by Alana Khan
“Miss Grace, I want to thank you for your brilliant performance,” the Emperor intones in a voice loud enough to be heard throughout the perfect acoustics of the auditorium. “I’m sure everyone in the audience enjoyed your music as much as I did. I’m certain we would all agree you earned the name ‘Musician of Angels.’” Oh no, the applause starts up again. I just want to get off this freaking stage before I barf all over his Highness.
Mauritious quiets the crowd again, and the Emperor continues, “As a token of my appreciation…,” He lifts the humongous ruby necklace off his neck and places it over my head. My knees start to buckle, not from the weight of the necklace, although it is considerable, but from complete overload. I’ve reached my limit. Dear Lord, this thing must weigh a pound.
The Emperor is the first to notice that I’m falling in slow motion. He steps closer, grabs me under one arm and pulls me upright.
“Thank you, Your Highness. I’m afraid…”
“Let’s get you off this stage,” he whispers in my ear, then addresses the crowd, “Thank you all for coming.”
Tyree
My chest swelled with pride for Grace. She far exceeded expectations up on that stage. I wonder if she did what I suggested and didn’t look at the faces in the crowd. It would be wonderful if she could appreciate the adoration she’s receiving from the audience. I hope so—she deserves it. My Gods, her music is amazing. Listening always wrings so many emotions out of me.
I was surprised to see the Emperor approach her on the stage, stunned when he put that expensive, ostentatious gem around her neck, and shocked when her knees began to buckle. I tried to make my way to her side, but without the aid of flight, I could never get there in time.
My jaw set in anger and my eyes narrowed when I saw that pompous motherdracker grab her in front of the entire auditorium. Part of my brain understands he was trying to keep her from crashing to the floor. The other part of my brain wants to dismember the bastard one limb at a time.
The front curtain closes, so the audience is hidden from view. The other gladiators and I rush to Grace’s side. I ease her into the comfortable chair she performed on. Petra produces a glass of water, and the males form a circle around all of us—backs toward us, faces turned outward.
“I’m fine,” Grace sputters as she pushes the water away. Petra’s having none of it and keeps urging her to drink.
“I watched you, Grace. You didn’t take a sip, not one sip, during the entire two-hour performance. Drink!”
Grace complies, then tries to rise from her chair. I step behind her and gently press her shoulders down before she’s six inces out of the chair. “Please, my lady, sit. At least for a moment until you’re more stable.”
I push my calming treatment at her, but I’m not certain she needs it or if she’s simply exhausted and dehydrated.
Shadow steps forward and approaches the Emperor. He’s taller than the monarch, so he crouches slightly and keeps his eyes obsequiously on the floor. “Your Highness. I know Miss Grace was looking forward to supping with you after the performance, but it appears she will not be up to the task. I apologize for all of the effort you dedicated to what I’m certain would be a most sumptuous meal. Perhaps we could reschedule for another time?”
His eyes remain cast downward; he’s still as a statue. Although everything sounds innocuous, every male in the room is on guard, hands surreptitiously on their weapons, waiting to see how the Emperor receives this rebuff.
“Of course. It appears the concert took more out of her than I’d imagined. Do you need help moving her to her rooms?” The Emperor’s lips press into a thin line, but his words remain gracious.
“How kind of you to offer. I’m certain we can take it from here.” I’ve got to give Shadow credit; he managed that like a champion.
I sweep Grace into my arms and stalk toward the dressing room. The other males fall in around us, and we’re back in our quarters in a moment.
“She didn’t eat all day,” I bark at no one in particular. “Can we get her some soup, a sandwich and one of those pastries they filled the room with earlier? Didn’t we have like a hundred of them? Aren’t there any left?”
“I think I ate them all,” Dax admits sheepishly. “They were so dracking delicious.”
I try not to chuckle. Dax is the tallest of us all, pushing seven fiertos. He looks as if he could bite someone’s jugular for sport. He obviously has a weakness for sweets.
A moment later, it’s just Grace and me in her room. She’s sitting in a chair and I’m plying her with food.
“I’m not a baby,” she protests when I try to feed her soup.
“Well, you didn’t exactly use your best judgment by not eating all day. Here.” I press half a sandwich into her hand.
She takes a bite, then, “Oh my God. I don’t think this is mystery meat. I think this is beef.” She pulls the bread off and eats the roast beef with her delicate fingers. A moan escapes her mouth. “Dear Lord, rare roast beef. Best thing I’ve eaten in months. Don’t you dare tell me what this is. I want to go to my deathbed believing this is dead, butchered, harmless cow.”
She eats two more sandwiches, passing on the pastries we wheedled out of the Emperor’s personal chefs.
“Dax, I think we found you seconds!” I call. He knocks gently, then practically bowls me over to get to the food.
“If you’d call Petra, she can help me out of this dress then I’m going to crawl into bed. So tired.”
“I could help…” I whisper, but we both cast our glances at the ceiling, assuming there are eyes and ears attending to our every move.
When I return to the room, Grace is sitting up in bed, looking regal in a white lace sleeping gown provided by the house staff from the costume department.
“You look so sleepy, my lady. I’ll lie here by the side of your bed. You go to sleep. The males are taking turns staying awake in the anteroom for your protection. Dax is first. He says his stomach is killing him and he won’t be going to sleep soon anyway.”
“Tyree, I don’t want you…” she frowns at the pallet I’m making on the floor out of extra blankets.
I glance at the ceiling and shrug my shoulders. “I’ll be most comfortable on the floor, my lady. I but live to serve.” I bow respectfully.
“Tyree, my ever-faithful servant.” She smiles.
“I’ll be back in a few minimas, going to take a quick shower.” I haven’t had a moment to relieve my aching hard-on all day. Drackhead and his two friends are causing considerable pain.
Chapter Eleven
Grace
I’m just about asleep when Tyree quietly opens the bathroom door. He has a plush gold towel slung low over his hips. The picture of his burnished skin in the faint light peeking through the crack under the door propels me into full wakefulness.
I’ve noticed I’ll get blind to how handsome he is because I’ve been around him all day, and then I’ll catch a glimpse of him from an odd angle and my breath will catch in my throat from the sheer force of how attractive he is.
My sleepiness slips away, and I swallow hard, aware of sensual warmth flowing through my veins. He stalks over to me with the grace of a big cat. He’s so masculine as he leans down and protectively makes sure I’m thoroughly covered.
“Need a treatment?” he whispers.
“Well...yes. But maybe of a different sort.” I give him a lazy smile, flirtatious and full of promise. It’s an easy thing to do knowing we can’t act on our impulses with cameras watching our every move.
We don’t want to blow our cover that I’m not really the galaxy’s premier musician traveling with a cadre of hard-assed gladiators. It wouldn’t be safe for them to know we’re just a ragtag bunch of runaway slaves on the lam from the most vicious cartel in the known universe.
“I have an idea,” he whispers. “Trust me?”
I nod.
He lies on his pallet, which is right next to my bed. I see him shift under the covers, then throw his towe
l on the floor. Knowing he’s lying inches from me, completely nude makes my stomach tighten in need. My thoughts arrow back to the night we shared a shower and so much more in my bedroom. My clit quivers as I visualize a photo album of pictures from that encounter. I studiously avoid thinking of the terror I experienced when I thought we’d be imprisoned and separated. Nor do I want to think about his sweet proclamation that I’m his truemate—there’ll be time to deal with that when we’re back on the Warrior.
I feel something odd, like a presence in my mind. I pull my thoughts from my pulsing nether regions to my head and pay attention. This is nothing like the calm feeling he pushes at me to reduce my anxiety. This is...fuller, more connected.
Can you hear me, Grace?
I’m startled, and a little afraid. Yes?
Sorry I couldn’t explain this to you before I began, but there was no opportunity. I have some very...interesting ideas I thought we could explore. You in your bed, me in my pathetic little pallet on the floor. But I have to make certain you’re comfortable with this. It’s pretty...intimate.
He’s in my mind. A frisson of panic bolts up my spine. Can you read my thoughts?
I haven’t always had this ability. I’m still figuring things out. What I do to calm you, that’s basically step one. What I want to do right now is step two. It allows us to talk, for me to hear the thoughts you push at me, but I’m not rummaging around in there. Step three would be what I did with Captain Gren a few times, I read his thoughts. Trust me, it was like bathing in sewage. The sadistic pictures that ran through his mind gave me nightmares. Step four would be what I did to him the day we overthrew the ship. I crawled into his mind and made him do things.
You have to know I would never do that to you, Grace. I wouldn’t read your thoughts. I would never force you to do anything or think anything. I respect you too much.
Funny, I believe him. The Tyree I know would never violate my privacy.
Okay. On Earth, we have the concept of safewords. If one person says the word, the other immediately stops what they’re doing. I’d be comfortable if we could do that.
Absolutely, Grace. What’s your word?
Red.
All right. Are you ready to do this?
Yes. I have no idea what’s coming, but I trust Tyree completely, and I’m aroused wondering what he’s going to do next.
Take two fingertips and slide them across your lips. Gently, so soft you can barely feel them.
I do this. Instantly my thoughts are completely on this feeling. It’s so gentle it tickles, but it ramps up my arousal. I’m fully focused on this sensation.
What are you feeling?
It instantly dawns on me how intimate this is going to be. I’m going to have to share my feelings—not something I’m used to. I want to do this though; I want to share myself with him. I don’t want to hold back anymore. In that concert hall, I just did the bravest thing I’ve ever done in my life. Why not be courageous now?
It tickles in a sensual way. I tell him. It brings my awareness to my lips. Also to other places on my body.
What other places? The tone of his voice in my head commands a response. For some reason, I like this tone.
My clit. This is harder than I thought it would be.
Do it again.
Okay.
Now the slightest bit harder.
Okay.
What do you feel?
Alive. Sensual. Sexual. The beginnings of need.
Need for what?
Need to be kissed by you. Touched by you. I pause a moment, working up my nerve to say the total truth. Filled by you, Tyree.
I hear him suck in his breath. You are the sexiest being in the galaxy, Grace. My cock is hard as stone, just lying by your side. To hear you say that is sweet torture.
I hear him rustle under his covers, then...Move your hand slowly down your jaw. Caress your jawline, down the column of your throat, across your collarbones. Do it slowly, pretend it’s my hand. It’s my fingers exploring you, wanting to learn every hollow, every curve.
I do this, imagining his fingers traversing my skin in wonder. This causes my mundane body, this skin I’ve worn for twenty-six years, to be regarded with awe. As if I’ve only slipped into this physical form for the first time today. For a moment I wonder if this is what it was like for him to wake up a month ago in his current hulking form, wearing a huge, new body.
What do you feel, Grace?
I hear almost a rush in my ears, like a shiver with noise. It makes all my thoughts quiet down—except my focus on this—my body, what we’re doing.
Good. You are so good, Grace. You can say “red” at any time. Do you want to go farther?
Yes.
I hear a small sigh drift up from below me.
Take the tip of your tongue and trace the outline of your lips. First the top, then the bottom. He pauses for me to do this. What do you feel?
Shivers. Naughty. Expectant.
Good, Grace. Do you want to be naughty? Do you want what comes next to make you feel like a bad girl?
Do I? Is this a fantasy? Do I want to be naughty with Tyree?
I think I do. I can say red if I don’t.
Place your fingers on the back of your neck. Pretend they’re mine. Sift them through your hair. Gently. Be patient, like you have all the time in the galaxy. What do you feel?
Tingly. Like every cell above my neckline is more awake than it’s ever been. More fully alive.
You are so good to do this. To do just what I say. Do you want to do more of what I say?
I don’t need to think. I just answer. Yes.
Take your right hand and trail it down from the swell at the side of your breast to the curve of your waist, around your hip to below your knee. Take your time. What do you feel?
Liquid fire. Hot and cold. Shudders and warmth. Every cell is being turned from neutral to fully on—aware.
Do the same thing with your left hand.
I don’t know where I get the nerve to tell him how I feel without his question, but I offer, Every cell is on fire. My...clit is, too. And my core.
Grace, you are such a good girl. Do you like it when I call you a good girl?
Yes.
Then I want you to be a very good girl and dip both hands below the hem of your gown. With just your index fingers, I want you to lift the hem up. Slowly. Slowly. Let me imagine that white gown edging deliberately up toward your knees, past them, and now, even more slowly up your creamy thighs. Can you hear my heavy breathing, Grace? Do you know how aroused I am just imagining what your hands are doing? Do you want to know that my fist is curled around my cock? It’s kicking in my hand just thinking about you. Do you know that?
I can imagine that, Tyree. Your hand tight on your thick cock. Someday I would love to fully taste you there. To suck you all the way into my mouth. I hear his sharp intake of breath and the softest moan.
Did you hear me moan, Grace? I guarantee that in the next hoara I’m going to hear you moan. That’s a guarantee. Unless you say the word “red.”
My lips are sealed.
Good. Now slip your fingers higher up your thighs to your waist. Imagine my eyes on you. Imagine I’m looking at you right now. I am. I see your lovely pale skin. I see the blond hair at the apex of your thighs. What do you feel?
I’m embarrassed just thinking of it. And aroused. And a little part of me wants to open myself to you and show you all of me. I hear a heavy exhalation from him. I feel powerful knowing I have this effect on you, Tyree.
Do I have an effect on you, Grace?
Yes. I have a need building inside of me.
Good. Tell me about the need.
I first have to pay attention to the feeling. Then I have to determine a way to explain it. It’s tight. My awareness is keenly focused on swirling energy that pools at the tips of my breasts, the top of my cleft, my core. It feels...unfinished. Not quite pain, but not quite pleasure. It’s waiting for something...to be fulfilled.
Thanks for sharing that with me, Grace. I can’t touch you tonight, but I will make sure you are fulfilled. Slip your fingers all the way up, so your gown is resting above your magnificent breasts.
Okay.
Take both hands and cup them below your breasts. Graze your hands from under your breasts to collar bones. Then back down and up again. Slowly.
My mouth is open now. I’m breathing in petite little gasps. My skin is on fire, Tyree. I wish these were your hands. I don’t know if I’ve ever wanted anything more desperately than your hands on me right this minute.
