The Traitor's Bride Read online

  He knit his brows. “I already promised you I won’t kill myself intentionally. Please don’t ask me to vow I’ll let Ultek take me alive.”

  “That’s not what I was going to ask.” She pressed his hand to her chest, against her racing heart. “I was going to ask you to make love to me tonight.”

  24

  He didn’t pull his hand away as Etana had feared he would.

  Quite the contrary, he opened it, splayed out his fingers, and cupped her breast. “Have you recovered enough?”

  For a moment, Etana lost her tongue. She’d expected him to say no, giving her a number of good reasons why that was a bad idea. She had her arguments at the ready. Except… he wasn’t saying no. He was actually saying, Yes, if you’re feeling up for it.

  She nodded, not even trying to hide her eagerness.

  He smiled and then he was leaning into her, pushing her back against the rock, and sliding his tongue between her lips.

  Oh, the taste of him!

  She kissed him back, hard, making up with ardor for what she lacked in experience. He showed her, playing with her tongue, suckling on it and exploring her mouth. Finding herself bold, he was all too keen to teach.

  His hands roamed her sides and back. Hers plunged into his hair. When she broke the kiss, panting, Etana kept her eyes closed and arched her neck as Areg moved his lips to her throat, the side of her neck, the base of her shoulder.

  His hands slid to her breasts.

  He fondled them gently through the linen of her shirt, making her dizzy, hot, and hungry for more.

  A moment later, he was lifting her up. Etana wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her face against his strong neck. He headed into the cave, knelt next to the makeshift pallet, and lowered her onto it.

  She clung to him, breathing him in. Her lids drifted shut.

  He kissed her again while his hands slid to the front of her shirt, fumbling with the little buttons. She helped him by working her way up from the waistline of her skirt.

  With the last button undone, he slid his fingers beneath the material on either side and wrapped his hands over her shoulders.

  “Mmm,” she hummed softly at the pleasure of his touch.

  With his mouth still devouring hers, he pushed her sleeves down, caressing her arms as he progressed. He didn’t stop when her shirt pooled behind her back.

  Murmuring, “I need to see them and kiss them,” he pulled down the straps of her camisole and brassiere and reached around her back to undo the clasp.

  Finally breaking the kiss, he removed both undergarments, and stared at her breasts, ravenous.

  Instinctively, she hunched and covered them with her forearm.

  He lifted his gaze to her eyes.

  Straightening her back, Etana removed her arm. This was the second time she was topless before him, but she still felt exposed, unsure, embarrassed, and… excited. Perhaps “excited” wasn’t the best word to describe the heat that was beginning to build, heavy and sweet, between her legs. But she didn’t have a better word.

  His gaze returned to her breasts. “So beautiful.”

  Cupping her right breast with one large hand, he smoothed his other hand against her back, bent down, and drew her left nipple into his mouth.

  Etana gasped.

  Holding her close with his hand on her back, he suckled and tongued her nipple. She gasped again, when he pulled back a notch and blew on it. Then he licked her right nipple while the hot pull at the juncture of her thighs intensified.

  Gently, he lowered her onto her back, unbuttoned the waistband of her skirt and pulled it off. Her underpants came off next. She used all her willpower not to squirm or fight him. Cool night air brushed her tummy, her legs, and her toes.

  Crouching by her side, he watched her, stark naked and completely bare to him.

  When he smoothed a palm on her thigh and started sliding it up, her hands flew to her crotch. But she derailed their course at the last moment and tucked them under her butt, out of his way.

  Proud of herself, she shot him a glance.

  But it was impossible to tell if he’d even noticed her small victory over her deep-seated sense of shame, so fixated he was on her mound.

  “Gorgeous,” he murmured, his hand halting at the top of her thigh.

  His eyes shifted to her face.

  “You won’t believe me,” he said, smiling, “but I’ve never seen a natural mound before.”

  She startled at his unexpectedly crude word and furrowed her brow, curiosity carrying the day. “How is that possible?”

  “I’ve only been with women from upper circles, and the fashion—at least before the war—was for waxed and tattooed pubes.”

  “For men, too?”

  “Only for women.” He smirked. “As far as I know.”

  She hesitated before asking. “Do you find mine… strange?”

  “I find it hot.” He looked down at her center, then up again. “Those tight little curls are mouthwatering.”

  Her face flaming, she made herself utter, “Would you like to touch it?”

  “I’m dying to.” He tilted his head to the side. “May I?”

  She nodded.

  He nudged her thighs apart.

  “Tilt your hips forward a little,” he asked. “I want the best possible view.”

  She turned her head to the wall, bit her lower lip, and did as she was asked.

  He looked, and looked, and looked.

  And then he cupped her.

  His fingers played with her pubic hair first, then slid to her little bud. Years back, when she’d discovered at bath time how sensitive it was, she’d thought it was a weirdness of her body she’d do better to keep secret. She hadn’t even dared to ask Gullie—her best friend who’d told her about her first night in detail—about the normalcy of her reaction. But now that Areg rubbed her bud, and she began to writhe with pleasure, it occurred to her that her little secret wasn’t a weirdness, after all. Areg seemed to know how it worked.

  Thank Aheya for that!

  With moonlight pouring into the cave, Etana propped herself on her elbows and watched him caress her folds, part them, hold them open for his shameless gaze.

  He slid his fingers in deeper, rubbing her harder and faster.

  Her excitement grew to fever pitch. Her hunger for him sharpened… until she realized she was slippery against his fingers.

  Goodness, she was drenched.

  Had her period started? How embarrassing!

  She tensed.

  He stopped rubbing. “What is it, sweet pea?”

  “I might be…” She hesitated, looking for polite words. “I’m afraid…” She rolled her eyes frustrated at her inarticulateness. “I think my monthly bleeding just started. It wasn’t due for a few more days.”

  She screwed up her face apologetically.

  He brought his hand up to his eyes and studied his fingers.

  She peered, too. His fingertips glistened. But they didn’t look red. Then, to her utter horror and mortification, he sniffed at them and his eyelids slid shut.

  “Ooh… so sweet,” he mumbled.

  Etana’s jaw dropped when he drew his fingers into his mouth and suckled. “Mmm.”

  She watched him, eyes round.

  “Sweeter than honey,” he said, when he was done.

  Opening his eyes, he looked at her. “You aren’t bleeding—you’re just very turned on.”

  She searched his face, unfamiliar with the expression.

  “That wetness is a sign that you desire me, sweet pea, and that you really enjoy what I’m doing,” he explained.

  And then, without asking permission or giving her an advance warning, he spread her legs wider, moved between them, and kissed her right where his hand had been a moment ago.

  She tried to push him away, unprepared for so much intimacy, but he shackled her wrists together with one hand. “Let me. Please?”

  Her body relaxed.

  He buried his face back ag
ainst her center and licked slowly, deliberately, using his other hand to spread her folds. Bit by bit, Etana’s embarrassment let up, and the fire between her legs returned, hotter and more urgent than before.

  Areg’s tonguing became harder, greedier.

  As if of its own accord, her body began to move against him. She arched and rocked her hips to draw even more pleasure from his impossibly—and world-shatteringly—indecent caress.

  And then… pleasure. It exploded inside her, making her shake uncontrollably, cry out, and grip Areg’s head. She thrashed and fisted his hair without the slightest regard for his comfort until she rode out the last shockwave of her rapture.

  He sat up, and collected her to his chest.

  Slowly, Etana found her bearings.

  “What did you do to me?” she asked against his throat.

  “I made you come.”

  There was mirth and pride in his voice.

  She pulled back a little so that she could look into his eyes. “I didn’t know it could be done… that way.”

  “It can be done in many ways,” he said, stroking her back.

  “I want to try them all.”

  A shadow flickered in his smiling eyes. She knew what it meant. They had no time.

  Then there was no time to waste, she resolved, drawing a little farther away from him.

  “Will you let me see you and pleasure you like you pleasured me?” she asked, desperation making her bold.

  In response, he grabbed the hem of his tunic and yanked it over his head.

  Etana’s gaze roamed his torso, broad at the shoulders and tapering to narrow hips, all lean, chiseled muscle and tanned skin. She smoothed a hand over his chest and studied him closer. A swirl of hair between his nipples called to her fingertips. She ran her hand over it and over his small male nipples that felt like little pebbles to the touch. Her breathing quickened.

  His heart thundered against her palm.

  “Your back, please,” she said, nudging him to turn around.

  He refused to budge. “It’s a mess, with all the scars…”

  She stood and walked around him.

  Areg’s back was, indeed, a mess, with big, ragged scars crisscrossing its expanse. Even so, it was beautiful.

  Etana sat on her heels, ran her hands over his shoulders and then moved down to trace some of his raised scars. Leaning forward, she kissed every one of them. When she was finished, she stood.

  Turning around, Areg gave her a crooked smile. “Want to see more of me?”

  “Yes, please,” she rasped.

  He stood up, big and darkly handsome, and her nipples tightened in awareness.

  “Last chance to back out,” he said, kicking his shoes off.

  She shook her head.

  Areg unbuckled his belt and stepped out of his trousers and underwear.

  She didn’t squirm, or wince, or look away at the sight of his engorged, jutting flesh.

  Heat pooled between her legs as she palmed him. Surprise flashed in his eyes at her daring move. She moved her hand up and down his length.

  He gazed at her with hooded eyes. “Etana…”

  “You like this?”

  A slow nod.

  She tightened her grip, wrapping her fingers around him, and stroked faster. “And this?”

  He tossed his head back, his member throbbing in her hand. “Aheya help me, yesss.”

  His hand covered hers, guiding her, showing her how to pleasure him better. His breathing became audible as the flesh in her palm grew bigger and harder still.

  “Would you like me to kiss you the way you kissed me?” She asked.

  “I’m close, sweet pea,” he said, grimacing as if in pain. “Finish me.”

  She blinked.

  “I need to come,” Areg said.

  Oh. “What do I do?”

  “Just keep at what you’re doing,” he gritted through his teeth.

  She held him tighter and accelerated her rhythm.

  Soon, Areg tensed, his face contorting into a grimace of pleasure-pain. He let out a long, low groan and spurted hot seed onto the cave’s floor.

  Afterward, Areg brought his jacket over their upper bodies and gathered her to him, her back against his chest. Slipping one arm under her head, he wrapped the other over her side, covering her breasts with his big hand. Then he draped a leg around her thighs.

  Etana couldn’t help noticing how he used his body to keep her warm in the coolness of the cave. It was considerate.

  It was so much Areg.

  But, whether he intended it or not, his body was doing something else by locking around hers like that. That other thing wasn’t considerate. It was primal. And unbearably sweet.

  His body was saying, “You’re mine.”

  25

  Lord Boggond surveyed his visitor. “Voqras, you say?”

  “Yes, Your Grace.” The cyborg came nearer. “Sutor Voqras, a first-class modified bionic, mercenary captain. As it says in Governor Horbell’s letter, I work for him.”

  Boggond walked around his desk and planted himself in front of the bionic. “I’m still not sure why you’re here.”

  “The news of Areg Sebi’s disappearance and your police chief’s failure to capture him reached Governor Horbell.” Voqras shifted, crossed his arms over his chest, uncrossed them, and dropped them by his sides. “He sent me here with two of my men to offer a helping hand.”

  Boggond said nothing.

  “Please rest assured,” the cyborg continued, “that this offer is nothing but a gesture of goodwill between two neighboring Baylian Arm realms.”

  “There’s no such thing as goodwill in the Baylian Arm. Or in the Homeland Arm, for that matter, and certainly not in the Silver Path.” Boggond narrowed his eyes. “What do you want?”

  “To assist your police chief,” Voqras said, unfazed. “And, in doing so, show you what Governor Horbell’s hive cyborgs are capable of.”

  “I’ve made inquiries about what hive cyborgs—Horbell’s or otherwise—charge for their services. Eia can’t afford your help.”

  “I’m on Governor Horbell’s payroll, Your Grace, and I’ll remain so during my mission on Hente.” Voqras moved his feet apart and clasped his hands behind his back, giving up on trying to stand like a civilian. “Consider it a free demonstration.”

  “All right, let me rephrase my question. What does Governor Horbell want?”

  “To make a friend.” Voqras took a step toward Lord Boggond. “His Grace is new to the whole governing thing, and to the League of Realms. He doesn’t have many friends yet.”

  “Why me?”

  “He admires you.”

  Calculated flattery. Still, he couldn’t help asking, “For what?”

  “For the way you pursue your destiny, Your Grace. Relentlessly, never wavering, removing every obstacle on your way, no matter how big.”

  It had to be said, the cyborg’s words hit the bull’s eye. His description fit Lord Boggond’s self-image to a T, as if the man had glimpsed into his soul. Could it be that his employer, Polit Horbell, was sincere in his letters? What if his repeated offers were an outstretched arm from a kindred spirit with no hidden agenda beyond gaining himself an ally? What if the voice Lord Boggond heard in his recurrent dream was the voice of reason?

  “So, you were sent to help Chief Ultek,” he said. “I’d like to know what I’d be expected to do in return, if you succeed.”

  “As I said, Your Grace, nothing. Strictly nothing.”

  Lord Boggond arched an eyebrow. “All right, suppose I believe you. Continue.”

  “If you’re impressed with my performance and decide to borrow an entire squad of hive cyborgs, then Governor Horbell would expect you to vote whichever way he needs you to vote at the LOR, and your support in any inter-realm—”

  “Conflicts.”

  “I was going to say matters,” Voqras said. “Governor Horbell has no reason to believe anyone plans to attack Tastassi.”

  Lord Boggond sm
irked. “I was rather thinking he was planning to attack someone.”

  “His Grace has no such plans.”

  Voqras’s tone was firm, and his voice as even as ever. Then again, he was a hive cyborg. Their emotions ran about as deep as the automatons.

  “All right,” Boggond said. “Let’s see your demonstration. How do you plan to start?”

  “As a matter of fact, I already have. My men and I landed on Hente last Second-day, so I had time to meet with Chief Ultek and do some work in Iltaqa.”

  Lord Boggond arched an eyebrow.

  Voqras looked him in the eye. “May I give you my assessment of your police chief, Your Grace, just to get it out of the way?”

  Boggond nodded.

  “Chief Ultek is incompetent and needlessly brutal with the population,” Voqras said.

  “He isn’t without flaws, but he gets the job done.”

  “Does he?” Voqras raised his shoulders just so. “I suppose he does, if you count clumsy assassinations, heavy-handed intimidation, and evidence of Areg Sebi’s guilt so thin few in Eia bought it. And even those who did are having second thoughts now that his escape is attributed to Aheya’s intervention—”

  “It was a LORSS intervention.”

  “The hive mind agrees with your analysis.” Voqras bared his teeth in what probably passed for a smile among his kind. “But what people think is more important than the truth, isn’t it, Your Grace?”

  Boggond’s lips thinned as he turned to stare out the window. “You come here, uninvited, and try to undermine my most reliable henchman—”

  “I have no interest in undermining any of your henchmen, Your Grace,” Voqras said. “In fact, I’ve been working with Chief Ultek since the beginning of this week to catch Sebi.”

  “Is that so?”

  “I’m not surprised he didn’t tell you about it. He doesn’t want to share the limelight in case of capture.”

  “And now you’re doing it again,” Boggond said.

  Voqras spread his arms. “The man’s asking for it. What he did in Castya, burning the whole burg to the ground, was… ill-advised.”