[The Onic Empire 03] - Sinful Harvest (12 page)

“When I do what?” she asked, warily considering his face.

Smoothly, he dropped the panic from his gaze, kissed her nose, and said, “When I do something you enjoy, like giving your sweet caramel nipple a little twist, your eyes go very wide with shock, then narrow into speculative slits of encouragement.”

Without a thought, she denied his claim with a sharp, “I do not.” She practically
tisked
at him while shaking her head in denial.

He rubbed her nipple between his forefinger and thumb, eliciting the exact same response. Watching the pleasure surge through her caused the strangest reaction in his body; somehow, her enjoyment literally became his.

Once she realized the truth, her brows lowered and she frowned, but she wouldn’t meet his gaze.

“What?” he asked teasingly, glad she hadn’t noticed his slip in using the word
love
. He’d thought he’d fully banished that particular troublesome word from his vocabulary, but apparently not. “Are you upset that you do it, or that I noticed?” He read more than just Ariss’ physical response; he could literally read her scent. Pleasure erupted from her flesh in a burst of
valasta,
which only made him want to give her more. “Lovely Ariss, you work so hard to keep your face immobile, probably so you don’t convey anything, but when I surprise you, your emotions are very clearly displayed.”

Her fear was genuine, probably borne of the same fear he’d had in the training rooms, because when someone could read your true feelings, they could use them to hurt you. Instantly, he understood and sought to reassure her.

“I would never use what I know to hurt you, Ariss. Only to give you even more pleasure.” He swore it directly from his heart. Carefully, he lowered his lips to her breast. Capturing
her nipple in his mouth, he placed a soft kiss to the straining bit of flesh.

For a moment, she tensed as strongly as she had in the mating room during their first encounter. Ever so softly, he continued to tease her, not rushing, simply enjoying the feel and taste of her, easing her with his meanderings. No way would he rush her now, not when she’d come so far in becoming the woman she was destined to be.

Sighing, she released the tension in her body and whispered, “I trust you.”

Fear trickled in like an unwelcome pest. She trusted him? No woman could trust him beyond his fleeting desires. Kerrick continued to tease his lips, teeth, and tongue over her body, but his mind was a universe away. Trust was the first stepping-stone to danger. Once she trusted him, she would come to care for him; then she would make the inevitable slide into loving him.

Kerrick couldn’t let Ariss fall in love with him.

He couldn’t return her affections, not fully, not in the way she deserved. He wanted to transform her into a woman of passion, but not a woman who was in love with him. In order for him to succeed in securing the position of palace magistrate, he had to be the Harvester for more than one season. He had to prove himself not only a man of raw physical power, but he had to capture the fleeting fancies of the elite. Charming them, cajoling them, creating an almost mythical persona for them to
ooh
and
ah
over was the only way he would succeed.

Kerrick knew he was charismatic, but he needed more than one season to ingratiate himself with those in power. He couldn’t wait for the first official palace function so he could begin the laborious process of securing their favor. No matter what he had to do, he would swallow his pride and do it. From fawning over ill-bred children, to praising passable goods, to seducing the fat, the ugly, or even the pathetically badly dressed—he would do it all to obtain the power of the magistrate. Kerrick
vowed to remain the Harvester until he wrested the position from Ambo. Then, Kerrick’s father would pay.

Just thinking about the challenges to come caused his erection to fade. No matter what he did or how he turned his thoughts, he couldn’t get it back. Embarrassed, he moved away from Ariss. Never, ever had he lost his desire in the midst of a lusty romp. He didn’t blame anyone but himself. He couldn’t stop thinking about the bloodlust in the eyes of the other recruits. Given a chance, they would tear his limbs from his body and beat him to death with his own appendages. Turning his back on Ariss, he sat on the edge of the bed, his legs flung over the side, his toes digging into the thick carpet.

He didn’t see her, but he felt her sit up as her movements tugged the bedclothes taut from the counterpoint of his butt.

She didn’t speak and neither did he. What could he say? She had to have felt him go soft. He wasn’t about to tell her the truth. No woman wanted to hear that her lover was just as frightened and vulnerable as she was. Women expected men to be men. To be strong and sure and so secure that nothing broke their stride. He’d always known that he wasn’t real to his lovers; he was the sum total of all their perceived notions of masculinity. To date, he’d always played the role well. The difference was that this time he was gambling with his life.

In all the dangerous sports he played, he never felt vulnerable, for he always knew the risks before taking part. At any time, he could withdraw with no repercussions. Well, perhaps a bit of damaged pride; but in this, the game of the Harvester, he’d leapt in without fully understanding the rules. He simply couldn’t back out. He had to fight or die. Kerrick exhaled a slow, deep breath and slumped his shoulders.

Silently, Ariss slid off the bed. From the corner of his eye, he watched her pull the robe on and redo the tiny clasps. He made no move to stop her until he saw the tears held tightly in check
spill over and track down her cheeks. The truth was written all over her face; she thought his lack of interest was her fault.

His shoulders slumped even farther. He might be a selfish man, but even he could not hurt her newly forming sexual self-esteem like that.

“Ariss, wait.”

Lifting her nose, she strode toward the door. “Don’t bother. You’ll have another chance to humiliate me at the beginning of the next cycle.”

She was fast, but he was faster. As she wrapped her hand around the doorknob to twist it open, he covered her hand with his. “I’m sorry.” Two words he rarely said. Sometimes he might think them, but he didn’t often speak them aloud, especially not to a woman. One of his rules of seduction was that he had to be willing to watch each woman walk away. Not apologizing for a real or perceived slight was a guaranteed way to get his lover to leave. If she refused, she’d silently agreed to take the relationship on his terms.

Ariss yanked her hand away and took a proud step back. “I don’t want to play your game.” Anger placed two high red marks upon her cheeks and turned her tears to glistening fury. Her black hair tumbled around her shoulders, tangling up in the edges of the robe’s hood.

“Game?” he asked, yanking his loincloth off the floor and wrapping it around his hips. The last thing he wanted was to have an argument while he stood with his penis dangling about.

“Why else would you make me go through all of this, then cast me aside? I’m just a game to you!” She gritted her teeth and took a hissing indrawn breath. “That’s it, isn’t it? You had to make the cold one grovel. You just had to prove to yourself that I would risk everything to slip into your bed.” She shook her head in a gesture that said she was angrier with herself than with him. “I hope it was worth it, because this will be the last
time.” She pressed her lips together, cutting off her speech. With jerky motions, she gathered her hair and tossed it down the back of her robe, then yanked the hood over her head.

“It’s not a game!” Kerrick hadn’t realized how irritated he was until he bellowed. Rage shivered through him, seeking an outlet.

A
riss flinched back at Kerrick’s outburst. With one big step, he advanced on her, capturing her arms with his massive hands. Rage caused him to tremble and turned his forest green eyes dangerously dark. Fear caused her to shake within his grip. Mesmerized, she watched a lone bead of sweat tumble down from his forehead to his temple. Even with her quick breaths, she smelled and tasted the sharp, bitter tang of his fury.

Baffled, she held still and wondered why he was so enraged. He’d been playing a game with her, not the other way around. Why was he so upset she’d caught him out? It was almost as if he stole what should be hers; she should be the one fuming and snarling, not him. Quite suddenly, she realized she was alone with a man twice her size. A man strong enough to do anything he wanted to her. A man who stood blocking the only exit….

He drew a deep breath and shut his eyes, forcefully calming himself. His grip on her upper arms lessened slightly. Ariss stood very still, unwilling to do anything to infuriate him anew. From this angle, the ceiling crystals scattered light across his
short blond hair, causing it to glow, almost as if the gods themselves bathed him with their glory.

With all her might, Ariss prayed that they would reach inside and calm him where she could not. Just as quickly, she realized they would not hear her calls, for she had debased herself with her licentious behavior. Apparently, her parents had been right all along and lust only lowered her. Why would Kerrick want her anymore when he’d already thoroughly had her? Just as her mother always said, “Men are about the hunting, not the capturing. Once they capture you, there is nothing more for them to do but sate their lust and walk away.” Byss had tapped her wrist where her mark of bonding, a small yellow dot, showed her commitment to Radox and Yellow House. “Bear the mark first, then enter the bedchamber.”

Of course, Ariss was at a distinct disadvantage in that she had no choice but to submit to Kerrick, for that’s what her duty demanded. She winced when she realized she never should have come to him; he should have walked through the nothingness to get to her. She wasn’t much of a capture if she willingly came to the hunter. Ariss didn’t have the luxury of berating herself for her foolishness, not when he was so irate and so near.

She wanted to move farther away from him but didn’t dare. Anything she did might attract his attention and for the moment, he stood very still with his eyes closed. It was best that he remain that way. His grip on her arms loosened a fraction more, but clearly, he had no intention of letting her go. She breathed as silently as she could, pursing her lips together and down so that even her breath wouldn’t touch him.

When he squeezed almost delicately, she startled, lifting her gaze to his face. His eyes were open now, considering her as if he’d never seen her. Ariss stilled under his perusal, not even daring to lift her nose in practiced disdain. Deep within his eyes burned something she couldn’t identify. Whatever it was had caused this entire mess.

“I’m sorry, Ariss.” He caressed her upper arms tentatively, as if he were afraid that if he loosened his grip entirely, she would bolt. “None of this is your fault.”

“I’d like to leave now,” she whispered, terrified that she would stir him to anger again, but more afraid to stay within his rooms.

He winced at her words, lowering his head and breaking the intense eye-to-eye contact. “Let me explain first.”

“I’ll listen if you take your hands off me.”

He let go and took a step back, firmly blocking the exit.

His hands left two warm, moist spots on her sleeves that she rubbed away. She straightened her robe, snuggling the hood around her neck. For a long moment, they stood at impasse, him barricading the door with his body and her eyeing the slab of Onic wood with obvious intent.

“None of this is a game to me.” His voice was hollow, empty, almost devoid of emotion as if everything that had been simmering within only a moment ago abruptly drained away.

The fear she felt vanished, leaving behind a curious confusion.

“I wanted you here so badly, and then when you arrive, I make a mess of things.” He glanced up, capturing her gaze for a brief moment before he looked away again. If he had longer hair, he would have hidden his eyes behind it, but the short locks kept his face fully exposed. “I wasn’t upset with you, but this.” Kerrick grasped the center of a long staff that leaned against the wall. As he brought it near, he fumbled, his fingers failing to find purchase, causing the staff to slip from his grasp. “Damn it to the nothingness, but this is what has aggravated me to no end!” He continued to fumble with it, his hand never quite gripping it firmly, almost as if someone had coated the entire length with oil.

Before it could fall to the floor, Ariss reached out, grasping the slender rod in one hand.

Kerrick’s mouth fell open in shock. “How did you …?”

Spinning it horizontally, she gripped the wooden staff firmly in the center, spacing her hands about the width of her shoulders. “It’s similar to a
fleed.
” At his frown, she added, “In Felton, the servants use a stick like this to herd the
astles.
”

He frowned dubiously as if she were playing some cruel joke on him. “I thought
astle
was a kind of fabric?” Suspicion turned his voice bitter.

Having been on the receiving end of several spiteful jests, Ariss understood his distrust. “
Astle
is a fabric, but it comes from an animal, an
astle,
which has a long, silky coat that generates the fibers used to make the fabric.” Ariss rocked the staff from side to side as if gently tapping the bottoms of the six-legged animals. “They are docile creatures, but they can wander great distances in search of roots and bulbs.”

He watched her moving the staff with nothing short of pure envy. “Why don’t you just keep them in pens and feed them directly?”

“If they are confined, they go bald, then die. Either they roam free or they cannot exist. It’s one of the reasons why
astle
is so expensive.” Something about that had always intrigued Ariss, causing her to feel a kinship with the pudgy little animals. Frustration had always met her father’s efforts to find a way to imprison the poor beasts. The mindless beings had succeeded in eluding his grasp where she could not; she alternately admired and resented them. “When I was young, I would help gather them up for the harvest.” With a sigh, she tapped the staff uselessly to the sides. “But once I got older, my mother refused to let me participate anymore.” Lifting her nose in imitation of her mother, she mimicked Byss’ haughty tone: “Proper young ladies do not indulge in such improper pastimes.”

Kerrick laughed at her display.

“My mother thought my time was better spent learning dances, and musical instruments, and the fine art of flirting.”
Hours of sitting in front of a mirror, watching her own reflection, washed through Ariss in a slow tedium. “But I also had to learn how to put a lusty young man in his place with a practiced frown.” She flashed Kerrick her most proficient pouting frown of disapproval.

He clutched his hand to his chest as if mortally wounded. “That would certainly put me in my place.”

His playful display touched her heart, but she had a feeling nothing would put Kerrick in his place.

They blinked at each other, suddenly aware that all the intense emotions had dissipated. They stood talking as if they were friends and not two people who just moments ago had been embroiled in a terribly intense situation.

“Why does it matter that you don’t know how to handle this staff?” Rather than handing it back, Ariss continued to move it slowly back and forth, loving the feel of it in her hands and the peaceful memories it evoked.

“Because without that skill, I’m a dead man.”

Ariss literally felt her heart lurch in her chest. “What do you mean?”

“If I want to remain the Harvester, I have to fight any recruit who issues me a challenge.”

Relief flooded her, but she did her best not to let it show. If she fulfilled her duty, Kerrick wouldn’t have to worry about remaining the Harvester. Once she was pregnant, they would bond, and the recruits would battle amongst themselves for the right to be the next Harvester. Somehow, though, she didn’t think that’s what Kerrick wanted to hear.

“What if I taught you?” she asked softly, expecting him to laugh and dismiss her proposal without a thought. What man let a woman teach him anything? Her father certainly didn’t think women had anything to offer, other than children and a place to ease his passions. Time after time, Radox had made his feelings on the subject quite clear: Women had their place, and
that was in the corner, quiet, until he told them what to do. He’d made his feeling so clear, in fact, that Ariss had no idea what possessed her to make such an offer to Kerrick.

“Would you?”

Stunned by his earnest expression, and the almost pleading tone to his voice, Ariss found words had escaped her, so she nodded, tugging her tangled hair up from the back of the robe. Moving to his side, she took a deep breath and planted the staff tip into the thick carpet, wondering where to start. When an idea came to her, she blushed deeply.

“What?” he asked, leaning near enough so that she could smell the tang of his fresh sweat. It really wasn’t fair that he always looked and smelled wonderful. She spent hours perfecting her casual look where he just tumbled out of bed. She sighed. So it would probably always be. She better get used to it now if they were going to spend a lifetime together.

“I watched you fumble with this, almost as if you didn’t know how to hold it, but when,” she took a deep breath to steady herself, and lowered her voice by several degrees, “but when you touched yourself for me, your hands were sure, your attention riveted.”

After a very long pause, where she didn’t dare look at him, he asked, “Are you suggesting that I hold the staff as if it were my penis?”

Blushing furiously, she nodded. After a long note of silence, she glanced up at his face.

One eyebrow rose along with the edge of his mouth as he considered the staff that was several heads taller than he was. With a lascivious wink, he murmured, “You know, that might make me a little insecure.”

Baffled, Ariss blinked in confusion, then rolled her eyes when she understood. “Be thankful your penis isn’t that long. If it were, some enterprising soul would have captured you and sold you as a novelty slave to the empress.”

His laughter surged a thrill of pleasure straight from her ears to her heart. In many ways, Kerrick was almost the exact opposite of her father, and most of the men in Felton. Even in a dire situation, he found humor. Kerrick laughed easily and openly, embracing himself, foibles and all. Ariss longed to find that effortless self-acceptance.

Kerrick wrapped his hand around the staff with practiced confidence, stroking his fist lightly up and down the smooth wood. Mesmerized, Ariss simply watched, her mind back on the first time they had been together in the mating room. Watching him handle himself had thoroughly aroused her. Something about the power in his arm, his focus on his own pleasure, the way his lids settled low, giving him an almost sinister appearance.

“I can do that for you again, if you’d like,” he offered, leaning close so that his warm breath wafted against her ear.

She shivered and drew the hood closer around her neck and face. “I thought you wanted to learn?”

He made a small
um-hum
of agreement, then twirled the staff. “Well, bless Behdera’s testicles!” Smoothly, he shifted the rod from hand to hand, his grip sure, the movement of his fingers flawless.

Ariss backed away, giving him room, which he used to swing and twirl the staff with graceful precision. He fought with a shadow opponent, twirling and thrusting his staff with movements that were almost like a dance. She marveled at the change that came over him. His smile was so wide it transformed his face. Each move he made caused his muscles to bunch and flex below his taut skin. The crystals danced light over the sprinkling of golden hair that covered his form. When he held just right, he literally glowed. She could not take her eyes off him. As she watched his hands, she felt her passage weep to feel those talented digits working so earnestly upon her tender flesh. At least now, she knew his seeming lack of interest
had nothing to do with her; he was consumed with his inability to work this weapon. Of course, he was now fully focused on that and oblivious to her. With a sigh, she settled herself on an armless chair pushed back against the wall.

For a long time, Kerrick practiced, hardly aware that she watched. When he did notice her, he proudly showed her a complicated series of twirls and thrusts, and then set the staff aside. He moved in front of her, causing her to strain her neck to look up, but only for a moment, because he dropped to his knees, cupping her hand in his.

“You,” he said, kissing the palm of her hand, “are the most amazing woman.” Reverently, he lifted his intense gaze, pinning her where she sat. “You realize you have saved my life?”

She honestly didn’t think she had, but if he wished to think it, who was she to say otherwise? “There are many ways to show me gratitude. Ways that don’t involve words.” She couldn’t believe she spoke so boldly, but she wasn’t sure how else to get him to wrench off her heavy robe and finish what he started earlier.

Wantonly, he teased his tongue to the center of her palm.

Melting at the thought of his tongue making the same movements along her body, she sighed, and tugged at the clasps of her robe.

Kerrick let go of her hand and pushed the edge of her robe up, exposing the length of her legs. Once he pooled the bulk of the fabric in her lap, he teased his fingers along the sensitive flesh of her calves, the tender back of her legs, then around so that his palms rested on her knees. Leaning forward, he placed a delicate kiss between them, then gently pushed them apart, all the while staring right into her eyes.

His gaze was so intense he almost stole her breath. Ariss grasped the back of the chair to hold steady. Against her hands, she felt two loops. When she glanced down, she saw two thick animal-hide strips on each side of the chair back. As Kerrick
worked his way up her inner thighs, one luscious kiss at a time, she explored the curious devices, trying to determine their use.