Steel Dominance (12 page)

“Done?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said in the quietest whisper. But he heard.

“Turn around, undo the buttons on your pants, bend over, and put your hands on the desk.”

Still a little unsure, she slowly did as he asked. Paper rustled as she slid her hands across the surface. With her head to one side, she listened to his approach.

“Good. I’d tell you to do this part, but”—he shoved her shirt high up her back, then inserted his hand in the waistband of her pants—“I think I enjoy it too much.” She heard him suck in a deep breath before he yanked her pants down to her knees.

“Yes. I’ve seen this bottom before.” His hand caressed her there, moving in slow heavenly circles.

God. Too nice
. Heat spread through her pussy.

She lifted her head. Something made her tempt fate. “Had you forgotten it already? Maybe I need a younger man?”

He pinched her.

“Ouch! Damn you!” Wriggling crumpled the papers under her forearms, and pens rolled onto the floor. Half straightening her arms, she went to stand up.

He flattened her to the desk with one hand between her shoulder blades. Air whooshed from her lungs. Her breasts were squashed onto the blotter.

“Hmm. If you’re this feisty, I need to hold these.”

Within seconds he’d gathered her wrists, then pinned them in the small of her back. The easy force of it jolted her. The fight, her smart answers, all leaked away along with the strength of her muscles. She sagged onto the desk top. Her legs trembled. Her eyes drifted shut.

“Much better.”

The first and second blows smacked into her butt, jarring her, stirring pleasant sensations in her groin.
That was punishment?

“And the business end of this.”

What?
Then four iron-hard smacks rained down, jarring all the way up her body. Fire-sharp pain radiated from her ass. “Oh lord! Ow!” She tried squirming but got nowhere. Her hands stayed trapped in his.

“That was mild because it was your first time. Now will you stay put when I tell you to?”

As if she’d say no when her butt was in range of his hand? “Yes!”

Something small and cold skittered across her backside, leaving lines and dots of pain.

She flinched and swung her head. “What was that?”

From the feel of it, Dankyo had scooped something up. He moved in so his thighs jammed hers into the desk. Then the rhythmic quaking of his body on hers puzzled her a moment. “Are you laughing? What was it?”

“This.” He held a golden metal creature the size of her palm before her eyes.

“Oh!” She jerked her head back. It wriggled…had many legs. And damn, it reminded her of a cross between a spider and a crab.

“It’s a clockie,” Dankyo said. He put a squarish glass jar on the desk, dropped the creature in, and screwed on the lid. “The Ottomans bombard Byzantium with them every Tuesday or so.”

“Ugh.” She peered at it, her thoughts strung between the feel of Dankyo’s body pressing on her and watching the thing scrabbling about in the jar. “What are they for?”

“They write religious graffiti. Don’t worry. It only got as far as
G
.”

“
G?
Where?”

“On your ass.
G
is for God.”

Oh hell
. And now he really was laughing. “Damn you! Stop that!” She squirmed about to shout at him, but he only leaned in and squashed her flat with his whole body.

“Shh. Stay there. I’m not finished with you yet.”

And that statement made her freeze. Clockie a foot from her nose, some writing on her throbbing sore ass, but with him on top of her, the world drifted far, far away.

“Mmm. Yes.”

Nothing much happened after that. He lay on her, breathing softly, holding her down, at times playing with her hair. The weight of him was enough to keep her still but not hurt her, enough to keep her from escaping or wriggling, and slowly, like a tide washing in and filling a rock pool, his presence filled her up. A word came to her that seemed to sum up how she felt.
Possession.

Why am I so happy?
The question nibbled at her.

Because right now I am His?
It seemed so.

Strange, so very strange.

Chapter Eleven

This was the morning Sofia would finally see the Tomb of the Clockwork Warrior, and it swept past in a tumble of small tasks and muddled thoughts. This was
the day
, and yet all she could think of was Dankyo and how she’d gifted him with the key to her body…and in some ways to her mind.

She followed him here and there while he helped direct the cleanup of the compound. It seemed the man couldn’t stop himself sticking his nose in when things needed doing. And people let him. It was cute in a way. The idea of Dankyo being a good Samaritan, despite his rough gruff exterior, warmed her.

Metal had ricocheted everywhere, though luckily no one had been injured. Then she'd watched him talk to a Captain Riccardo, who was in charge of security at the compound, and then he’d made her sit and wait while he did some fighting practice with a sword.

Around three sides of this little hidden courtyard, a small roof projected above a raised timber platform—perhaps for an audience to sit in comfort. Sofia adjusted her seat on the blue cushions. At least he hadn’t made her kneel. But breakfast was long overdue. The smell from the food on the platter on the low table made her stomach ache.

Almonds, fruit, cheese, and bread. Iced water too.

This is good practice for you
, he’d said. Slaves wait for their Masters. She shifted again.

If this pretend slave had to wait much longer for her
Master
, she’d eat
him
when he arrived.
Though
… She glanced up as Dankyo did a last whirl, leap, and slice at the air, ending in a half crouch with his sword tip extended.
Though he does look edible.

He sauntered over, the slim naked sword hanging from his hand. His loose white cotton pants ended halfway up his calves. Sweat glistened on his bare biceps and pectorals. He had so little chest hair compared to other men she’d seen.

All the better to see your muscles
. She swallowed and made herself concentrate on Dankyo’s face as he halted before her. The scent of his sweat teased her, warning her that here, within touching distance, was a man.

“Kneel properly, Sofia.”

There was no one else to see if she obeyed like a slave should, yet she wanted to do this.
He’s watching me so closely. Does he wonder what I’ll do?

Sofia got up onto her knees, put her palms on her thighs, and waited. Between her legs, sensations stirred. Her breasts seemed heavier. He’d made her feel like a woman with so few words.

His chest rose and fell. Still she waited.

“You are so beautiful. I have commanded many men, and I enjoy doing so. Yet this”—he nodded a tiny amount—“Seeing you obey me, is far headier.” He reached and put his hand on the side of her face. “I like this. And you?”

The warmth from his compliment and his hand settled inside her. She squeezed her thighs together. “I like it too.”

“Good.” He straightened and seemed to shrug off his serious tone. “The fighting. I believe you don’t know the sword? Would you like to learn?” He casually swept the point of the sword across the perimeter of the courtyard. “This place was once part of a palace. It’s like a rabbit warren. Impossible to get tight security, but there are places like this where it’s private. I cannot teach shooting to you here, but the sword, I can.”

“You’re asking me?” She raised her eyebrows.

“Yes.” He smiled all the way to his eyes. “I love the way you obey me, but I don’t want a lapdog.”

“You don’t?”

He tsked. “No. A lap woman perhaps, though?”

“Hmph.” Her inner playfulness awakened. “Don’t be too cocky, Sir. I’m not always agreeable. Sitting in your lap just to wriggle about is not on my agenda, as yet.”

“Ahh. The fire is back.” The satisfaction in his voice baffled her.

She frowned. “Teach me the sword if you wish. I like the patterns of fighting I saw.”

“You saw the patterns? The katas? These fast moves? You have an excellent eye.”

“You know patterns and puzzles are my forte.” She waved her hand at the vase of petunias set on the table. “Even in the unfurling of the petals of a flower there is a pattern. But in fighting, those patterns are weaknesses. I can predict your moves.”

“Oh?” He chuckled. “Pattern predicting or not, to be a good swordswoman you need skill, strength, and speed. Besides, they are only the base of my moves. Can you see the pattern in this?” He rested his sword beside his leg, picked up the petunias and stripped the petals from them in one swipe of his fist. After again taking up the sword he strode to the center of the courtyard.

“Watch.” He flung the petals skyward. In the quiet air, they slowly fluttered back to earth in a pink-and-red cloud.

He began. A dance, she marveled. No other word described the elegant turns of his body, the whirl of the sword, and the coruscations of light flickering from the steel. With each slide and stamp of foot, with the flow of the blade as it spiraled through the air, dozens of petals met their end, split on the fine edge of the steel.

There is a pattern, though.

She came to her feet and tensed, watching without blinking. She couldn’t quite comprehend such a swift interweaving of moves. Almost, almost, she saw the pattern, and then it was gone again. If she could slow it down—but then Dankyo lunged once more, and speared the last petal an inch from the earth.

She paced closer, looked. Each petal had been severed in two. A field of them lay slaughtered in a magenta circle about the man. And yet he was serene and barely out of breath.

“That was incredible.” She grinned. “You must show me how.”

“I will. But now, we will eat. After that, you will prepare to see your tomb. Come.”

Prepare to see your tomb
. She’d looked forward to this for years, and yet she shuddered as if ice water trickled down her back.

Bah
. She shrugged it off.

Dankyo pulled on a shirt, and they sat on the cushions and ate. Though onboard the ship they’d been like two wary animals circling one another, here she found it so simple to be beside Dankyo, shoulder to shoulder. At times he fed her an almond or a portion of cheese. The urge to do the same for him finally overcame her shyness, and she offered him the last piece of the sweet, flaky pastry.

“Thank you, Sofia.” He took the food into his mouth, his lips brushing her fingers.

“You’re welcome.” How odd the pleasure that had given her.

“Before we go to get ready, I want to discuss something serious.” He took her hand in his, pressed it to his thigh, then patted it.

“What, Sir?”

“I am supposed to be your protector here, yet the best way to do that would be to send you home.”

She raised her eyebrows.
No way, Sir. Just try it.

“I can’t do that, unfortunately. This tomb business is a government directive for you. Just as I am here at the instruction of the Hellene government. To list everything of consideration.” He tapped the back of her hand. “One. An ambassador of the emperor-bey’s was assassinated in front of me a few months ago. The female assassin involved was tracked to this city.”

“Oh. I never knew about this—”

“It was kept quiet. As far as I know, there is no reason to suspect she is targeting you. Two. The poison bottles. That was aimed at you or me. Considering the puzzle clues on them, I think someone knows you are coming. Not the Heraklos, as they would have had you killed out of hand, or denounced you to embarrass the emperor-bey, or both. The Ottomans? Very unlikely they would be so subtle. I think someone at court may not like your mission. I have no idea who.”

“Uh.” She sank back. “Not good.”

He patted her hand again, then squeezed it. “They seem to be only warning either you or both of us. I will advise the emperor-bey of this today. He may be able to help. Three. The attack on the
Princess Kay
. The men were discovered planting an explosive in our cabin. Though all of them died in the firefight, we were in some way also their target.”

“How, if we weren’t on board?”

“I think they planned to discredit me. I have a reputation as an excellent man in security. An explosion there might show I’d failed, or perhaps incriminate me in some way?”

The ramifications of his list seemed endless. “Political machinations are not something I understand. What can we do?”

“I thought you could see patterns?”

She screwed up her mouth. “People, no. People and their messes just annoy me.”

“Ha.” Yet amusement showed in the lines creasing about his eyes.

She smiled back. “You seem happier than you did on the ship.”

His gaze gentled, and he regarded her for a moment in silence. “I…enjoy life more around you, Sofia.”

“Oh.” Her smile went shaky as tears wet her eyelids. This man was sneaking under her defenses in every way. She shifted on the cushion.
Stick to the topic
. “Well then, what can we do about all that? Are we likely to get attacked again?” Her insides scrunched up tight. She hadn’t come here to get shot at or poisoned.

“I don’t know. I’ve talked to Captain Riccardo, and he’s increasing security. He’s hiring more men, but they’re locals, and we can only screen them so far. I’ve told him to get more of our own men sent to Byzantium. However, that will take some days to put into effect. At the palace…” He peered down at her, then heaved out a sigh. “For whatever reason, I’m not to aid in security there—more secret intrigues, no doubt. So there’s not a lot I can do once you’re there, by yourself. Truthfully, I would rather send you home.”

“What?” She wriggled her fingers, for he was squashing them. “No. I won’t. I can’t. This is my career, my dream. I wrote a whole damn thesis on this! Don’t you see? I’ll be okay.”

“A thesis? That is all?”

“And I’ll get a government job also.”

“How does puzzle solving do that?”