Courting Kel (19 page)

“While your hair—like your skin—is soft everywhere.”

“Mmm.” Tracing beneath his brow ridges, she explored his
eyelids, giggling when his thick lashes grazed her fingertips. When she slid
her finger across his lips, he sucked it into his mouth, laved his tongue
around it as if it were her clit. Her nub pulsed, wanting his mouth and tongue
on it. Her nipples rose, needing his touch there as well.

“Flame.” His low voice contained a world of longing as he
gathered her against him, heating her from breasts to knees.

Sliding his fingers into her hair, he drew her face to his
then kissed her, a brush of mist over her lips. He returned to linger a little
longer. Craving more, she caught his chin to hold him still while she explored
his lips with her tongue. He opened his mouth. Sucking her tongue, he drew her
deeper until she moaned and her body surged against his. She needed him more
than she needed her next breath.

Their hands got in each other’s way as they groped and
stroked and writhed. But at last they settled, her hands fondling his rigid
cock and heavy balls, his cupping her mons as he plucked her clit.

“Hot and slick,” he murmured against her sensitive nipple as
he slid his fingers between her folds.

She whimpered, thrusting her hips to take his fingers inside
her empty pussy. “Need you inside me. Now.”

“Not yet. Lie still so I can worship you as you deserve.” A
gentle shove on her shoulder rolled her to her back.

“Aren, please.”

Lying on his side, his head propped on one hand, he raised a
lock of her hair to his nose. “Soon I’ll discover if your cunt smells so
sweet.” Sucking the lock into his mouth, he moistened it then stroked it over
her nipples. “Tastes so sweet.”

Gooseflesh dotted her skin. Her aching nipples rose in her
puckered areolas. “Cruel, cruel man,” she told him, reaching for his cock,
intending to make him suffer as much as she did.

He shifted his hips, taking his cock beyond her reach. “If
you try to touch me again I’ll tie your hands.”

“You can try,” she said, her attempt to sound menacing
making him laugh.

Leaning over her, he kissed her until every muscle in her
body tightened with need. She wanted to touch him but couldn’t. Her bones had
dissolved and she couldn’t move.

The tips of his fingers feathered over her body as if he
hadn’t decided where he would touch her. She held her breath, waiting, needing,
craving.

Touch me! I don’t care where, just—

“Ohh,” she sighed when his hand descended on her mons and
his fingers worked their magic on her clit and filled her pussy. As if he had
freed her from invisible bonds, she pumped against his hand, her heartbeat
pounding in her ears and in her pussy. When he sucked her nipple into her
mouth, she cried out, her voice a wail of bliss as her climax tore through her.
And all the while, she gazed into his eyes. Watched him watching her and saw
how his gift to her darkened his eyes as he absorbed her every tremor.

Withdrawing his fingers, he stroked them up her body then
held them under her nose. She inhaled a light caill scent from her bath coupled
with a hint of musk. He smiled and lowered his gaze to her lips, a silent
command for her to open her mouth. She did and licked her juices from his
fingers. He watched her with that same intensity as when he’d bright her to
climax. That look alone made her pant.

“Let me,” she said, reaching for his cock, “return the
favor.”

Shaking his head, he rested his chin on her thigh, shifted
until his cock kissed her cheek. He lifted her, deposited on top of him with
her thighs on either side of his face, her knees on the mattress.

“Lick me, Flame. Suck me while I eat you. We’ll share our
favors.”

“I-I don’t see how that’s possible.” Her blush told him she
remembered doing this before, but she wouldn’t admit it.

“Lick me and find out. Again.”

Still thinking it impossible to make it better than it had
been before, she tilted his rigid cock toward her face then licked its length,
lapping precum from its tip. His musky scent drew her like bees to flowers. His
salty taste reminded her of the brutteunt she’d fed on in the snow. Lifting her
hips, circling his cock base with one hand, she slid down his body and took him
into her mouth. And almost choked on him when his tongue flicked over her clit.

“Told you.” His lips vibrated against her labia, making her
laugh around his cock. Then everything except the pleasure they gave each other
blurred into nothingness.

On the verge of another climax, she shouted when he pulled
her away then rolled her to her back.

“Lie on your belly,” he said, sitting on its heels, his
magical hands on his powerful thighs. His cock… The sight of him made her ache
with need.

“I’m a puddle. You can’t move a puddle, Aren.”

“Bet I can.” Parting her legs, he eased his cock inside her,
slid so deep his balls rubbed her swollen, sensitive labia. Slipping his hands
under her shoulders and hips, he rolled to his back.

“Ahh,” she sighed, wiggling her bottom and feeling his cock
pulse in her pussy.

“I guess the puddle contained some clay and has now reformed
into a more substantial body.”

“A body that wants to ride.”

“As we rode in our dream—”

“That wasn’t a dream.”

“Are you sorry?”

“If you don’t shut up, you’ll be sorry,” she threatened,
gliding up his cock as if intending to dismount.

Grasping her hips, he eased her down. “Put some pillows
behind my back and I’ll give you pleasure you’ve not yet known.”

Eyeing him warily, she complied. When he half sat, her
breasts rubbed against his chest and she felt as if his cock curved deeper
inside her pussy.

“Mmm.”

“Good?”

“Yes.” A breathless agreement.

“Then you’ll like this even more.” Pressing her breasts together,
he lapped each nipple in quick succession. She squirmed, her pussy tightening
around his cock.

She moaned. “I…need…”

“Let go, Flame. Look at me and fly.”

“Y-you too.”

As if he’d needed her permission, he drove into her. His
balls slapped against her heated core. His groans mingled with her own. Even
their juices made a sound like kniqudac made when it sucked a body to its
death, to her mind now more like a song that drove them together again and
again. The scent of their mingling musk created a perfume she would remember
all her life.

Biting her lower lip, she gazed into his eyes. His pupils
dilated to fill his eyes with need. Dark. So dark it seemed he drew her into
the blackest hole in the galaxy. And yet…beneath the devouring lust she saw
tenderness and longing. Caring and myriad other emotions she was powerless to
define. But she knew…knew in every fiber of her being that he was meant for
her.

* * * * *

Castle Storr

When Basalia finally appeared on his vidscreen, Storr was
struck anew by her beauty. The years had been kind, having left only a few
lines around her eyes and mouth, that single streak of silver in her hair. Had
he noticed any of those small signs of aging before? On a subliminal level,
perhaps. If he’d consciously noticed he might have accompanied Aren and his
bride to Amazonia. The woman still had the power to arouse him.

“What troubles you, Storr?”

Taken aback by the kindness in her voice, he said, “You make
me feel old.”

“You, old? Never!”

The teasing glint in her emerald eyes made him chuckle. “If
what Aren believes is true, we are about to become grandparents.”

“Very young grandparents.”

“Has your daughter…? Has Keleos accepted this marriage and
her possible pregnancy?”

“She and Aren are considering where to live.”

Storr grunted. If he insisted their children must live on
Ondrican, he’d lose any chance for peace. Basalia might look like an angel this
morning but her red hair reminded him she could turn devil in an instant.

“There is that planet,” he began cautiously.

“Halfway between our worlds,” she finished, a smug grin
flashing dimples in her right cheek. “That would solve the immediate problem.
For our children at least.”

“Yes. But when we die…”

They lapsed into silence, each weighted by inherited
responsibilities.

Basalia finally broke the morose quiet. “In the books
invaders left behind I have read about democracies.”

“Too unstable,” Storr muttered.

“Constitutional monarchies?”

“Mmm.”

Basalia rubbed the frown from her forehead. “We cannot
decide for ourselves, let alone for three planets whose people must live in
harmony.”

“Maybe we should leave that to our—”

“Granddaughter.”

“Grandson.”

They exchanged smiles.

She sighed. “I hope Keleos doesn’t come to hate me for this
whole charade.”

“It’s too late to change our minds now. We agreed we
wouldn’t force them into marriage.”

“Then you should have kept Aren away from her longer.”

“How could I know he’d go to meet
The Herald
? How
could I have prevented that?” He paced beyond her view, allowing himself to
regain his composure. Basalia still had the power to get under his skin and
goad him into anger. Returning to where she could see him, he said, “How could
either of us know the attraction would bring them together that fast?”

For a brief moment fondness shone in her eyes. “It happened
just as quickly for us. Had I not been too young for mating…”

“I could be Kel’s father and we wouldn’t be in this
predicament.”

“Perhaps not. Or we might be seeking suitable mates for our
own two children.”

“Finding one is difficult enough.”

Basalia’s sigh again drew his gaze to her face “Were it not
for this guanshit feud between our planets making them natural enemies, we
could have introduced them. Let the attraction run its course without our
interference.”

“Yes, but we’ll no longer have to war with one another once
our children—”

“Stop their own war with each other!”

Storr cleared his throat. “Has Aren learned he is, in fact,
on Amazonia?”

“Not yet. Tage must be very clever to fool Aren’s ship to
bring him here.”

“A tweak here, another there,” Storr said, unwilling to
reveal more. Aren had limited piloting skills and Storr wanted to keep it that
way. One relative gallivanting around the galaxy was enough. He didn’t want or
need his son to follow suit. “Besides, I think Aren had other things on his
mind.”

Basalia snorted. “I’ll just bet he did.”
And so, I
suspect, did Keleos.

Chapter Eleven

The Next Morning

Aren stirred when he felt Kel leave the bed. She soothed him
with a gentle touch at his forehead and a soft kiss on his cheek. He fell back
into deep, dreamless slumber, awakening only when sunlight touched him.
Reaching out for her, he discovered cold and vacant sheets.

A twinge of unease hit his belly. Had Kel run away to escape
their pending discussion—the one they’d agreed to put off until this morning?
How would she react when she discovered that
this
Amazonia was only part
of her homeworld, created solely to prove the prophecy cloth’s truths?

Perhaps his feelings of being off balance were the result of
lying to her. Perhaps she’d left him only to talk with Basalia in private. If
Kel were pregnant, most likely he would find her in the queen’s quarters,
sipping herbal tea and munching on something to settle her stomach. He
remembered his mother doing so in the early stages of her pregnancies.

Having dealt with his morning ablutions, he went in search,
his panic growing when each guard and servant claimed not to have seen their
princess. Uncertain where to look, he stalked to Basalia’s quarters and paced
before her massive doors. Storr never saw anyone before ten although he rose
much earlier. Unless one were in dire straits, no one dared to disturb him.
Deciding Kel’s absence constituted an emergency, Aren rapped on the door and
strode inside.

Basalia glanced up then waved him deeper into her receiving room.
Her expression bland, she motioned him to a chair in front of a massive desk
that hadn’t been there the night before. A dozen or more parchment scrolls
cluttered its surface, a clear indication that someone on Amazonia knew how to
write—even if they had no written history.

He sat but soon grew restive. He paced to the curved windows
and looked out at the vast courtyard where Basalia’s warriors battled one
another with intense ferocity. Spying Kel, a sword raised high above her head,
he swore and headed for the door.

“Stay,” Basalia said, her voice soft but commanding.

“If she is pregnant… She risks her life.”

“Unless you’re willing to risk your own life, you’ll leave
her alone.” Dipping a quill pen into her inkwell, Basalia signed the parchment,
sanded it and affixed her seal to it. Leaning back in her chair, she regarded
him as if taking his measure.

He studied her as well. This morning her hair flowed over
her shoulders, her tresses rioting curls of red-gold. The sun revealed other
strands of silver unseen before. Her patrician nose and sculpted cheekbones
bore a smattering of freckles.
Just like Kel
, Aren thought, approving
the modest, high-waisted gown that accented Basalia’s creamy chest and bosom
without revealing much of either. Her eyes, last night the same emerald green
as her dress, this morning matched one of pale green with hints of gold. He
found himself wondering if her eyes would swirl with other colors if she grew
angry.

“Keleos is fighting her feelings for you,” Basalia said at
last. “She is also fighting the customs of this world—customs she grew up
expecting to follow all her life.”

“Fighting, fucking and bearing female children. To fight and
fuck—”

“
Ad nauseam.
” Basalia’s smile seemed rueful. “We need
to change our customs, Aren. Otherwise Amazonia, like Ondrican not so long ago,
will face extinction. More and more of my women bear sons. Sons who leave with
their fathers. As is our custom.”

“While Ondrican suffers a lack of females—women and
daughters.”

She granted him another rueful smile. “Your father and I
recognized the need for change years ago. We remained at odds as to how to
resolve the problem until…” She shrugged. “You and Keleos matured and the time
of The Choosing drew nearer.”

Aren grunted. “Kel’s involuntary relocation being the
beginning of your schemes to solve the problem of both homeworlds.”

“Yes,” Basalia agreed.

“It began years before,” Kel said, slamming the curved doors
so hard the windows rattled. “You deliberately kept me from mating for years
after other young women had taken their first lovers. Didn’t you, Mother?”

Aren had no idea where Kel had found the vest and pants she
wore. But she’d borrowed them from someone much larger than she. The violent
pink blouse clashed with her hair—redder, now, and sweat-drenched.

Basalia tilted her head, watching Kel as she strode across
the wide room. “Yes.”

“Why?” Kel demanded, her face flushed, her voice
belligerent.

Aren took Kel’s arm then pressed her into his chair. She
glared up at him but took the goblet of water he offered her.

“On Ondrican, during The Choosing men and women may fuck with
whomever. Everyone, even the future king. Until he marries. His mate—his wife—”

“Must be a virgin,” Kel said bitterly. She gulped the water,
swiping her mouth with her forearm.

“Keleos,” Basalia warned.

Kel glared, sat up straighter and put her hands in her lap,
the goblet between them. She looked like a little girl reminded of her manners.

Aren coughed, hiding a grin behind his hand.

“A virgin, yes,” he said agreeably. “On Ondrican, parentage
matters.”

“But the princesses—”

“Could have been pregnant with a suitor’s child when they
arrived on Ondrican, yes. A suitor from their homeworlds.”

“Or Tage,” Kel muttered, her fingers clenching around the
goblet.

“All the princesses who agreed to immigrate to Ondrican are
either widows or daughters far removed from ruling on their own worlds. All of
whom have already relinquished their virginity.”

“But they are still granted their choice of mates.” Kel shot
him yet another glare.

“Because—” His anger flaring, Aren raked his hair and
flashed a glare of his own. “I am done excusing my customs, Kel.” Turning to
Basalia, he sketched a bow. “If I may borrow a horse, Majesty, I would like to
see more of Amazonia.”

“Explore where you will,” the queen replied.

Without looking at Kel, Aren departed, his teeth clench so
tight his jaw ached.

“Aren!” Kel shouted. Ignored, she glowered at Basalia. “No
man rides here. No man has free rein to come and go as he pleases.”

“Get used to it, Keleos. The changes I intend to make—that
Storr intends to make as well—are long overdue.” Cocking an eyebrow, Basalia
asked, “Has Aren mistreated you? Beaten you? Raped you?”

Kel closed her gaping mouth. “In truth, he has done little I
did not welcome. If anything disturbs me, it’s his kindness. I find it most
distressing that he never—
seldom
—loses his temper. Even—” Her lips
twitched. “When I behave like a spoiled little girl.”

“You?” Basalia teased.

“More often than I wish to admit.” Kel sighed as she watched
Basalia’s smile widened. “You want me to accept him, don’t you?”

“For Amazonia, yes. For you…most definitely.”

“Why? Why for me, Mother?”

Shaking her head, Basalia shrugged. “I believe Aren is a
fair man. Unlike Storr, even when Aren disagrees with you I believe he will
listen and weigh your opinions along with his own.”

“Then do exactly as he pleases. Just like Storr.”

“They are men, Keleos, and rulers. Indecisiveness can, and
too often does, lead to chaos. Or worse, civil unrest.”

“Here, Mother?”

“Even here, Keleos. Of late I have noticed many warriors
mourning the loss of their sons and lovers. The idea of new lovers and other
babies no longer appeals to them. They seem to suffer some malady that sucks
the spirit from them.”

“What malady? Are you…? Do you suffer this illness, Mother?”
Kel had always believed Basalia immortal. But this confession, the longing in
her mother’s voice and eyes filled Kel’s heart with dread. Basalia couldn’t
die. Not now, when Kel still needed her mother’s wisdom. Not now! Not ever!
Yes, she’d trained to succeed Basalia but this…her mother’s surrender to
mortality, left Kel drowning in her own uncertainty. She wasn’t ready to rule.

Basalia’s smile seemed wan. “I have suffered it for many,
many years. Ever since Storr first visited Amazonia. Had your grandmother’s
warriors failed to pull him from my arms, he would have become my first lover.
Perhaps my only lover.”

“You love Aren’s father?” Even to herself, Kel sounded
incredulous.

Basalia chuckled. “I lusted for him all those years ago. I
lust for him still.”

“B-but…why haven’t you slipped away for a secret
rendezvous?”

“When? Soon after Storr returned to Ondrican, his father
commanded him to marry. He had no way to contact me. His father forbade it and
ensured Storr had no means of communicating with Amazonia. Even if he could
have gotten word to me, my mother would not have consented to our marriage. I
was a queen in training. She would not—could not—let me go.”

“But Aunt Gracia is older than you,” Kel objected.

Basalia fingered a lock of her hair. “Older, true. But my
sister lacked the ruler’s mark.”

“Wh-what ruler’s mark?”

“Gracia’s hair is dark. Yours, like mine and your
grandmother’s, is red. As was every queen’s in our history. Aren’s hair and
eyes are dark like Storr’s, which is why Tage, although older than Aren, cannot
rule Ondrican. Tage lacks the ruler’s mark.”

Shocked, Kel fought to breathe. “Tage is Storr’s son?”

“No. Tage isn’t Storr’s son but his older brother’s. Who,
like my older sister Gracia, bears no resemblance to our mother.” Basalia shrugged.
“As absurd as it seems, both our worlds are steeped in tradition. It matters
little what abilities our descendents have, only that their appearance…conforms
to our antecedents.”

Relieved, Kel gulped. “Do you know that Storr has at least
six other sons who bear his mark?”

Basalia laughed. “It doesn’t surprise me, Keleos. It does,
however, make me want him. Perhaps I can have a girl from him at last.”

“Mother!” Kel protested through her laugh. “Still… Why
haven’t you slipped away to be together?”

“When have we had time to do so? Storr sends some men here
to learn what most pleases a woman sexually. Some of my warriors go to
Ondrican. There, unlike here where I choose their mates, they decide. Storr and
I are so busy governing, we have little time to think about each other. If he
thinks of me at all, it’s most likely with resentment.”

“He complains about you. But under the bluster I sense a
lingering…” Fumbling for the right word, Kel waved her hands. “Affection.”

“We were friendly.” Kel’s eyebrows shot up. “Very friendly,
without actually mating. Have I shocked you?”

“A little. I think I’m more grateful than shocked. After
all, had you and Storr mated, Aren could be my brother.”

“Then your abduction has ended happily.”

Her mother’s pleased expression set off warning bells in
Kel’s mind. “How much do you know about my abduction, Mother?” Aren’s
involuntary
relocation
had served only to sugarcoat what her mother had done to her.
Wretched man and his diplomatic training!

“Know about it? Storr and I planned it.”

Kel surged to her feet, outrage overriding all other
emotions.

“Sit down, Keleos.”

Years of obeying that royal command and countless others
returned Kel to her seat. She realized ranting at Basalia was futile. What her
mother had done, had forced her daughter to endure, Kel found unforgivable. But
Kel
had
endured.
Had
found great pleasure in mating with Aren.
Had even found a measure of contentment with him. Not that that excused
Basalia’s betrayal.

“I’ll not share anything about our matings, Basalia. If you
must live vicariously, you’ll do so through your own imagination.”

“As I have lived for many years, Keleos. Someday both you
and Aren will thank Storr and me for our interference.”

Kel snorted. “What I don’t understand, Basalia, is why you
insist I acknowledge Aren as my husband? You never married and, if our
histories contain a grain of truth, neither did any other Amazonian queen.”

“I told you, Keleos. Both Storr and I want peace between our
worlds. You and Aren are our best hope for achieving that peace.”

“So you and Storr conspired to have us marry.” She sounded
as bitter as she felt. “According to Ondrican custom and whether we willed it
or not.”

“Thinking of running away, Keleos? Where will you go? If you
refuse Aren as your husband you consign him to a life of celibacy. At least
until you die. Having claimed you as his wife he cannot divorce you—Ondrican
law prohibits it. Here you would become an outcast, living the rest of your
life without human contact.”

“You would shun me?”

“Not willingly. But if you force me, I shall.”

Kel stared at Basalia for several endless moments. Having
lost innumerable matches to her mother, Kel said at last, “I would like to
think before deciding.”

“Of course.” Basalia nodded her permission for Kel to leave.

Unwilling to give her mother the satisfaction of watching
her storm out, Kel schooled her features into an expressionless mask and willed
her legs to a measured pace. At the door she faced her queen squarely. “Know
this, Basalia. Were I not possibly pregnant I would challenge you for rule of
Amazonia.”

“Were you not pregnant, Keleos, I would accept.”

The certainty in her mother’s voice filled Kel’s heart with
dread.

* * * * *

Kel fumed all the way to her rooms, her anger fueled by the
phalanx of armed warriors providing escort. She kept her face devoid of
expression, her pace leisurely. She had made so many journeys between Basalia’s
quarters and her own—always with her own
unarmed
guards—that she knew
how to conceal her emotions. This trip, however, was made in complete silence,
as if her escorts already had begun to treat her like an outcast.