Hers to Command Page 3

  A sudden flush sent her equilibrium reeling. “This aphrodisiac is affecting me strangely. I feel a little—dizzy.”

  Swaying where she stood, her gaze shot up to him as he moved silently to steady her. His large hand felt calloused and warm against her upper arm. A strange course of electric sensation pulsed between them. My mind is playing games with me.

  His other hand held leather cuffs and lashings. She was unable to hold his amber gaze, unwilling to betray her precipitous arousal and mounting fear. Trembling, she stepped out of his gentle hold. Without thought, she rubbed her arm where his touch had sparked that strange electric tingle.

  Fleur moved to the glazed window overlooking the profusely blooming courtyard below. Some young children laughed gaily as they pursued each other around the central fountain in a carefree game of tag. Such sweet innocence. It reminded her why she was here. She wanted to give them a lifetime of carefree days.

  “You know we must succeed.” Fleur carefully placed the goblet on the sill and steadied herself, bracing both hands against the framing, her heart suddenly racing, her breath coming in short pants.

  “Yes. I am aware of the stakes.”

  She threw a glance toward him, at his dry, sardonic response. Her thoughts spun frantically. What do I know about House DeTano? They are superb horsemen. “I don’t remember seeing you at court,” she said.

  “Before the invasion, I lived off-planet for a number of years. I came back to fight for Her, for the Senzienza, and for my people.”

  Fleur straightened in astonishment. “She has spoken to you? The Senzienza, Verdantia, has spoken to you?”

  He inclined his head slightly. “Yes.”

  “I’ve never met—.” She shook her head. “Later.” He is vastly more than he seems.

  Fleur glanced nervously to the leather cuffs held in her magister’s surprisingly elegant hands. “Being bound is difficult for me. But I will submit to you.” His head tilted in question, then his hazel eyes softened.

  “Most certainly, you will submit to me. I have performed the Great Rite many times, my Lady and though I would spare you, the binding is necessary.”

  She could not control her trembling. He moved to stroke her bare arms in reassurance. Again, that strange sensation pulsed through her.

  “Don’t fear me. I’ll take care with you,” he murmured.

  Don’t fear him? Heat from his body engulfed her. Her skin tingled where his calloused hands caressed her arms. She didn’t understand why his erotic pull was so strong. It must be the cinnagin.

  His hard thighs easily trapped her against the marble windowsill as he gathered her hair aside to pull at the golden cords holding up her gown. The firm length of his arousal pressed into her back. She heard the catch in his breath as he bared her. The warmth of his whispered, “By the goddess, you are exquisite,” flowed across her shoulders. “Lady, you have no conception how cruel the next few hours will become. We cannot rely solely upon your self-control, for in every way you must submit to me.”

  His baritone voice rumbled through her. Now it begins. She would risk anything for even a chance of success. “Yes. I submit. Everything depends on it.”

  “Yes, everything.” He nipped her shoulder then gently kissed the sting away.

  “I am going to caress every part of you and keep you aroused until the crystals sing with power. The longer you stay at the edge of climax, the faster the crystals can draw on your energy. Sometimes it takes merely a day to replenish their power. If you should go over, I will bring you right back up. As long as you are able, you must deny yourself or tell me when you approach your peak. Do you understand?”

  “Yes,” she whispered. “And when I can no longer discipline myself? If I am beyond self-control?” She gasped in air, her heart pounding in her ears. “What then?”

  Swaying, unsteady on her feet, her eyes were drawn to the implements hanging on the far wall—whips, paddles, manacles, bars and others she could not identify. Her fear spiked upward.

  “Then I will bring you back up, repeatedly.” He had followed her gaze. The corner of one lip quirked up and his amber eyes narrowed wickedly. “By whatever means necessary.”

  At this, her knees buckled. If the conte had not been quick to catch her, she would have shared the floor with her robe, then all went dark.

  * * * * *

  Oh Gods, I ache. Fleur throbbed. Liquid fire pulsed across her nipples and down between her inner thighs to the place where the burn of her swollen sex was near unbearable. Nude and flat on the Chambre Cristalle’s large diamantorre dais, she could not move. I am bound hand and foot! With an inarticulate cry, she struggled to free herself. Her eyes flew open to an intent hazel gaze, a gaze that while somber and appraising, carried warmth in its depths.

  “Breathe,” her magister ordered quietly. “That’s it. Long, slow breaths.” His eyes tracked the rise of her breasts as she inhaled, their fall as she exhaled. “Again.” She obeyed. “Better?”

  Afraid that she would start begging to be released, Fleur could only trust herself to nod.

  Hard muscle and sinew filled her sight. As nude as she, he lay beside her on the padded diamantorre dais, monitoring her response as his fingers rolled and teased her nipples, first the right and then the left. He pinched her hard. She choked on the streaking pleasure lancing straight to her core. Oh Gods!

  She watched as his handsome face drew ever closer. It seemed natural to close her eyes. Warm breath hinting of spices, cinnagin and wine wafted across her cheek. Smoothly shaven skin holding the hint of sandalwood and bergamot brushed past her nose. Soft, moist lips caught the corners of her eyes in light, brief kisses. He does not kiss me on the mouth. Of course not, that is for lovers.

  “You are exquisite,” he murmured.

  “How shall I call you?” she moaned softly as his fingers continued their taunting play. “You will know me in the most intimate of ways. I don’t even know how to address you.”

  His eyes considered her. “Ari. Call me Ari.”

  His lack of pretention charmed her instantly. No “Magister Full-of-Himself” or “Lord Stick-Up-His-Arse”.

  “We will start slowly, Princess.”

  Fleur fought to control her breathing when he moved between her legs and brought his tongue to play on the tender skin between her thighs. His arms cupped around her sides, stroking the underside of her heavy breasts in small circles, wandering upward to flick at her nipples, then lightly stroking the tender underside of her arms—whatever was in reach of his talented fingertips. Waves of indescribable sensation swept her. She groaned with the swamping pleasure and settled her mind to harness the erotic sensations created by her magister’s well-educated tongue. He is incredibly gentle.

  “I think I will linger here,” he murmured, nuzzling into the flesh between her thighs.

  She could feel his hot breath against her intimate flesh. “Yes!” She ached for touch, any touch, as the cinnagin circulating throughout her system multiplied her arousal a hundred-fold.

  The morning sun shining through the glazed windows gave way to the afternoon's shadows, a silent marking of the hours she struggled with self-control. His warm tongue and talented fingers continuously tickled and teased her inner flesh. Her arousal mounted feverishly, precipitously, a result of both the cinnagin and the devilishly skilled magister working her body.

  “No more, no more! Please. I will go over.” Her whispered plea halted the gentle probing of his tongue around her hypersensitive clitoris.

  “You cannot see it, perhaps, but the diamantorre dais tells me the intensity of your arousal. The azzurra glow of the diamantorre tells me you can take more. You can rise higher. I’ll not stop.” His swirling tongue continued her torment.

  Her clitoris had become one raw, exposed nerve vibrating vast pulses of sparkling arousal from the tips of her nipples to her toes. His tongue had become a warm bath, swaying the nerve gently, dangling her over an orgasmic precipice on a fragile, silken strand.

&n
bsp; “Demon. You are demon-spawn,” she spat and pulled futilely against her bindings. His tongue paused. Warm breath pulsed on her labia as he laughed silently.

  “One of the nicer names I’ve heard.” A light nip on the inside of her thigh made her jump.

  The warm torture of her clitoris resumed, augmented by his talented hands stroking up her sides, cupping her breasts, plucking at her erect nipples.

  A low moan left her mouth. Gods and goddesses, help me. There was no surcease from the insane arousal. An upwelling surge of vast pleasure carried her, unresisting. The silken strand was fraying. Her climax poised a heartbeat away. She surrendered, succumbed, lost to the incred—

  He stopped.

  “No, no, nooo, nooo,” she begged incoherently. “Don’t stop, nooo, don’t stop!”

  She drew in huge gasps of air and the crescendo threatening to overwhelm her faded marginally. She raged at him. “Gaahh—I hate you!”

  Opening her eyes, she looked down her torso into amber eyes glowing with the animalistic intensity of an insane wolf.

  “Now you are where I want you,” he growled. “This is where I will keep you. Do you now understand why you are tied?”

  She couldn’t contain her scream of denial as she strained at the bonds which forced her to endure his erotic torture. Damn his talented fingers and tongue, he kept her there.

  She lost sense of time as the hours passed. She burned with a hollow emptiness that wrapped her in misery. “Ari, please, I ache so. Take me. Please, by the gods, I need you inside me.”

  “No. You are experiencing the effects of the cinnagin. The walls of your sheath are hypersensitive. You have no idea what you ask for.”

  “I cannot endure this. I need you inside me. As your princess, Warlord, I command you! Fuck me!”

  She didn’t like the sound of his drawled, “As you wish, Your Highness.” She was aware enough to feel him leave the bed. She heard a deep groan followed by a softly voiced curse. The bed dipped with his heavy weight as he rejoined her.

  “What?” She panted her question.

  “Cockrings. I must take them off eventually but I don’t need to tax my self-control now. I will give you what you ask for. You will regret it. I will enjoy it slightly more.”

  He turned back to her. Goddess, what a handsome man. Her eyes dropped down his body and her pussy spasmed in reaction. His cock was substantial—thick, long and undiminished. Its length and weight caused it to hang at an angle to his groin.

  As if in response to her avid stare, it pulsed, jerking toward his belly. He released a choking grunt and froze momentarily. A thick gold ring cruelly stretched his large, swollen balls down, away from his shaft. A similar metal ring tightly cinched its base. Her eyes widened. Cockrings. Painful.

  Wincing slightly, he dropped a large hand to support himself and regulated his breathing.

  Her wonderment must have shown on her face.

  His eyes held her with sardonic mockery. “You are not alone in your suffering, Princess.” And he lay between her legs.

  His firm, muscled thighs slid up between her legs, and Ari settled into the cradle of her groin , playing his iron-hard cock head in the slick, copious moisture escaping her. He centered its broad head at the opening of her feminine channel. Slowly, inexorably, he pulsed inward, tiny increments at a time.

  She felt her slippery inner lips, profusely swollen, stretch to the point of painful discomfort. With a sudden give, the flesh surrounding her opening accommodated his hot, rigid thickness. Waves of intense, sparkling pleasure lanced through her inner core. She grunted with the effort to contain her response. Her pussy convulsed spasmodically like a greedy little mouth sucking on his broad cock head.

  Her hypersensitive inner walls registered his slightest movement as acute pleasure. Her mental concentration fractured at his choked expletive when his shaft gained the difficult entrance to her body. He stopped with the fat head of his cock barely an inch inside her. “No! Don’t stop. By the gods, don’t stop!” she begged.

  “Lady,” he snarled as she growled in frustration, writhing in her bonds, his hard shaft jerking spasmodically, “be still. Do. Not. Move.”

  By the Gods, I am going insane. Why didn’t I listen to him? This is much worse.

  Time lost meaning to her. Ari’s every small movement sent indescribable pleasure cascading throughout her body as if a fiery plasma ball stroked her entire being. To deny herself climax was sexual suffering of the harshest kind. When he next pulled back, the sensations created by his hard cock inching out of her tightly stretched, ultra-sensitive, inner walls became too much. She sobbed, “No, oh gods, Ari, no more. I will come.”

  She fought the panic threatening to overwhelm her. I can’t do this!

  “Stop struggling,” Ari commanded sternly. “You increase your torture.”

  He continued to withdraw, stopping at her outermost lips.

  The insane pleasure was too much. It was too much!

  “Stop!” she screamed. She burst into hysterical sobs, thrashing and straining against the ties that held her spread-eagled. “Stop! Stop!”

  Once the tears started, it seemed they would drown her. Her body convulsed on the precipice of orgasm. “Help me. Help me.”

  Her bindings fell away. With a grip bordering on painful, his hands trapped her against his warm, hard body. His deep voice growled in her ear. “Be still. Settle! Woman, control yourself.”

  As she fought to be still, his painful grip relaxed. His voice lost its anger.

  “Hush, little one. I have you. Shh. I have you.”

  Ari’s hands stroked her as she trembled and wept. Her body curled into his, seeking comfort. Her face pressed into the hard muscles of his chest as she sobbed. And always, always, Ari’s gentle hands stroked her, his quiet voice soothed her.

  When her tears and spasmodic jerking subsided, he reached for a linen cloth and used it to wipe her face and nose as tenderly as any lover would his beloved. Her eyes felt fat and gritty as she opened her swollen lids and looked up into Ari’s concerned hazel gaze.

  “Fleur, what level of training have you?”

  “I am a level five, Magister.”

  “A fifth-level,” he repeated flatly. “You are a dead man, Patricio.”

  He viciously punched the bedding and she flinched.

  “Lady, you court a hideous death. You possess neither the training nor the discipline to complete this ritual without destroying your mind.” He braced himself above her, his fury scathing. “I will not be party to your destruction.”

  She couldn’t say when during these last hours Ari had become “her” magister, but she trusted him with her life. She had expected a cold, contained, unfeeling master of magicks. While there was no doubt of his supreme skill and inhuman self-discipline, his manner toward her spoke of a careful regard for her femininity and a tenderness she was at a loss to explain.

  She swallowed her forlorn thoughts and looked up at him, glowering less than a foot above her face.

  “Magister. Ari. Is there no way you can assist me through this? I am the last magistra past the age of twelve. There is no other.”

  She tried for composed dignity but feared her periodic trembling and sniffs sabotaged her efforts.

  His eyes narrowed as he took in what she had said. “What of Felicity? Why is she not here?”

  She didn't want to think about Felicity. She watched the rapid pulse throbbing in his neck. “Felicity is insane.” She paused. “We must attempt this,” she continued rapidly. “I know I am untried. And yes, I am terrified. Ari, please. Please, my Lord. For Verdantia, I accept the risk.”

  She could see him reconsider his flat refusal to continue. Ari’s eyes swept her, examining her minutely. He sees how I struggle with the arousal but I am containing it.

  Rolling up to stand with his back to the bed, he scrubbed his hands over his face. Cautiously stepping across the room to an ornately carved table, he paused. Picking up a crystal decanter, he filled a goblet, dr
ank it down and then poured another. He is not going to continue.

  She propped herself up on her elbows and looked at his fully naked form. Her warlord personified masculine beauty. His tightly defined muscles delineated a lean, spare body. His broad shoulders tapered to a narrow waist above hard, round buttocks. A dimple on either side of his spine crowned each buttock cheek. Brown swirls of hair covered his heavily muscled thighs and strong calves. Auburn hair, streaked with multiple shades of gold, crowned this god-like masculinity, and fell in heavy waves well past his shoulders. There were several vicious scars running the length of his torso, one of them newly healed. She drank in the undeniable beauty of a body honed to its task, the body of a warrior.

  He carefully crossed back to her and with a tight smile handed her the goblet he had just filled.

  “Drink this.”

  “Please, Ari, I don’t think…” No more aphrodisiac, please! Her eyes strayed again to his thick member and she shivered with barely controlled lust.

  “It is watered wine, my Lady.”

  Taking the cup from his outstretched hand, she drank in thirsty gulps, closing her eyes to eliminate the temptation to drop the goblet and fall avidly on his erection with her mouth and hands.

  She looked up at him again as he took the goblet back. He placed it on the floor and stood gazing down at her. She wondered if he knew the stunning effect his magnificent nudity had on her libido. Concern clouded his beautiful face. Whatever his thoughts, they gave him no comfort.

  “Princess, we must create and sustain as much sexual arousal as bodies can endure to trigger the energies required to renew the tower diamantorre. If I continue, the erotic torture will only intensify.”

  His eyes held hers. “We have reached the point with the diamantorre where it will be perilous to stop. Can you feel it? The forces channeling through us? They are abnormally strong. I don’t think you can take it.” Ari grimaced. “I may not be able to control it.”

  Two words escaped her. “We must.”

  He exhaled slowly. All expression left his extraordinary face. All warmth left his hazel eyes and he held hers in an intimidating, heartless stare. “Indeed.”