Tristan, p.7
Tristan, page 7
Slowly and steadily, she wrestles her panic under a semblance of control as crippling head pain slams in. I wallow in a well of helplessness before Nye’s voice breaks into my head, loud and intrusive. “Think, you ninny. You are a healer. Heal!”
“I can only heal damage connected to or through sexuality. This isn’t.” But her thought gets me thinking. I’d healed Ali with kissing and the exchange of sexual essence. Each time, I’d felt a pull as if I could take on her pain like an empath. Empathic healing is rare, and few are willing to take on the pain of another, but I don’t hesitate. With this woman, I will walk into the fire.
I adjust our bodies so that her face tips up toward mine and send tendrils of healing power through our bond. The intensity of her pain takes my breath away, but her vulnerability and love are like a hook, drawing me on. I smooth the curls from her face and whisper in her ear, “I’ve got you, mon chou.” Then, I open my power and pull her pain within. I’m limp with fatigue by the time I absorb and use my magic to obliterate the symptoms. Ali rests quietly in my arms. I tip my head back and close my eyes for just a minute. We have so little time left, and I want to experience so much more with this woman.
When I startle awake, it’s full night, and it takes me a second to get my bearings. Ambient light from outside and the lit gas fireplace provide enough illumination for me to see Ali’s observant eyes regarding me. She flattens a hand on my chest, and healing love floods through me as she smiles up at me. Raw hunger for this woman replaces all traces of our earlier pain and fatigue. She responds through our connection in kind and bites her bottom lip. A peek at the tip of her dark pink tongue gives me an instant cock stand.
Ali’s fingers dance between my nipples, but the move isn’t sexual. The shadow in the background has moved closer, and she has something to say. With a sigh, she sits up, turns in my lap, and locks her hands loosely around the back of my neck. She gives me a sad smile.
“I wish we had more time.” She leans her forehead on mine for several heartbeats before leaning back and watching me intently. “This link between us is fucking amazing, and now we know our power flows both ways.” Ali holds her hand in the air rotating her wrist releasing a mist of grace that surges into me.
I, too, wish we had more time. Time to admire how quickly she assimilates information. Time to appreciate her courage and humor. But I won’t waste a moment of now wishing for what isn’t. Instead, I raise my hand and mimic her action. “Agreed.”
She shifts in my lap until she straddles me and then consumes me with those hot lips. My tongue rises to the challenge as she plunders my mouth and our tongues begin a fencing match that soon leaves us breathless. She breaks first and leaps off my lap, agitated. I still and watch for clues. What does she need?
“I need a drink. You?” True to form, my Ali tells me. She crosses to a whiskey decanter and ice bucket sitting on a table, picks up a glass and tips it at me. I nod. I rarely drink, but tonight I’ll make this small exception. Ali pours several fingers in two glasses and hands one to me before crossing to the deck. I join her, and we drink silently, gazing at the lush tropical resort-style courtyard. A wave of sadness washes through our connection, but I resist the urge to pull her into my arms. That’s not what she needs. She needs this separation to get through what she needs to say.
Finally, she clears her throat. “You saw. Lord Syrael is close. He’s like a presence that hasn’t gone away since our mating bond.”
I purse my lips. Should I tell Ali I saw something too? That my brother betrays her? Betrays us all? The bastard. I’ll kill him for this. I tense and force myself to relax. Confronting Cass will wait, assuming Troy doesn’t beat me to it. He’s probably already figured out what Cass is up to. But Ali needs me here and now. I set our glasses on the deck before turning her and looking deep into those dark eyes. I cup her cheeks. I’ve got you.
She reaches up and returns the gesture. Then, several too short moments later, she turns back to her drink, gazing into the darkness. “I have a strong sense that Lord Syrael got to Cass.” She hesitates a moment, grips her glass tightly then continues. “The demon lord has some kind of hold over him from your childhood. It isn’t very clear. I get images that look like the ones Tommy showed me, and I’m not sure what belongs to whom. But there’s something there.”
Shock and clarity hit me simultaneously with full force. Images from the dark years after losing our parents when Lord Syrael took Cass away for hours after telling us how lucky we were to have a big brother to look out for us. Of Cass crawling into bed in the wee hours of the morning, crying and bleeding. Of Cass curling into a tight ball and refusing to let me or Troy comfort him. So many emotions hit me I don’t know what I’m dealing with, but Ali’s warm touch grounds me, brings me back to what I need to do. She gives me a tiny smile of understanding before looking back at the horizon.
“Cass needs me to save him. You and Troy need to save each other so all three of you can save me.” My brave Ali bows her head, heavy with the weight of her upcoming burden.
“What do you need?”
She throws me another glance of gratitude. “I need you to help Troy forgive Cass. I need you to forgive Cass. I can’t shake the feeling that if you three aren’t united, aren’t bonded, then I’m doomed.” She says this with such finality, I shiver. Although it will be a struggle, I’ll find a way to forgive Cass and move on, but there’s no fucking way Troy will ever forgive Cass if he hurts Aleah. But I don’t have time to dwell on that now.
“If you need us, we’ll be there.” I say it with assurance and finality I don’t feel, but one thing I know for sure, I will die before I lose Aleah now that I’ve found her.
“Where there’s a will, there’s a way.” She takes the words out of my mouth. Gods, this woman is amazing. But there’s something else stirring in our mating bond.
“What else do you need?”
“To be Prince Tristan and Princess Aleah for one more night. Both of us in the role and let the chips fall where they may.” She’s working mighty hard to control her breathing, but I can’t miss her underlying excitement.
“We can do that.” I walk over to the mantel and pick up the box I’d hidden earlier. “But first, I have something for you.”
14
TRISTAN
I’m sitting in the back seat of a limo beside my new husband, more than a little drunk and horny. Prince Tristan has been silent during the ride home from the Masquerade, an elite sex club for the rich and infamous where he’d strutted me around to stake his claim. Although my memory of the evening of sin and iniquity is hazy, I do remember one thing quite clearly…letting one of my husband’s rivals touch me against his express command…while he watched.
It wasn’t my fault that I’d run into the naughty Duke Nicholas, one of the nobles who’s been trying to get between my legs since my cad of a husband got himself killed. And, I didn’t ask him to run his wandering fingers down my bare spine damned near into the crack of my ass.
Power and testosterone leak from my new husband as he sits beside me in the limo with his powerful thighs spread. I don’t need the dim running lights to know that those blue eyes are trained on me, no doubt contemplating the punishment I know is coming. Or waiting for me to apologize. Well, it’s time this man learns a few things about me, and first is that I will be subservient to no man.
Before we’d left for the club, my prince had made it very clear what tonight was all about. I knew the rules, and I’d broken them anyway. A delicious shiver runs through me as the limo pulls up to the mansion that marks the seat of Prince Tristan’s territory. His housekeeper Sadie’s duties seem to include chief driver and submissive. When she opens the rear door, Tristan exits the car and strides into the house. Gone are tonight’s earlier niceties when he’d played the courting gentleman to perfection. Back is the belligerent bastard who thinks he owns a piece of my ass.
Sadie opens my door looking like a knockout in a sexy chauffeur’s suit. Although she bows her pretty head in submission, there’s nothing meek about the voice that hisses at me. “You’d better get your ass moving, mistress. You don’t want to make him any angrier.” She rakes her eyes over my scantily clad body, sending heat rushing to too many parts of mine. “Or maybe you do.”
I’m too flustered to think of any retort, so I take her soft hand and let her help me from the car. “Thank you,” I manage before I flee up the walk after my husband’s disappearing back.
The man looks fifty shades of delectable in a dark gray Vagabond overshirt tucked into steel-gray Zante pants that mold his ass perfectly. Black Cardinal shoes complete the outfit, subtle in understated elegance on the body of a powerful predator. Prince Tristan stalks through his mansion and climbs the stairs that lead to his bedroom.
My heart takes an undefined leap as he marches past the sleeping quarters to throws open a door. I stop short in the doorway and try to get my intoxicated brain to identify what I’m seeing. Exercise equipment? My brow furrows in confusion. Why does the prince want to exercise? I mean, really? We’ve just been watching kink galore. Exercise is definitely not what I have in mind.
“It may not be what you have in mind, but I’ll certainly get a workout.” The prince scowls at me, although I could swear I see a flash of humor in his eyes before they go cold. “And those had better be the last words out of your mouth unless I ask you a question.”
I snap my traitorous mouth shut as my ass tightens. Last night’s spanking hadn’t hurt at the time, but I could still feel the after-effects. As I look into the candlelit room at three pieces of equipment, my ass clenches again. A closer look at the piece on the left makes one thing very clear—it’s a bondage board. Beside it sits a cross between a chair and a GYN exam table. The Kama Sutra chair I’d been sprawled over last night sits off to one side. I swallow and hustle my butt into the room at the look on the prince’s face.
Prince Tristan points a finger to a spot in front of the board, and I cross to it, trying desperately not to let my nervousness show and desperately wishing the wisp of cloth he’d allowed me to wear as undies weren’t drenched.
The bastard makes a great show of removing his overshirt to show his muscular chest clad in a very fitted dark gray T-shirt. I can’t help myself; I lick my lips and try not to breathe as he moves behind me. When he runs his hands lightly down my bare arms, I can’t hide my shiver. “Is that a flashlight in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?” My voice is husky as I murder Mae West’s famous line, but I don’t care. If it kills me, I’ll make this man react.
“That’s fifteen strokes.” Now he trails his finger down the same path Duke Nicholas took earlier, and I skip a couple of breaths. “Now, how many stokes should we give you for deliberately disobeying me?” His voice is conversational as his hands slip under the black satin covering my breasts. When I don’t answer, he pinches my nipples hard, and another bolt of molten heat shoots through me.
“I asked you a question.” His voice is deep and deadly quiet in my ear and should make me very afraid. This new husband’s reputation for brutality is legendary.
“Ten.” I manage to get the word out despite my suddenly dry mouth.
He grabs a handful of curls and yanks my head back hard. “Ten, what?”
“Ten, sir.” Another delicious shudder rolls through me as I choke the words out.
Without another word, he yanks the sleeves from my shoulder and shoves the shirred skirt over my ass until it drops to the floor. He lifts my arms above my head and places them on the handles on each side of the padded blackboard. After adjusting the height of the board to his satisfaction, he kicks my feet apart, something I’m coming to recognize as a signature move with him, and one I find hot as hell.
I try to slow my heart rate and convince myself I’m not on the verge of a panic attack or another of the best orgasms of my life, whichever comes first. Meanwhile, Prince Tristan makes a show of choosing the implement of his torture. Finally, he settles on something that resembles a leather spoon. My eyes damned near pop out of my head as he tests it against his palm, inches from my face.
“Safeword?”
“Socrates.” The word’s barely out of my mouth when he starts beating on my ass and thighs. Those twenty-five stripes answer any questions I had about being a pain junkie. I’m getting damned close to calling my safeword when the bastard stops. He grabs my sore ass with one hand and my chin with the other and studies my tear-streaked face. Sheer determination keeps me from making a sound while he whips me, but I can’t stop the tears falling from my face.
He cups my mound and hisses, “This cunt belongs to me, milady. I and I alone will decide if it’s to be shared.
“Yes, sir.”
“Yes, sir, what?” His tone remains cold, but there’s a subtle undertone of heat that wasn’t there before.
“Yes, sir. My cunt belongs to you.” The words slip out easier than expected as the heat continues to build between my legs. He slips two fingers into my wet heat then slides my juices through the crack of my ass. My legs start to tremble with need as my anticipation builds. Surely, he’ll take me now.
But this man is disciplined. He steps back and points to the chair beside us. I sit as demurely as possible while I watch his muscles move in perfect rhythm as he takes off his clothes. He’s only a few feet in front of me when he drops his pants. His magnificent erection springs free and aims directly for my mouth, all huge, hard, and engorged with his need. But before I can react, he has me trussed up and spread eagle in the chair.
He lowers his bulk on a stool between my legs and pulls a suspended tray filled with an array of sex toys within reach, never taking his eyes from mine.
“And now, milady, let’s have a look at this hot little cunt of yours.” He adjusts the chair, bringing my open pussy to mouth level.
After sliding the pads of his thumbs through the slickness in my folds, he uses them to spread my engorged lips wide. Then, leaning forward until his nose is a hair from my clit, he breathes deeply. My pussy clenches, and I strain forward, trying to reach those lips that are so close yet so far, but his fingers hold my spread thighs firmly in place. The sweet agony of his hot breath on my cunt forces my knees farther apart.
He sits like this, studying my spread pussy but only touching it with his breath until I’m almost out of my mind with desire. “Now, let’s see who this dirty little cunt belongs to.” Only then does he take the tip of his mouth and trace it around a clit so engorged it’s painful. My body spasms as he teases my clit, never entirely giving direct contact but centering every ounce of blood in my body to that one spot until I’m sweating with need. But all I can do is writhe and moan and try to hang on why it’s so important not to submit to this man’s hot mouth.
I’m ready to give anything for la petite mort when the seeds of an orgasm start to sprout deep within my core. Prince Tristan’s tongue taps my clit before he trails it lightly over it. Wash, rinse, repeat. Sensation grips every cell in my body as an orgasm steals free.
“Who owns your cunt?” His words only add fuel to the violent contractions that have taken hold of my pussy.
“You do, your highness.” My voice is ragged and broken, but I no longer care. Nothing exists outside of this man and this moment.
“That’s right.” He drives three fingers into my cunt, adjusting them until they’re hitting my G-spot. “Only in here, I’m your lord and master.”
“Yes, master.” I’m not sure if the words make it past my moans as another orgasm builds on the crest of the last.
When he pulls out of me, I’m panting and sweaty, and I’ve never felt more beautiful or alive. Quivers run through me as the aftershocks dissipate. When I finally open my eyes, both the man and his cock are standing proudly before me. Prince Tristan tips his head back and takes several long pulls from a bottle of water, exposing a long neck made for me to rake my teeth over. God, how I want to touch this man. My fingers flex reflexively as the candlelight hits the dark blond dusting of hair that trails from his chest to his navel. Suddenly, I want that body to be mine.
My eyes bulge wide as he lifts a purple butt plug from the tray beside him. Taking his time, he squirts a generous amount of lube over the toy ensuring every square inch is covered. He adjusts the angle of the chair, giving greater access to my anus. Another quiver rockets through me as he slowly inserts the tip into my opening. My anus clamps shut at the intrusion. Prince Tristan gives me a penetrating look as he nudges the plug a little deeper. “First time?”
I nod frantically and try to relax into the taboo sensation. The prince gives a small, satisfied smile, then leans forward and sucks one of my hard nipples between his teeth. His sharp bite sends darts of delicious agony straight to my lady bits, causing me to relax my sphincter. Then, the prince buries the butt plug. A new sensation fills me as his long thick cock slides into me. With each thrust, the prince’s cock hits a sweet spot deep within my vagina that’s stimulated by the butt plug.
There’s nothing to do but close my eyes and let pleasure sweep through me like fire until the blazing flames consume me. Consume us both.
I’m limp and languid as I slowly slide out of the fantasy. After releasing me from the restraints, Tristan puts his overshirt on me and pulls me into his lap on the Kama Sutra Chair, cuddling me until my trembling subsides. The strong current of his love flows through our bond as our divine essence combines, strengthening our power. Making us more together than we can ever be apart.
“I have something for you. My mating gift for my warrior woman.” Tristan motions, and a square blue box flies into his open hand. At the last minute, I remember I’m forty years old, and I stop from clapping in glee as he hands me the gift. I flash this man, who I’m so desperately attracted to, a for-me smile before lifting the lid. A carved gold cylinder lies in a nest of black tissue paper. I lift it eagerly, examining the runes carved into the metal.
