Asteria In Love with the Prince (9 page)

He started to lay kisses down my throat, and I lifted my chin to let him, giving a low moan of pleasure. “Your Highness…what if—”

“No-one will come in,” he told me. “I could be on the phone to the US president.” He stopped. “I could do that, if it would make you feel better.”

“What?”

“I could call the president, while we—”

“No!” I squeaked, and he chuckled.

I felt my dress come loose, the back of it flopping down. He slid his hands around to my front and pushed it down there as well, so that my breasts in their black bra were on show. He began tugging the skirt up, each pull exposing another few inches of leg. I swallowed: he actually planned to take me right there, on the desk. I glanced behind me, at the huge windows. It was dark in the room, and the driveway was brightly lit. No one could see us. Probably.

My dress was up to my thighs now. His leg was between them, thick and hard with muscle, but the fabric was too tight, the dress still too low for my thighs to open. He kissed me on the mouth again, his tongue slipping inside, and suddenly he couldn’t wait any longer: he removed his knee and slid his hand up between my thighs instead. I nearly came right there, as I felt him cup my sex through my thin panties. His other hand was tugging the dress up further and I lifted my ass to help him. The hand between my legs was stroking over my lips, then pushing the fabric aside and feeling my moisture. I gasped as two fingers slid inside me. Then the dress was finally high enough and he shoved my knees apart, stepping between them. He gripped the waistband of my panties and pulled. There was a harsh little ripping sound and he held the shredded silk in his hand, my slickened lips throbbing in the cool air.

He didn’t even lower his pants; just opened his fly and freed himself, hard and ready. The sight of it as he rolled the condom on was enough to make me gasp: the thought of that thick head spreading me. He pulled me to the very edge of the desk, so that I was balanced precariously, and plunged into me.

That first stroke took him almost all the way inside me and I threw back my head and let out a near-silent groan, terrified of making a noise. He had no such fears, his breath coming in hard, short pants as he thrust into me again and again, the slap of his body against mine loud in the silent room.

The position meant that he was tight up against me, our bodies molded together. My arms came up and wrapped around his back, feeling the smooth muscles there. His pecs were huge and warm through the thin dress shirt, mashing against my breasts.

I was reminded again of an animal; the huge size of him, looming over me, my body a mere toy to him as he thrust into me. His hands scooped under my thighs and raised my legs to wrap around his waist, until he was supporting most of my weight and only my ass was on the edge of the desk. I locked my ankles behind him, gasping as he plunged deeper.

His tuxedo pants rasped against my stocking tops; his breath hot on my neck. My breasts were pillowed against him, nipples stroking his chest through my bra. His hands gripped my hips hard enough to leave marks and he started to pound me. It wasn’t slow, measured lovemaking: it was quick and dirty, knowing we might be caught at any time, and I loved it.

“Lucy,” he said tightly, then again, “Lucy!” and the words were thick in his throat. The heat inside me was building in pace with our frantic coupling, the liquid friction of him inside me lifting me higher and higher with each stroke. I’d been silent until that point, but as I felt it spiral up inside me, as my eyes fluttered closed and I knew I was about to come, I let out a shrill little cry and dug my nails into his shoulders.

“I love you,” he gasped, and it was such a shock to hear him speak in English that it took a few seconds to sink in.

I could feel myself spasming, clutching at him inside me, and then he gave a final hard thrust and I could feel the shudders of his body as he came, too. I let myself fall backwards on the desk, dragging him down with me, until I was lying flat on my back. I stared out of the windows, seeing upside-down Ferraris and Lamborghinis in the moonlight as the orgasm washed over me. Jagor kissed down the length of my body, all the way to my feet.

I pushed myself up on my elbows. “I love you too,” I told him in English.

“I love you,” he said very seriously, this time in Asterian, and I knew this was different: this had meaning beyond just
love
. Everything I knew about Asteria rattled through my head. I didn’t know enough, not nearly enough, to safely say those words.

“I love you too,” I told him in Asterian, each word like a bomb dropping. Because the one thing I did know was, I trusted him.

Moments later, dress back in place and torn panties in my handbag, we swept out of the room and thanked the owner for the use of his phone. We were back at the blackjack table no more than ten minutes after we’d left.

We carried on gambling: him sometimes winning, sometimes losing, me starting to hold my own a little but still rapidly hemorrhaging chips. When I ran out, he gave me some of his.

I was very quiet for a while. I couldn’t quite get my head round being back in public and carrying on as if nothing had happened, after
that –
not just the sex, but what we’d said afterwards
.
When my mind eventually stopped spinning, I realized we’d gambled away the price of a small house. “Your Highness,” I asked, “May I ask a question?”

He smiled at me indulgently as he clicked another stack of chips into place. “Of course.”

“How do you—Your Highness, it’s so much
money
, don’t you…” I blushed. I didn’t want to be rude. “Care?”

He looked at me levelly. “I care about losing important things. Money isn’t important. People are important.”

I thought of Asteria again. People as possessions, if the stories were to be believed. That put a whole different spin on his words.

***

As we left, I whispered that I really needed to talk with him alone, and he told the bodyguard to ride up front with the driver, leaving just us two in the back of the limo. The other guards followed in an SUV.

“So,” he said, stretching out his legs as he sat facing me. “What’s troubling you?” He was doing that thing again, where I could tell he was just on the verge of smiling, and my heart leapt. I’d spent all day just catching glimpses from him when no one was looking. To have his full, undivided attention for once was like bathing in him after being drip-fed all day. I would have launched myself across the car and into his arms if it hadn’t been for the eyes of the driver in the rear-view mirror. The glass partition would kill the sound, if we kept our voices down, but it wasn’t one-way privacy glass like the limo in New York.

“I want to know about Asteria,” I told him firmly. “Before I get there.” I was so forceful I had to tack on a quick “Your Highness,” at the end.

He frowned. “Has something happened? Something bad?” He leaned forward, concerned. With his massive frame, it was like a black bear looming over me. My heart melted and I nearly forgot the whole thing: I just wanted him to whisper sweet nothings in my ear...but I steeled myself. I needed answers.

“Not exactly, Your Highness. I just…I’ve been noticing things. I’d like to know what to expect.”

He stared at me for a moment and then nodded. “Very well, Lucy. I wanted things to progress at your pace. If you’re eager for more, I will show you more.” And his eyes flicked down. Not to my breasts or my legs, but to my hands. It took me a second to realize he was looking at the ring he’d given me. I’d worn it since the limo ride in New York, but I hadn’t given it much thought since then.

I blinked. “Wait…” I said, with just a little tremor in my voice, “I wasn’t meaning
show
me, like…sex. I just wanted to know—”

“The best way to learn is through experience,” he told me. And he was smiling now, like a cat that’s got a mouse just where it wants it.

I opened my mouth to speak, but nothing came out. What had I just let myself in for? “I’d still like to know some things, Your Highness. About life in Asteria.”

Jagor opened a door built into the seat by his feet, revealing a tiny drinks cabinet. Without asking what I wanted, he poured me a glass of white wine and handed it to me; then poured himself a bourbon. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees.

My heart was suddenly thumping fast – faster than it had been in the limo in New York when he’d made me strip off. This conversation, and how I reacted to it, was going to decide my entire future.

He looked me dead in the eye. “Asteria.”

And he began.

Chapter Six

“Women are owned.”

He said it so simply and abruptly that I actually smiled for an instant. My mouth did a kind of dance as I tried to figure out if I’d misheard him.

“
Owned?
” I managed at last.

He nodded.

“Like a…car?”

“More like a thoroughbred horse. Much loved and well cared for.”

I stared blankly for a moment.

“A woman is free until she chooses to enter a relationship with a husband or a lover. At which point she gives herself to him.”

I was still reeling.

“When they are married, or otherwise together, the man places a collar,” and he leaned forward and ran his index finger very lightly around my neck, “around the woman’s neck.” His finger left a tingling trail behind it. “The collar bears his name, or crest, and tells everyone that the woman is owned.”

“That’s…” I tried to find the words. “That’s…
horrible!”

“Do you have friends in New York who are married?”

“Yes—”

“Does she wear a ring?”

I hesitated. “That’s completely different. That’s a symbol of love—”

“Does she wear it in public?”

“Of course.”

“Does it keep other men at bay: tell them she’s not available?”

“But that’s not like being owned—” I was getting angry now.

“Isn’t it? What about pampered, younger women, with older men?” He smiled innocently. “You have an English name for them. Medal wives.”

“Trophy wives,” I said weakly. “That’s different too.” I realized I hadn’t been saying “Your Highness” but I was too annoyed to care.

“So. Once the collar is on, the woman is owned.”

“One man, one…slave?”

“A man normally takes one woman as his wife – who he owns and has children with. He may also own as many slaves as he wishes, though only the very rich have more than a few.”

I thought. “Is she…
bought
, from her parents?”

He shook his head. “No one is sold into slavery. The value is created by the woman, when the collar is put on. Remember, she chooses who to give herself to.
Then
she is a slave.
Then
she can be bought…” He looked at me pointedly. “And sold.”

A little shudder went through me: the idea of someone actually selling me. “Do they have…rights?”

“Such as?”

“Do they have jobs?”

“If their owner allows it.”

“Can they drive cars? Go to college?”

“Yes, they can drive cars if their owner gives them one to drive. A woman can’t become a slave until she’s twenty-one, so college-age women are all free.”

“So women are free until they’re twenty-one, and then they choose an owner?”

“Usually they’ve already been with the man for a year or so while free. Giving themselves to him just formalizes the relationship.”

“And what if they don’t find someone?”

“Unowned women over twenty-one aren’t allowed in Asteria. Women either find themselves a man who wants them, or give themselves to the slave market.”

I recoiled at that. I could feel hot rage bubbling up inside me. “There’s a market for slaves?”

“There are many markets for slaves. The market then owns the woman and either sells her or rents her—”

“
RENTS HER?!
” I almost screamed.

“As long as she remains there, the market will feed, clothe and shelter her.”

“And what happens,” I said through gritted teeth, “When one of these men is tired of a slave and wants to get rid of her?”

“He finds a buyer and sells her,” Jagor told me. “Or sells her to the market. He is responsible for her, once he owns her. He must care for her and keep her in good health: to be seen to be doing any less is socially unacceptable.”

“Like cruelty to animals,” I said weakly, half-joking.

“Exactly,” he smiled, glad that I understood.

“And these women…they’re allowed to wear clothes?”

He burst out laughing. “Oh, Lucy! Did you think all women walked around naked? Of course they wear clothes! They dress very much like women in America. But their clothes are paid for and owned by their owner.”

“They aren’t allowed to own anything?”

“No. A slave can’t own possessions, since she herself is a possession.”

“Can they vote?”

He looked at me seriously. “No-one votes in Asteria.”

I’d run out of questions. It was all too much to take in, and I was almost sorry I’d asked – almost. At least now, I knew who I was dealing with. A man happy to be part of a land where women were property: hell, not just a part of it: soon he’d be ruling Asteria himself.

“You disapprove.” It wasn’t a question.

“I—Yes, of
course
I disapprove!”

“Because…?”

“Because you can’t treat people like that! Women aren’t possessions; they’re people!”

“They give themselves willingly to the man they love. They honor him by choosing him.”

“And by doing everything he says.”

“‘
Love, honor and obey
,’” he recited. “That’s not from Asteria.”

I thought for a moment. “Where does this leave me? What am I?”

“You are not a citizen of Asteria.”

“I’m not your slave?”

“Certainly not.”