated her. Even if he wanted to punish her.

  Of course, Keern probably didn’t intend to take her back to Tarun. What did he intend to do with her after he exorcised his need for revenge?

  She slipped to the door and slowly turned the knob, being careful not to draw attention from anyone on the other side. She heard men’s voices in the next room as she pushed the door open a crack. One was definitely Keern’s. She peered out the crack and saw Keern and another man sitting in the leather chairs, talking. Keern’s back was to her, but the dark eyes of the stranger shifted, and she thought he stared right at her. She froze, terrified she had revealed herself. Her lungs tightened painfully, and she waited for him to punish her in some way. Would he call the guards and have her dragged away, or simply banish her into the room again?