Chereads / SELECTED FOR SPORT / Chapter 15 - SELECTED FOR SPORT CH. 15

Chapter 15 - SELECTED FOR SPORT CH. 15

Asmir panted into the plaster, heart pounding. His forehead ached where it was jammed into the edge of his peephole but he barely noticed, transfixed by the wide, moist blue eyes of the Tahl-maia as her beautiful face jerked repeatedly into his line of vision. Those luscious lips drew his gaze, her breathless gasps punctuated by almost incoherent sobs of, "Gentler! Please! My lord!"

He could see no more this time, but his mind burned with the glimpse he had once had of her naked, panting on her back on the concovation table when he had brought the Tahl tea. Her begging now was lost in a rising moan when the speed of the harsh, rhythmic slap of hips to buttocks increased despite her plea, the masculine grunts of pleasure echoing Asmir's flying hand beneath his robe and hammering heart.

The grunts were louder, rising towards triumphant to drown the soft, smothered chokes of "No! Please! No!" from the girl, when minutes later Asmir straightened himself on a long sigh, swiftly washing and wiping clean in the spare bowl and towel he brought for this purpose. Composing his features, he picked up his service tray and stepped soundlessly around the corner and along the last few yards of the tiny corridor buried between two walls, halting beside the guard poised outside the hidden doorway into the small withdrawing room where the Tahl was currently enjoying his bride. He could see nothing through the peephole here, but knew from the staccato grunts of his ruler that he must be ready. The Tahl no longer rested even a little after finishing in this one, dismissing her instantly after he had slaked his lust.

Slaked for a while, but never wholly assuaged. And no wonder, with a body like that at his beck and call. Asmir felt the tingle of lust reawakening while his mind flickered over the glimpses of the Tahl-maia he had seen in the three days since her apology. The sweat-drenched, golden skin and beautiful, trembling curves, limp with exhaustion wherever the Tahl was done playing with her -- and he was obviously making up for lost time after ignoring her all those weeks.

A favourite memory rose: her slumped on her knees on the floor with her arms tied behind her, the drenched, woebegone blue eyes above wet cheeks and parted lips, heaving breasts bewitching under the almost transparent silk while she had fought to regain her breath. That had been her third summons that day, and despite all the begging she had still not been taken between the thighs and allowed to reach that long scream of pleasure which had used to punctuate each encounter. It was a foolish woman who sought to rule their Tahl. Thank the gods the emperor had recovered from his strange diffidence and was now ruthless in reminding her of her place.

The high, wordless cry echoing from the room reminded Asmir that the Great Tahl sometimes still took his pleasure in a way that would pleasure his bride. The servant fought down the fire tingling in his blood, trying to ignore the way his cock pulsed at the harsh snarl of pleasure which echoed the girl's cry, shudderingly aware of the motionless bulk of the warrior poised beside him. Did the personal guards feel nothing?

Trembling, Alanna rolled off the sofa, landing on all fours beside the short, carved legs. Hoarsely gulping, trying to draw breath back into her screaming lungs, she huddled against the silk, limb shuddering, while Xanir strolled away, readjusting his clothing. He hadn't even undressed. Hastily Alanna clutched her untied bodice up to her chest when he spoke to the servant who appeared in the doorway bearing a tray with an urn of tea beside a steaming bowl of water, soap, and towel.

Wiping her eyes, they landed on the crumpled scrap of the undergarment she had used to support and enhance her cleavage, and widened. Her women had advised her not to wear it, and as they had predicted her husband had ripped it off in disgust without even looking. Swallowing, she reached for it.

"Leave that!"

Her hand jerked back at the harsh tone, and tears sprang automatically to her eyes. Damn her oversensitive tear ducts. Her mind whirled. He wasn't touching her. So he meant it.

Alanna swallowed again when the servant's eyes rested on her flushed face, and she turned it into the silk, sternly smothering the desire to smile. The servant, the lords she passed in the corridors, the concubines -- they were all so smug, relieved, delighted that Xanir no longer listened to a word she said and treated her with harsh, unrelenting lust, no tenderness. Although the concubines weren't so happy about the frequency.

No-one knew what he had whispered in her ear that first time he had summoned her after the garden, the elaborate game of opposites that they had been playing whenever he touched her. It had been so hard at first to remember through the haze of lust, and she had begged him to thrust harder, only to be furiously disappointed when his pace had immediately slackened. Now screaming, "No!" and "Softer!" and having him do the exact opposite sent her desire skyrocketing. There were times when as soon as he touched her she begged him not to take her throat again. She didn't know why she loved kneeling before him so much while he used her mouth; even the ache of dissatisfaction between her thighs was a strange pleasure, knowing from the tightness of his fingers in her hair and speed of his thrusts how much he loved her in that position also. She also strangely loved that today he had ignored her plea, making her scream in fulfilment when her slick passage had melted around him.

"Another," Xanir ordered, holding out his empty teacup, and the man busied himself with his task.

But sometimes this backwards, tortuous communication was frustrating. Heart pounding, while he was joking with the servitor, attention elsewhere, Alanna sneaked a trembling hand out to gather up the brasserie. An exclamation of stifled anger, and her eyes jumped to meet his as he bore down on her in fury.

"What did I tell you?"

The flashing black eyes flickered at the desperate message she was trying to convey with hers, and he yanked the material out of her grasp, stuffing it into his sash. "You don't need padding, princess. Let me show you."

His grip was gentle despite the firmness with which he hauled her to her feet, and then he was behind her, leaning her trembling figure back against his hard frame, hauling her hands up to clasp them together behind her head. She shuddered at the exposure.

"Eye on the floor!" Xanir snapped, and the gaping servant hastily dropped his mesmerised gaze from her naked breasts, fell to his knees, and pressed his forehead to the carpet where he remained, motionless except for the tremble to his frame.

Xanir looped the halter tie of the bodice of her dress tight around her wrists and tied them at her nape, elbows bent to the ceiling, the thin material plastered taut to every line. Her flush was burning almost painfully while her husband leaned in close and nipped her ear, growling fiercely, "You do as I say."

"I -. My lord," gulped Alanna on a whisper, trying to find words to explain while his hands carefully smoothed the fine silk which flattened her breasts to her chest, tweaking the hard buds with to punctuate each fierce phrase: "Exactly as I say. No less. No more."

She trembled. She knew there had been some risk in what she had done, but so very little, and despite the amazing sex she was miserable. She had had no contact with him. The real him. Three days! "My lord, please -." Her voice was hoarse.

"Bethesda will release you," Xanir cut across her, stepping away so abruptly she swayed. "Perhaps this will remind you of your duty of obedience. And do not even try to wear such a garment again." Her eyes flew to his stern, fierce face and she blanched when he clapped his hands briskly.

Not like this! Please, Xanir.

His eyes were cold, and he gestured for her guards to take her away.

The tears were sparkling on her cheeks when a moment later she was escorted past the avid eyes of the courtiers outside the door. Damn it, why did his displeasure make her cry?

***

"By Rihma," breathed Em Feliz reverently that evening in Xanir's chambers, poring over the mosaic of line drawings painted on the folded silk which had padded out the Tahl-maia's bra. His eyebrows snapped together when his eyes dropped to one of the sketches. "What is Mika whispering to Faisal?"

"Yes, I noticed that," murmured Xanir, moving away, savouring a sip of wine. His face darkened when he considered his bride's haphazard method of getting these dangerously informative sketches to him. Her breast halter could easily have been left for a servant. And anyone may have seen her sketch -- no, she was not to do this again. Hopefully he had made that crystal clear. No. He must ensure she learned.

"Stop scowling," said his brother, stepping forward to draw the pictures towards himself, ignoring the spymaster's stifled protest. "That picture alone is worth its weight in gold. They have spent so long establishing their standoff of mutual contempt..."

"Which you never trusted."

"... yet here they are, heads together like sword-sworn."

"Limaq reports he saw them parting in that doorway," Em Feliz chimed in.

The older prince's eyes were deep, pondering, while he indicated the silk stretched out on the low table in mute reply.

"She can only have seen them that way for a moment," growled Xanir.

"Yet every line is perfect. That is a remarkable talent."

The Tahl knocked back the last of his wine and flopped down beside his cousin, leaning his head back against the backrest to stare at the ceiling.

"She doesn't know who any of these people are. Why pick out that pair?" Xanir muttered, almost grumbled. He didn't like the way she made him feel. She made him feel unsettled. Almost vulnerable. He felt guilty for tying her on display like that and making her walk the gauntlet of the court, knowing she would hate it. Yet what else was a punishment for? And now he had dismissed Asmir from service and brought Fundin out of retirement. He, who had never cared in the slightest, was becoming irritated with those servants who enjoyed watching behind the walls. She cared. Even though she didn't even know!

"Maybe because of the way they moved apart instantly when her guards passed the windows," hazarded Em Feliz.

Xanir's turned his head to eye his spymaster. "That is what you would see." This was so much more than he had asked of her. So much more than he had expected of her.

"Do not underestimate her, my lord."

Haman sighed at the wary look on Xanir's face. "And do not hold it against her either, little brother. You asked her to use her talents for your purpose. Intelligence is not a flaw in a woman."

Xanir closed his eyes and smiled. "'A woman's only concern is how best to please her husband'," he quoted, taunting.

Haman snorted. "And are you not pleased?"

A short pause, and the reply was almost disgruntled. "Yes."

"So what will you do?"

The eyes reopened, aflame. "I have already given the order. At dawn I ride with five hundred horse to Jindl to cut through to the truth of what the high lords are concealing behind this façade."

Haman drew a long breath. That had not been what he meant. While he had no doubts about Xanir's ability to hold the Empire together with shear force of will and arm for several years yet, the long-term well-being of their people depended on more. But he knew better than to dispute with him when that look fired the Great Tahl's eyes.

***

"Princess!"

The word was growled almost inaudibly. Alanna blinked in the low light beside her bed, swallowing at the shadow looming over her. But the voice was familiar: her guard, Omar. She grimaced at the rawness of her throat, massaging it gently. Brutal man. Bestial taking of her throat with ruthless, selfish intensity. A smile was playing at her lips and she tried to smother her grin as she realised what being woken in the night meant. She squirmed. The simmer of desire burned higher and her palm swept up over her stomach. Silken touch.

Alanna lifted her swaddled paw and scowled at it. He didn't have to still have her fingers shrouded as she slept. It wasn't like he didn't sate her enough in between times. The scowl deepened, a blush rising. And he hadn't had to tie her like that for the walk back in front of his men. She no longer had even the blue beads in her hair. Until he had removed them, she hadn't realised the protection that those tokens of his favour had accorded her.

She shuddered in distaste. The courtiers had delighted in the peaked, aching nipples straining against the light covering, together with the renewed marks around her neck. Their excitement had been palpable; it was not merely that the men of the court no longer bothered to rein in their lust, they flaunted it, bantering coarse, explicit vulgarities that scorched her cheeks while they followed her, discussing her attributes, how their Tahl had most likely been pleasuring himself this time, and what they most wanted to see when he finally took her in the mosaic room. Her guards walked more alert.

"Princess!" Omar breathed again, snapping her back to the present. He indicated that she should get up.

Again. Her throat ached. Her whole body trembled. The smile curled her lips.

Wrinkling her nose at the senseless excitement and idiotic feeling of pride, Alanna slithered blearily to her feet, steadying herself against one of the bed pillars. She was grimacing at the soft binding around her hand when a cloth bag descended over her head cutting out all light and muffling the sound which escaped her.

"Shh!" cautioned Omar. A drawstring pulled the soft cloth to bunch loosely around her neck, while one bundled hand was lifted and placed on a shoulder just in front of her. "Keep silent!"

"What -?" she gulped quietly.

"Be silent. Or we must gag you also," repeated Omar urgently.

Her blood was thundering. Was this a plot? If Xanir didn't trust his bodyguards, could she trust hers?

A hand grasped the knot that belted her gossamer nightdress, careful to avoid her skin, and she was towed forwards, stumbling after that retreating shoulder down the dais holding her bed. Should she scream? Even if she did, she couldn't defeat them. Omar and Malik and Ben and Yusif. She swallowed again, remembering the shared jokes and her history lessons in the sleepless nights before she had apologised. The ripples of the bruises at her throat reminded her: they walked more alert, also, when protecting her out in the wider palace.

A light shiver, but she held silent.

On the main floor they spun her, dizzyingly, and then her belt was tied to a belt just the length of her forearms ahead, both her hands tucked in to hold either side of it. "Stop when he does," ordered Omar, and she was towed into motion.

"Can't you -," undo my hands was cut off in her throat when with lethal swiftness her escort slammed to a halt while in perfect silence, bewilderingly rapidly, she was lifted, tilted, the bag scrunched above her chin and a round leather ball forced into her mouth before being tied in place with a silken strip of cloth.

While he tied the knots Omar's lips were at her ear, voice almost inaudible, but frighteningly vehement: "You must be silent! Or you may die."

Alanna gulped. This time, her hands were tied to the belt also, before her guide again jolted into motion.

Her head was still spinning. They were kidnapping her. Who? She had no idea of the alliances here, but someone must have seen through the façade that she was of no account. Maybe Xanir was right and the silk paintings were to blame. Had someone seen? A tear crept onto her cheek.

Her feet were towed from rush matting to warm tiling. Had the door been open? They must have passed the door by now. Which way were they going? More tears escaped while she was pulled ruthlessly onward in the deafening silence. Even the steady pad of the footsteps that must be ahead of her were inaudible above her pounding heart and rapid breathing. The silence seemed to echo. Where were they going? Down more steps, now. She jumped when her guide halted, reached back to hold her tightly, and lifted her, stepping sideways, before carefully putting her on her feet again. His muscles were wiry. He was shorter than any of her guards.

Who was leading her?

Breath hot in the heavy, motionless air inside the bag, Alanna's pulse was thundering, spiralling into panic, until ruthlessly she forced her mind away: there was nothing she could do. Only follow. Play stupid. More tears: far, so far away from home.

Lost, in interminable darkness and silence punctuated by a bewildering number of further stops, turns, sidesteps and another staircase spiralling downwards. They halted. A feather-light knocking of knuckles on wood sounded just ahead of her, while the muscles of her guide's waist moved under her shrouded fingertips. The stagnant air stirred and light cracked under the edge of the hood enclosing her head. She was led forwards into the light, hands untied, and left, the click of the door closing the only sound.

Still trying to keep her breathing light, her heart suddenly changed rhythm. Straining for the faintest sound, she had instead caught a hint of musk. She knew that aroused scent. Knew it well.

Fool, she berated herself, relaxing from fear into a different tension. Of course there were hidden ways in a palace this large, this old.

Of course the Tahl had a secret route to his bride's chamber.

Fingers carefully untied the drawstring, removed the bag, and tossed it aside. Alanna swallowed. Ow. She had forgotten how muscular his shoulders and chest were. How could she have forgotten in a few short hours?

Xanir tutted, and his fingers went to the binding of her gag.

No, it must be a trick of the light, the candles blazing from the surrounding walls them emphasising the bulge and hollow of the sleek muscles under that dusky skin. Her hands freed, they lifted to trace the lines. Alanna worked her aching jaw, then swallowed against the surge of need that burned through her. Desperately trying to hold onto her composure, she pulled her gaze away, trying to recover the façade of fear and trepidation.

"You may relax here. No act."

Xanir's eyes were burning, and hers skittered on from them, colour firing. Her heart slammed in even greater excitement while light fingers brushed the tearstains from her cheeks. She leaned into his hand.

The room was compact, square and windowless, the usual weapons and shields decorating the walls. A glittering circular fan stirred the air above a large canopy bed, the centrepiece of the various pieces of furniture.

Alanna couldn't keep her attention on her surroundings. Although her blood leapt in awareness that there was a bed.

Her eyes were glued to his softened face. Those fingers were now combing lightly through her hair, smoothing out the disarray from sleep and her headcovering. She dropped her head to hide the almost painful surge of the longing within her, lust and a gentler warmth burning in her veins. Her forehead touched his chest and she sighed, half a whine. "Xanir," sounded breathlessly in the heavy air.

"Shh," the deep voice soothed. A hand under her chin lifted her lips, and his brushed them, shocking more heat through the rich desire within her, melting her. "I know. You have done very well."

Her blood purred in his hug, then abruptly she was in the air before being bent over a cushioned bench at waist height. She gasped, squirming when a heavy strap was secured across her back, holding her firm to the leather under her chest and belly. She cried out at the sudden removal of his skin under her forehead and fingertips, disappointed yet heat flaring when his hands smoothed over her buttocks.

"But you have also been very wayward."

She gasped, dropping her forehead onto the convenient headrest when those knowing fingers teased at her slit from behind. She was quivering, paying scant attention while between brushes of teasing, excruciating desire, each ankle was lifted in turn and secured to a shinpad horizontal to the floor, her knees bent at ninety degrees and held shockingly wide apart in a v-shape.

The fingers withdrew fully. Realisation returned. Alanna reared as well as she could, twisting her head back to peer over her shoulder, shaking it frantically while further wide, leather straps where tightened around the back of her upper calves, completely immobilising her spread legs.

"Shh," murmured Xanir again, bending to brush his lips over her cheek, then gently turning her head to face down, stroking her hair. "First you must promise to be more obedient. More circumspect: you do not know all the dangers surrounding you, princess. Do not try and repeat that trick with your bra. Clever. But risky. Leave it to me to arrange how you pass me information."

"I'm -- I can't move." Despite the kindness in his voice, Alanna's was wavering, although she couldn't quite bring herself to admit that she was scared. Completely defenceless, legs held vulnerably wide, and now he was strapping down her forearms, checking that they were comfortably ensconced on further padded supports parallel to the stone-flagged floor, below the one at chest height. Her breath was coming in shallow, intense pants, but she could feel the excitement trembling through her limbs, too. What was he going to do? The hand stroking down her spine soothed her, even while the fire in her blood seared higher. There was something about being so immobilised. So vulnerable.

"That is the point. Taking the initiative is a bad idea, princess. You must learn not to move except at my will. Although I shall leave your head free today." The words made her tremble: gratitude, wistfulness, indignation and swamping, all-encompassing desire colliding within her.

"Relax for me."

She made a stifled snort of indignant protest.

The moulding underneath her torso narrowed at her centre chest to allow her breasts to dangle. Gentle fingers plumped them, eased them to hang freely. Brushed the nipples. She could feel every hair on her skin straining to full alert, desperate to catch every nuance of sensation, unbearably eager.

"Xanir!" she pleaded. She hadn't been allowed to touch him in days!

"Shh," he reminded her. "Trust me -- this will not hurt. I am also very pleased with you."

A surge of pleasure shot through the tremble inside her. "Xan --."

"Hush now." The implacable note crept back into the deep voice.

Alanna sighed, and tried to relax onto the bizarre bench underneath her. Xanir had turned away. Squinting below her torso, she watched him retrieve a small bottle from a low table a few steps behind her. He rinsed his fingers in a shallow bath, built into the floor, where gently steaming water bubbled to the surface, spread and sank.

Xanir made a noise of displeasure, strode back to her head, grasped her hair, and tilted her face back down, gently but firmly. "Close your eyes," he ordered. "Nosey."

Alanna was terribly excited, but the brief respite from his touch had reawakened the alarm on her skin. That glance had also reminded her of her position, how wide and vulnerable her legs were strapped. The colour raged higher in her cheeks together with her shortened breathing. Exciting.

There were whips on the wall behind him. Frightening.

"Do you want me to blindfold you?"

The hand in her hair yet allowed her to shake her head quickly. Alanna closed her eyes. She could feel the tears welling again, fear rising, somehow blending with the excitement. What else was suspended on the walls? Something about this room: the silence, the darkness, the absolute solitude and her immobility, vulnerability, were reminding her, all over again, that she was completely at this man's mercy. What did she truly know of him?

"Good, little one." Soft lips brushed her cheek again. "Shh. Relax."

Alanna swallowed. She was completely at his mercy wherever she was in this blazing land.

The belt around her waist was released, and flicked aside to dangle. Heavy breathing beside her. A scent she didn't know perfumed the air: delicate, enticing, as exotic as the aphrodisiac fruit and as warming as lavender. Hands rubbed briskly together. She jumped slightly when oil-slick thumbs rubbed gently across her lumber.

"Xanir -."

"Shh," he repeated, low and slightly hoarse. Then, whispered: "By the stars, you are beautiful."

Alanna swallowed, overwhelmed by the feeling in his voice. She subsided, ruefully admitting to herself that this position was actually amazingly comfortable. If she ignored her vulnerable position. Unease and lust rippled, clashed and melded gently again.

Hands began to soothe up her spine. Slowly the simmer in her blood was subdued under the firm touch, and her conscious mind relaxed into the calm kneading of her spine and shoulders. His hands were moulding, stroking, skimming -- worshiping her curves. Occasional kisses brushed her skin, light touches to her hip, her shoulder, the nape of her neck, but nothing sexual, pure delight. Alanna sighed, relaxing more fully against the padded supports. The simmer in her blood sank, but never died, awareness of the strength in those gentle hands keeping it smouldering.

Bliss as he caressed her neck. Shoulders, hanging upper arms -- melting into his touch. The scent, the stroke of his hands was lifting her, floating her in a cocoon of warm contentment. Time filtered out.

Eventually, he moved to stand between her feet. The simmer lifted its head. Xanir smoothed firm fingers down the strong muscles on the outside of her thighs and Alanna sank back into the blissful detachment, relaxing into his hands. Lips brushed her naked buttocks. She jumped, the desire yanking alert again instantly. She began to tremble. His fingers were sliding gently up her inner thighs.

This touch was different. Where before it had been strong, soothing, now feather-light fingertips were skimming teasingly up toward her damp core. Her body was instantly, breathtakingly crying with lust and a soft squeal sounded on the air, a mangled version of his name. Moisture escaped onto her thighs, and her hips bucked. Or tried to: Alanna exploded in a growl, half a groan. Somehow, sometime when she had been sunk in her relaxed stupor, he had re-fastened the belt around her midriff.

His tongue began to lip across her buttocks. Sensuously, slowly. Fingertips were gently massaging her labia. Her breath was coming in hoarse, short pants: groaning, pleading noises not seeming to make it into words.

And then, just as she was there, peaking, poised to spring apart, fly into ecstasy, his fingers withdrew. His lips were again soothing, stroking across her quivering buttocks.

The needy noises resembled curses, as Alanna tried to grind her hips to find something, anything.

"Hush," his lips breathed into her skin, now nibbling little bites on the smooth cheeks. "Patience, little one. You do as I wish."

She growled and tried to buck him off.

He chuckled, resting his chin on her coccyx, kissing the tingling skin of her lumber. "The best things come to those who wait," he quoted

Her voice was hoarse mangled with squeaky: "How would you like me to do this to you?"

Amusement in his tone: "I wouldn't advise you to try to tie me up, princess. Not a recipe for health."

That wicked tongue began to lap back down towards her core, and her spine cramped in gut-wrenching excitement. "Now shh. I will teach you never to take the initiative, but to await my lead. Always."

A muffled groan, although she managed to gasp, "What if you're not available?"

"You still wait." The voice was soft, but implacable. She knew that tone.

*

She had been begging for release for so long that she didn't realise for a moment when his mouth and hands finally lifted. She surfaced when a tassel of rich, golden thread hanging from a circular cup of material was touched to her lips.

"Lick."

How did she still have the capacity to blush? Wearily, skin tingling hopefully at the change, Alanna slurped at the sticky, saturated cloth, the familiar, sugar-claggy taste coating her tongue. Bethesda trained her with these nearly every day. On his orders.

Her nipple screamed with excitement when the wet cup was smoothed over it, and she gasped and writhed to the excruciating, exquisite little ripples as Xanir held it firm while his fingertips carefully eased out the slightest bubble in the sugar-based adhesive.

Panting, shuddering, obediently she licked at the other one presented to her lips, embarrassingly aware of the moisture running slowly down her inner thighs. Please. She was so poised, waiting, wound so tight. Waiting to see what he would do. Waiting for when he would deem she had learned. She voice was whispering in the air Repeating, again, and again.

"I have learned. I have learned." Soon. Please.

"Hush," he repeated, lips brushing her shoulder. She gasped, an inward gulp when the fingertips teased her other nipple to full peak before he smoothed on the second tassel. Her skin was straining with the heavy, almost unbearable awareness.

"Please."

Xanir smiled at the whisper on the air, lifted the rear of the frame, and smoothly rolled it to lock in position. His bride caught her breath, colour flaring scarlet when she took in the huge mirror underneath them, her hanging, tasselled breasts and wide-spread thighs slick with the wetness from the pink slit gaping between them, blatantly visible in a way she had never seen. Never imagined. Never wanted to see.

Alanna's eyes were screwed shut. A hand soothed over her buttocks. There was something comforting in the naked weight that lowered to cover her back. More, excruciatingly exciting was the hard, blunt column that nudged her buttocks, the tip moist. Lips caressed her neck, then Xanir lifted his torso off slightly her violently trembling, panting form, taking his weight on a second set of arm rests above hers. The angle pressed his erection further between her thighs, sliding delicately along the length of her wet slit, drawing a gasp as her eyes flew open again. The contrast of the dark column, rigid against her softly pink folds flared the flush in her cheeks.

"Beautiful. Bewitching. All mine," breathed Xanir, staring over her shoulder at their reflection. His harsh voice deepened the tremble, sweetening the rage in her blood. She slid her buttocks the fraction they would move, flaring the heat as she pressed against him, and groaned when he tilted his hips slightly to remove the exquisite pressure.

"Dance for me," he breathed.

Her lips were parted on a protest when their eyes met in the mirror. The look in those black eyes. Melting under them, her entire body quivering in delight, reading the promise that he would take her to fulfilment this time, take her further, somewhere she had never been but -- oh, she wanted to. Now. For him. With him.

Tentatively, Alanna began to move. She could move very little, rocking herself forwards and back along the support between her breasts. But it was enough. She added the extra little flick that sent her breasts and tassels spinning, and heard a harsh intake of breath from behind, above her, saw his hands clench white-knuckled around the bars he was holding.

Those blazing black eyes lifted from her whirling breasts to meet hers again. Fiercely holding her mesmerised, Xanir tilted his hips back. Alanna gasped when that slick, hard column again nestled against the length of her slit, her slight rocking movement sliding the length of his straining erection through her slick lower lips, nudging the end against that taut, needy bud at the head.

"Keep going," growled Xanir breathlessly when she faltered at the explosion of feeling. His hands clasped her hips; not to guide, not to deflect, but merely enjoying the curves under his fingers.

She was so close. So close. "Please," she gasped, even as she renewed the shimmy. She eyes were drawn by the wanton picture below her, the glowing skin of the girl contrasting sharply with the dark skin of the man poised to enter her, the soft pink wet slit surrounding and rubbing needily against the rock-hard darker column. The fire in the eyes just above her right ear; Xanir was looking where she had, but his gaze moved back to the whirl of the deep red tassels adorning her breasts. His hands tightened on her hips.

Alanna collapsed. "Please!"

The pressure against her slit was amazing, but not enough. It kept slipping away.

"Do you want me inside you?"

Her colour flared again, "Yes."

"You must watch. Do it. Look at me entering you, princess."

The huge bubble of happiness, need, deflated at his words. Xanir noticed. Of course he noticed. She was completely naked, widely vulnerable and plastered under him.

"What is wrong?"

He still didn't call her by name. She could be anyone. Anyone with this body that he craved.

"Nothing," she gasped desperately reaching to sink back into the overwhelming excitement. This was enough.

Xanir withdrew, even the heat of him gone from her back. "Tell me."

Alanna closed her eyes, wishing she could deny him, wishing she could keep herself from needing him this much -- and not just sexually.

Her voice was tiny, a breathless thread of apologetic sound. "Could you please call me by my name?"

She wondered if he even knew it.

There was a brief, silent pause, and then he was beneath her, naked buttocks vivid and mesmerising in the mirror, legs lifting to hook powerfully over her splayed thighs and twine around her calves while he hauled his hips up until his erection was brushing her belly. She was distracted by his face approaching, while those scarred, muscular arms smoothly hauled him up to a breath away from her lips. The tears clung to her cheeks from when she had begged at his earlier lessons. Xanir halted.

"Please kiss me, Alanna," he whispered.

Her blush was different, vulnerable, and her eyelids fluttered. After a short hesitation, her lips tangled with his softly, sweetly, before withdrawing, doubt in her eyes.

"Please kiss me again, Alanna, my beautiful little bride."

She complied. The gentle play of their lips drew her in, caressed her, coaxing her to explore.

"Alanna."

A third kiss, and she was purring to the sure, sweet sweep of his tongue, the nibbling lips. Her eyes were like dreamy stars when he withdrew.

"This you may initiate," Xanir whispered, suckling her lip softly, swirling his tongue. "In here. Or in my garden. No-where else."

She was kissing him freely now.

"In private you may kiss me whenever you wish."

Her colour flared again, and it was a joyous mingling of lips. This was one of the first lessons learned: You do not touch the Tahl. Not unless he has first touched you. The strictest, absolute law, to keep or risk losing a hand.

Yet she was allowed to kiss him. In private. But whenever she wished.

And oh did she wish.

Long moment passed, lost in the soft sweep of lips exploring, eyes closed, savouring the sensation.

"I could spend every minute kissing you," she whispered.

Something hard, delicious and provocative nudged her belly, making her gasp, her lips breaking away.

"Only kissing?" he teased.

Her eyes sparkled and she reached down, pouting when his lips retreated further than she could follow. "I never said I'd only kiss your lips!"

He was already gone. She gasped in excitement when his warmth again covered her back, gleeful eyes appearing behind her head. There was no fear, only a rich, melting pleasure pulling at her, sinking her into the hands which swept up over her belly to grasp her hips.

"To recap," Xanir teased, nibbling her neck while he slid his cock back into place along the folds of her slit. Her gasp turned into a groan, "Please, Xanir."

His head tilted. "Tell me what you want," he breathed into her ear.

Her colour was painful, her limbs trembling with need. "You." Her eyes flitted to where that hard column brushed tantalisingly again. She was already rocking her hips.

"Show me." His weight lifted enough so she could move.

Beginning the soft shimmy, Alanna watched his eyes harden in heat while her breasts began to whirl. The feather touch of the hard column between her thighs was torture, she was panting as she looked down, trying to angle herself to his hard length, but trapped by this infernal contraption. "Please! Xanir!" Her breath was almost a sob. "I promise."

"Good girl."

He lifted back, his face retreating in her line of vision and his hips tilted, a hand angling his erection so the tip pressed against her wet opening. His voice was harsh, strangled: "Keep dancing."

She was. So close! Each whirl of her hips nudged him only a tiny fraction deeper; his hips followed, not withdrawing, but not forcing swiftly in; the sensation was exquisite, tantalising. Relentlessly slow. "Please!" sobbed Alanna.

"Dance!" his breathless voice was harsh, hands on her hips fierce and firm.

Alanna breaths were gasping sobs as she tried to move harder, further, desperately trying to sheathe him in her in one hard thrust. Shame forgotten, her eyes moved to fix to that long, hard column slowly advancing between her thighs with each desperate, restricted lunge of her hips. Her long-awaited climax was rippling through her, the edge so close, just there, but receding with each tiny, incremental advance. Her sobs were growing. "Please, please Xanir, please."

No reply except the tightening of his hands and the deep, hoarse growl: "Dance!"

He was almost fully sheathed, and it was unbearably perfect, but not enough. The fullness, the stretch had her sobbing in pleasure but the peak hovered just beyond her reach. Stretched so taut she was going to explode, but unable to ignite the cataclysm.

"Please Xanir. You do it."

A harsh release of breath behind her, and the rough grip on her hips tilted her a fraction of an inch as he drove home. The surge in her veins was igniting when the blunt end of his erection nudged a painfully taut spot deep inside, breaking the rush with a different, opposite surge of feeling. Her mouth opened on a gasp, head jerking up.

"Xan-." His name cut off on a cry when he slammed back against that spot again, jerking her higher into the lost clouds of nothing but feeling. She was pummelled higher; tighter. She couldn't be tighter, there was no tighter, and yet he drove her to it with those relentless lunges of his hips. It almost hurt, so powerful the feeling as he ruthlessly pounded that same spot. Alanna could hear her voice rising on a never-ending squeal. Her eyes were blacking out, skin and muscles so taut they would break, neck stretched backward and mouth open as she struggled to breathe, to survive, to cling to anything.

Her cry broke when she finally flew apart under him, muscles scrunching tight then convulsing in reaction as she exploded. Xanir shouted, sheathed deep inside her, head flung back while he xursed a long litany of words of glory, of praise, the strong ripples massaging deeper pleasure while he spurted again, and again. So long. So glorious.

*

A vague sensation of being carried, lain somewhere soft, before his warmth joined her. Alanna realised she was snuggled against his side, a hand gently massaging her scalp. She blinked her eyes open. Her fingers were tangled in the soft blue of his low-slung trousers, forehead tucked against the side of his waist. A sofa back curved behind her and Xanir was sitting up, leaning against the arm while he wrote swiftly on a booklet perched on his knees with the other hand. Their eyes met.

His were gravely smiling. Her heart jumped.

"You are beautifully responsive," her husband said softly. The blush rose in her cheeks, and she turned her face to press against his naked waist, kissing his skin. It shuddered under her touch.

"Come, sit up." The booklet and pen had been placed on a small side table beside the sofa they were lying upon, and Xanir was pouring a deep pink liquid from a tall carafe into a glass one-handed. The other continued to gently stroke her hair.

A moment later, tucked between his thighs with her naked toes curling into the fur at their feet, Alanna leaned her head back from the glass and turned to kiss his jawline.

"You have had enough?" Xanir asked.

Her colour flared and her eyes dropped. His chest rose and fell on a laugh, "Enough of the drink, I mean."

She nodded against his chest, walking her fingers gently up the taut muscles over his ribs.

"Then pay attention."

Xanir drew a long, squat table in front of them. On its surface were laid out several pieces of carefully ironed silk, and Alanna bit her lip, recognising her sketches.

"Where did you draw these?" Xanir's voice was cool, noncommittal. Alanna flushed again.

"I waited until I was alone." Her voice was small.

"You are never alone, princess. And as demonstrated tonight, there are ways through this palace of which you know nothing. Spyholes. Secret passages. Where?"

She bit her lip, a little shiver running through her.

"Don't worry," coaxed Xanir, his arm folding comfortingly around her. "I will not be angry. This is amazing work, much more than I had asked for."

"The Queen's garden. Last night." Her throat was tight.

A long sigh was released behind her. The arm tightened. "Then you were alright. That is probably the only place you can be sure that you were not observed."

She turned in his arms, pressing her face into the join of his shoulder. "You are not angry?"

"No," his arm was snug around her. "But do not be so rash again, little one. I will arrange for you to have privacy where you can do this." He was enjoying the nibbling press of kisses down his throat.

Shame. He nudged her with his shoulder. "Come, turn around. I need to you pay attention."

Those blue eyes were wide as they turned fleetingly up to his, then back to the sketches laid out on the table. He sighed. He wanted to keep her out of this. Keep her soft in his arms, nibbling carefree kisses.

The blue eyes when they returned to his were bright with questions, sharp with the intelligence which made the small kingdom of Kjelldal powerful enough to be a credible ally on this continent.

"You had better know who they all are," he rumbled.

Her brilliant smile, as though he had presented her with a magnificent gift, took his breath away.

Alanna bit her lip. "May I wash first?"

"I am going to wash you later." His eyes were gleaming.

He enjoyed the colour which ran up her neck and across her cheeks, the sudden softening of the sharp intelligence into fluttering uncertainty before she leaned in to hide her blush against his chest and kiss his throat.

"Alanna?"

The shy eyes lifted.

"Work first."

She smiled against his lips, caressing them lovingly before turning in his arms to face the table.