Wicked Empress: The Onic Empire, Book 4 (6 page)

“She promised not to kill me.” Drahka spoke in Diolan so that Bithia would understand Viltori’s fear.

Bithia looked from one to the other, the anger in her face fading. She sighed. “I’m not going to kill him, either.”

Viltori looked up without lifting his head.

“Not having enough orgasms makes me extremely irritated, but not enough to kill.” She spoke to Viltori, who translated her words when Drahka understood them perfectly well. She ran her fingers through her still-damp hair. After they’d eaten earlier, she’d insisted they bathe again. Her servants had scrubbed him everywhere, even peeling back the skin of his cock to wash below. Just like Bithia, they seemed surprised by the appearance of his cock, but he didn’t know why. Gentle as they were, their motions were still disconcerting, as Drahka could clean himself.

“What can I do to please you?” Viltori asked the question, repeating it for Drahka.

One edge of her mouth quirked up and Drahka knew she’d thought of something wicked. He did not know her well, but when she thought certain wrongful thoughts, she made that expression. She’d looked up at him just like that right before she’d taken his cock into her mouth. Drahka wasn’t so sure he wanted to hear what either of them could do to please her. So far, he’d found her almost impossible to satisfy. Perhaps if both he and Viltori gave to her that might be enough to make her happy. Before he could suggest the idea, Bithia moved to Viltori.

Stepping near enough to Viltori to touch his face, Bithia tilted his head up with one finger to his chin. “What is the meaning of this word, this drahka, you keep saying?”

Viltori frowned. “Drahka is his name.”

Bithia’s eyes went wide.

“You did not ask his name?”

Drahka didn’t think she cared and besides, Drahka wasn’t actually his name. Drahka meant no name. Since it was the only title he had, he decided to keep it by staying silent lest they discover the truth.

Bithia opened her mouth, then abruptly pressed her lips together. “I did not.” Turning on her heel, she stepped so close to him that Drahka could smell the sweet perfume she’d dabbed behind her ears and between her breasts. “I am sorry, Drahka.”

Viltori needn’t have translated. Drahka could see regret in her eyes. He nodded his forgiveness. When she leaned her face up to his, as if to press her face against his, he stepped back, frowning down at her, then casting a curious glance to Viltori.

Viltori hissed out a breath that told Drahka without words he’d just made another mistake.

In his language, Viltori said, “She’s trying to kiss you.” However, the word kiss was not one Drahka was familiar with and he said so.

“Of course, he’s never been kissed because he hadn’t been fucked until last night.” Bithia laughed. “You will help me teach him.”

Viltori slowly nodded, as if either he wasn’t sure what she wanted, or perhaps he did not wish to do what she suggested. Drahka was glad now he hadn’t suggested they both give to Bithia.

“Let me show him using you.” Bithia stepped over to Viltori. She moved in so close she caused him to take a deep breath and hold very still. Bithia lifted her finger, tracing the tip along Viltori’s mouth, as if inspecting him carefully. He held very still, his gaze upon Bithia’s shoulder. “Surely, you know how to kiss.”

“I am an acolyte,” he whispered.

Bithia laughed. “Which means you burn with lust denied.” Pressing her lips together in a curious way, she moved her mouth very close to Viltori’s mouth. “You don’t want to kiss me?”

Whatever this kiss was, the idea of it excited Viltori, because his cock grew hard under his robe. Drahka could see the dark outline pressing against the white fabric.

“I think such would be offensive to your bondmate.” Viltori darted a quick glance to Drahka, then translated his words into Oughunian.

Not fully understanding what she wished to do, Drahka couldn’t very well say no, so he nodded to her, lifting his hand to convey they should show him what they discussed.

“Are you sure?” Viltori asked in Oughunian.

“Is it shameful?” Drahka couldn’t understand his teacher’s reluctance. It was his job to show Drahka the right way of things.

“Kissing is intimate.”

Before Drahka could ask the meaning of that word, Bithia pressed her finger to Viltori’s lips, cutting off his speech. “Are you asking him for permission when I am the empress?”

“I am trying to teach him,” Viltori said.

Bithia ran her gaze from one to the other. When she leaned forward, bringing her face close to Viltori’s, Drahka realized she wished to press her lips against his. Viltori turned his face away at the last moment, forcing Bithia to press her lips to his cheek.

Chapter Six

Terrified that what Bithia wanted would eventually lead to his dismissal, or worse, his demise, Viltori turned away from Bithia right before she could kiss him. Her lips landed on his right cheek. Growling in annoyance, she withdrew.

“You dare defy me?” Anger stiffened her spine and she clutched his face with her hand, forcing him to look at her. Rage filled her eyes, but he would rather suffer her wrath here than be exiled to one of the outer regions. Trapped between his lust, for he wanted to do so much more than just kiss her, and his fear that doing as she wished would hurt him, Viltori stood still, gazing into her eyes. He was shocked to realize one was translucent blue and the other opaque green.

“I do not wish to be exiled, my lady.” Casting his gaze to the floor, Viltori added, “I know what happened to the teachers sent to instruct you in the ancient tongue.” He’d been thinking of their fates just this morning in the
tishiary
.

“What do you mean?” Bithia stepped away from him, her surprise dispersing some of her anger.

Speaking only in Diolan, for Viltori did not wish to alarm Drahka, he explained that all of the acolytes she had seduced had been sent away. Or so he’d been told. The magistrate could have had them killed, for all Viltori knew.

“All I know, my lady, is that I would like nothing better than to teach you and your consort anything either of you would wish to know.” One direct glance deep into her unique eyes conveyed the erotic depth of how Viltori would revel in teaching them. “But not at the cost of my life.”

Bithia answered with a slight widening of her pupils and an almost imperceptible widening of her nostrils. Like a huntress, Bithia examined Viltori’s scent. When she leaned near, indicating her acceptance, he drew back. Not submissively, but wary and wise.

“Respectfully, my lady, I do not wish to suffer for teaching you or your consort.” His soul did not debate the morality of engaging the empress and her consort in sexual congress. Viltori’s only concern rested with the perceived ethical dilemma: Acolytes professed their bodies and souls to the gods. Teaching Empress Bithia and her eternal consort Drahka how to share their bodies for pleasure was within his realm as a teacher. Teaching was a great part of being an acolyte.

Doing was not.

Viltori could tell Bithia and Drahka how to use their bodies. He could fashion art detailing how a man could use a woman or how a woman could use a man or how any number of Diolans could place their bodies together. He could even watch them use their bodies. However, he could not use either of their bodies to find his own pleasure. Ethically, what he’d allowed Rown to do to him this morning was wrong.

A new kind of anger crossed her features, drawing her brows low over her mismatched eyes. “I did not know of this, but I will not let you suffer any harm.” Bithia lifted her head regally. “You are his teacher. I need you to help me teach him about my needs. Ambo told me you are the only acolyte who speaks his language.” She paused for a moment, then added, “Actually, you are the only one on all of Diola who speaks Drahka’s native tongue. That means none will harm you. Especially not I.”

When she spoke of herself as the empress, her grammar improved substantially. “You didn’t protect the others.” The accusation left his mouth before he could clamp his foolish lips together. Expecting her to burst into anger and berate him an insolent fool, Viltori was stunned by the softness of her reply.

“I did not know that what I did would hurt them.” After a deep breath, she placed her hand on her heart, curling her fingers over the edges of her robe. “I was only having fun.”

Viltori believed her. Bithia was not a ruthless woman, only a lusty one. Clearly, she hadn’t meant to harm anyone. Viltori spared a quick glance to Drahka, who stood still, his face stoic as he tried to understand what they were discussing. In the interests of discretion, Viltori thought it wise not to translate what Bithia had done with multiple men prior to bonding to him. What Drahka didn’t know couldn’t hurt him.

With a look to Drahka, Bithia turned away, moving toward the ornate door. She pulled it open and spoke quietly to the guards waiting there. Over her shoulder, she told them to wait for her. “Continue teaching him until I return.” In a swirl of crimson, she left, closing the heavy door with a reverberating thud.

“She is angry,” Drahka said.

Viltori nodded. “But not at us.” He had a feeling the magistrate, Ambo Votny, was about to get an earful of righteous fury. Viltori’s estimation of Bithia rose greatly that she would now try to save those hurt by her actions. He knew most elite simply wouldn’t care what became of those who slaked their needs. Ambo didn’t. Viltori had heard of men who sold their female slaves into hard labor when they grew bored with mounting them, or when they impregnated them, such as Ambo was rumored to have done. He’d heard of women castrating men who failed to please them. Bithia was honestly surprised that her seductions ended in exile.

“What was she trying to do to you?” Drahka asked.

“She wanted to kiss me.”

“Show me.”

Now that would be a sight: him kissing Drahka when a touch to the arm disturbed the man. A kiss would probably get him a lot worse than a fist to the face. “I will show you when Bithia returns.”

Viltori settled into the softest chair he’d ever sat upon as he motioned for Drahka to sit across from him. For a long time they simply sat, using the furniture as a way to teach each other new words.

Even in the unfamiliar room, they fell to their usual form. Point, ask, explain and repeat. Immersed in learning, Drahka was oblivious to the fact that his robe, unlike his trousers, did not stay closed when he shifted about. Each time Drahka moved, he revealed more of his hairy calves, then his thighs. Each time he celebrated his understanding, Drahka lifted the crimson fabric up higher, getting ever closer to the juncture of his legs. After grasping a particularly difficult word, Drahka lifted his hands in triumph, which wrenched his robe apart, exposing his hips, cock and both legs.

Viltori tried not to gape, but the man was huge, hairy and, hottest of all, uncut. Most men on Diola, even those in the barbaric outer regions, were circumcised shortly after birth. Viltori had not known of the difference until he’d traveled to Oughun. As he stood with several other men urinating directly into a rushing stream, they’d excitedly pointed to his differentness. The Oughun men asked a hundred questions and Viltori hoped he’d answered them fully. Oughunian men had never seen a cut cock and Viltori had never seen one that wasn’t. Culturally they exchanged much that bonded them together. Viltori knew Drahka was uncut, and he’d tried to tell Drahka that he should inform Bithia, but when he’d tried to show him this information, he’d lashed out. Oughnians had clearly defined taboos about same-sex touching of any sort.

To his horror, Drahka noticed the direction of Viltori’s gaze. Before he could babble out an explanation, Drahka cupped his cock and asked, “What is wrong with my cock?” Lowering his head he said, “You tried to touch, to show me, and I tried to hit you. I’m sorry. Please now show me what is wrong with my cock.”

Gulping, Viltori said, “Nothing.” Not a damn thing he could see, anyway. He’d like nothing better than to do to Drahka what Rown had done to him earlier. “What makes you think there is anything wrong with your cock?”

“Bithia say something uncute.”

After a moment, where he couldn’t imagine anyone, even Bithia, calling a cock cute or not, Viltori understood. “Not cut,” he said. “Uncut, not un-cute.” Briefly, he explained the difference between the two words, then tried valiantly to convey the meaning behind Bithia’s comment.

Thrusting his finger at Viltori, Drahka demanded, “Show me yours that is cut.” Concern filled his stoic face as if he were genuinely worried that someone had cut up Viltori’s cock.

Eyeing the door, wondering just how much longer Bithia would be gone and if she’d be upset about him teaching her consort this, Viltori moved to a seat that blocked him from view of the doorway. If she did enter suddenly, he could pull his robe closed before she saw what he was doing.

Drahka seemed to understand the furtive nature of their discussion. Frowning, Drahka moved to the couch, sitting next to him. He eyed the door that was well over the high back of the couch. When Viltori parted his robe, showing Drahka his painfully hard, circumcised cock, Drahka leaned over.

Breathing hard enough to brush hot air over the pounding length of Viltori’s cock, Drahka said, “You not cut.” Reaching out his left hand, Drahka wrapped his fist around Viltori’s cock. “No cut.” Lowering his head, placing his face a bare breath above the tip, Drahka bellowed, “Ah! Cut off tip!” Pulling back, yanking open his robe, Drahka grasped his own cock and tugged his foreskin. “Cut off tip, not cut up cock!” Proudly displaying his penis, Drahka considered Viltori’s for another moment, then grasped him again. Running his fingers up and down, hardening him further, Drahka leaned close again and asked, “When you were cut, were you hurt?”

“I was a baby when they cut me.” He thanked the gods for that. He couldn’t imagine what having that done as an adult would be like.

“You no feel pain now?” Drahka ran a fingertip along the faint circumcision scar that encircled the hardest part of Viltori’s prick.

“No, it doesn’t hurt now.” Of course, that wasn’t quite true. He was so hard and excited his prick truly did hurt. If not for Rown’s generous gift, he would have erupted all over Drahka’s hand.