Chosen One Page 4

  “Oh, I will fuck you, Ceta Lars.” He growled the words against her ear, his warm breath against her skin making her heart pound. His fingers dug into her buttock, working her body against his erection in slow, easy slides. His thigh stroked her clitoris, tightening the increasing need in her belly. “You will writhe and scream around me. I promise.”

  His control, the way he controlled her with easy strength, made her breaths short, and the flare of orgasm grow, burn through her flesh. “You want me.”

  “No.” He growled the word into her neck and his hands tightened against her wrists. Ceta crushed her eyes against the sensations, the desire for him that swamped her. It made no sense. “I should never have chosen you,” he muttered.

  “You…” She swallowed at the fire spiraling up through her body, the desperate, hollow need for him to fuck her even against his will. “You…prefer blondes.”

  Iason stared at her, the heat of desire burning in his eyes. “Yes.”

  Ceta tried to feel insulted, but she didn’t care, not with the wild rush of whatever it was that they’d both eaten coursing through her veins. “If I offend you, then close your eyes.” She did just that, focusing on her body, on her hot, damp flesh against his, the slick of her silk costume caressing her skin.

  “Do I offend you?”

  Her eyes flashed open and his hard hunger, the anger lurking under his words seared her. “What?”

  “Look at me as I fuck you.” He pushed her hard against his bare, muscled thigh and she moaned. Iason took her mouth, his tongue stroking against hers, taking her air, spinning her mind. With an unexpected surge, she came, breaking under him, her body hot, trembling, her thoughts dazed.

  Iason tore his mouth from hers, his chest heaving. He freed her hands and she yelped as he picked her up and strode to the bed. She flopped onto the mattress and could only watch as Iason stripped. The tunic landed on the smooth floor, his heavy kirtle dropping with a dull thump on top of it. He unstrapped his boots and then hooked his thumbs into his shorts. His head tilted. “Say please, Ceta.”

  His cock strained against the cotton and Ceta wanted him. There was no hesitation. She held his gaze, her heart pounding. “Please.”

  Iason smiled, something slow, satisfied. “Say ‘please fuck me, lord’.” He unclasped her boots, his fingers teasing her inner thighs before he pulled the silk free of her legs. His palms pushed apart her knees, his thumbs pressing into the sensitive skin of her thighs as his hands explored her. He pulled her to the edge of the high bed and teased the crease of her legs. “I’m waiting.”

  The heat beating low in her belly rose again and she pushed back against his thighs, cursing the thin barriers of clothing denying him to her. His fingers eased over the damp silk of her shorts and tugged the belt loose. Ceta sucked in a quick breath, watching his face, the need that had his jaw tight. Her gaze slid down to the sculpted muscle of his chest, and the need to lick him, taste him made her willing to say absolutely anything. “Please fuck me, lord.”

  Iason’s fingers slipped under the band of her shorts, his nails cool against her hot belly. The muscles tensed in his arms. He grinned at her, something feral, dangerous, and ripped the silk from her body.

  She arched against the cover, almost lost herself in the stroke of his palms against her hips and his thumb. Ceta groaned, turning her pelvis into his maddening touch as his thumb caressed her mons and then dipped into her pussy.

  She cried out and an intense rush overwhelmed her, the wild heat of orgasm smashing through her flesh. Ceta pulled in cool air and let herself sink into the rumpled cover. A trembling hand flopped across her eyes and she tried to will her pounding heart to slow. Was it Iason, or the essence of the ship that had her body responding so willingly?

  His knuckles brushed against her labia and the first tease of his cock against her wet flesh had her jerking. Ceta stared at him, the tight strain in his muscles, the harsh look of need on his face making her ache for his touch again.

  “You’re tight,” he muttered. His hand gripped her hip and he pushed, easing into her body in a slow, inexorable slide. Iason’s short breaths, the tight grip on her flesh welling desire in her. “You needed more simulator time.”

  Ceta pushed, stretching around him. He filled her, hot, wide, and the thought of a real man, not some technical wizardry, dizzied her thoughts. “Criticizing?”

  The hand guiding his cock slid free and found a place on her hip. “The…simulator…is a necessity.” Strain thickened his voice, sweat edging his forehead.

  He was holding back and that was the one thing she didn’t need. She shifted, pulling him deeper and he groaned. “This is better.” She fisted the sheets as she ground against him. “So much better.”

  Iason swore under his breath and met her hips, sinking into her. For a moment, he was silent and his head dropped. His harsh grip eased on her hips and he massaged her belly in soothing strokes. “You were meant to be prepared.”

  The chase of his fingers, palms over her skin, coiled her need and she let out a slow breath, not wanting to lose herself so quickly. Not now. Not with Iason so hard and hot inside her. “Then prepare me.”

  He muttered something she couldn’t understand, grabbed her hips and thrust against her. Ceta cried out, her hips jerking off the bed, then he pulled back and pushed deep again, holding her steady as he ground against her.

  “Did you go every day?”

  Why the hell was he talking? Her hands broke from the sheets to find her breasts. She tugged at her nipples, the damp silk of her shirt a sensuous stroke against the back of her hands. Already the first flickers of another orgasm curled out from her belly and she moaned softly. Her legs hooked around his, and she wanted more of him, wanted him deeper, harder.

  “Did you?” He leaned over her, planting his hands on the bed, and the change of angle found her clitoris, chasing wild fire up from her belly. His eyes held hers, arousal and anger burning in their darkness. “How often?”

  “Weekly.”

  Iason cursed and for endless heartbeats, he stroked into her, his eyes fierce. The rush of emotion had her reaching for him, pulling him down into a searing kiss. He groaned and crushed her to him, devouring her mouth as he drove into her. Ceta caught her hand in his hair, grabbed at his shoulder and clung to him.

  Every thrust tightened the coil of tension low in her belly. The rub of him against her clitoris, his hot, damp skin, his incredible mouth, surrounding her, devouring her drove her trembling flesh closer, closer until the she could almost taste her approaching orgasm.

  Iason’s arms tightened around her back, his fingers biting into her flesh. His pace increased, pounding into her, her legs wrapped around his ass, urging him harder, until— Ceta’s spine arched and her mouth ripped from his. Her strangled cry sank into the walls. Orgasm blazed over her, rippling wildly through her trembling flesh. Iason buried his face in her shoulder, his breath hot on too-sensitive skin, and with a final erratic thrust he came.

  She closed her eyes as his tense body eased and she let herself stroke light fingers over his damp spine. His hair tickled her throat and he smelled of spice, sweat and sex. Ceta let out a slow sigh. He was real, his crushing weight, his breath still hot and fast against her collarbone, the pounding of his heart over hers. Real and not some imagined mix of light and electronics.

  Iason eased out of her fierce hold and pushed himself up. He gripped his cock and pulled free of her. With a sigh, he sat on the end of the bed and ran his hands through his tangled hair. He glanced back at her and something haunted his eyes. “You’re supposed to be prepared. My instructions have always been clear. It was why our sovereign provided the temple with the simulator.”

  Ceta flopped her arms above her head. She would have to strip herself of the damp silk clinging to her body, but that could wait. She wanted to enjoy her sated body. “It was a privilege, not a right.”

  Iason cursed and bent down to pick up his shorts. “I’ll have to have words with the atte
ndants.”

  He stood and tugged his underwear over his backside. Ceta held down a sigh and pinched at the bridge of her nose. He was going. She winced. Well, he’d warned her. Tomorrow, she would have to choose someone else. “What difference does it make?”

  “All the difference to the instructions flying through my head.” He straightened his tunic over his chest and swung the kirtle around his hips. “You have to be pushed, prepared. I was meant to subdue you, break you. I disobeyed…” His mouth thinned. “I was not prepared to inflict on you what the ship required. Others wouldn’t hesitate. And if previous candidates had only your experience…” His face fell into its normal hard mask. “I will rectify this situation.”

  Her stomach twisted and all warmth drained from her. She sat up, drawing the long tails of her silk coat over her nakedness. “What happened to the others?”

  “Ceta…” He sat on the bed again and tugged on his boots. “The sovereign has set the rules on this encounter.”

  “You’re implying all previous candidates were…attacked…in this room.”

  Iason retrieved his breastplate and twisted to strap it to his chest. “Remember who you’re talking to.” He looked up, his gaze hard, unforgiving. “There are fresh clothes in the storage beside the washroom.” He buckled his cloak to his shoulders and settled the heavy material so it fell straight against his back. “Wash and rest. A servant will bring you food.”

  Ceta’s heart was a stone in her chest. “And that’s it? You’ll stand by and watch me take someone else.”

  Iason’s mouth thinned and his fingers tightened into fists. “A candidate is not supposed to choose me.”

  “Why?”

  “Your assessments said you had a good memory. Seems they were wrong,” he muttered. “I don’t have to answer your questions. I’m here because the sovereign wanted it. Nothing more.”

  “So I eat that insane dessert and let my body pick someone else to drive out the lust?” She glared at him and tried to push down her own rising fear. It sat in the pit of her stomach. How many of the candidates had even survived this insane ceremony? After all, she’d seen none of the former candidates in the sovereign’s harem when they’d been promised a position at his right hand. What thoughts had the ship driven through his mind? Deadly ones? “Someone who, according to you, will do unspeakable things to me.”

  A muscle jumped in his jaw. “It’s as the sovereign wishes.”

  Ceta snorted. “And you expect me to respect you.”

  Iason closed the distance between then, pulling her to her feet, his fingers hard against her arms. “We are all subject to his law.”

  The cool press of leather and metal against her bare skin prickled goose bumps, but she ignored the distraction and met his hard gaze. Angry color slashed across his cheeks. She was about to deepen that fury. After all, she had to protect herself as best she could. “So what will he say when he knows that you didn’t follow his law? You said it yourself. You didn’t complete the instructions streaming through your head.”

  Iason’s eyes narrowed. “You’re blackmailing me.”

  She lifted an eyebrow. “Would I do that, lord?”

  “And who do you think he’ll believe? His paladin of eleven years? Or you?”

  Ceta’s stomach knotted. He was right, but she held firm. Iason didn’t know her, didn’t know what she was capable of and she had no intention of revealing how nervous she was. The sovereign ruled his domain with a hard hand. His enemies knew that all too well. As did his subjects. “Should we test it? I reveal exactly what we did here. I’m sure the sovereign knows what should go on. And I imagine his penalty will be swift and harsh. Disobedience in the temple was a minimum of five lashes.” Her gaze slid down to his crotch. “Would your insubordination leave a greater scar?”

  Iason released her and she flopped back onto the bed. Anger flushed him and she knew she’d hit on the truth. The sovereign would emasculate him for his defiance. “What do you want?”

  “You,” she said.

  Chapter Five

  The paladin cursed and caught his hand in his tangled hair. He paced the small room and fury surged off him. He fought to contain it—she could see that in the tightness of his jaw, the tense line of his shoulders. Iason stopped. He lifted his chin and glared at her. “Tell him.”

  Shit, he’d called her bluff. Could she go through with describing to the sovereign what the paladin had done to her? Risk what the sovereign would do to him? Something heavy sank into her gut. “You’d rather risk your,” she waved at him, unable to say the word, “than sleep with me again?”

  “Yes.”

  Iason hadn’t hesitated and the single word crushed her. Ceta let out a slow breath and tried to keep the tears from leaking. The man made from light and electronics had never hurt her, never made her chest tight. She swallowed. With effort, she pulled in her courage. Damn him. How could a man she hardly knew cause her so much pain? “You have to tell me why.”

  “Ceta…”

  “No.” She jabbed a finger at him and hated the tear that slid fast and cold down her cheek. “I deserve to know.”

  Something shifted in his dark gaze and his shoulders dropped. Iason wet his lips before he sat on the bed beside her. He stared at the far wall and his voice became soft. “You’re a candidate,” he murmured. “I made one condition on taking the role of paladin. It was one to which the sovereign and his ship both agreed. The candidate was never to choose me. Ever.” His palms rubbed together, the sound rasping in the silence. Ceta waited, not wanting to interrupt, to question him. “I never wanted to be the one to kill the woman I’d chosen.”

  Ceta’s chest hollowed and her head buzzed. She fought back the sudden wave of dizzying panic. “Kill?” The word was little more than a croak. She wiped at her damp forehead, her vision still dark around the edges, and sucked in a ragged breath. “All the candidates are dead?”

  Iason’s gaze remained fixed on the wall. “Yes.”

  Her hand gripped her mouth, to hold down the panic that threatened to swamp her. Adrenalin surged and she leapt to her feet. She didn’t know where she was going, but she had to get away from him, from the room, from the death sentence he’d just laid on her.

  “Ceta…”

  Iason tried to take her hand but she wrenched herself free. He couldn’t touch her. He couldn’t. “Did none of them know?” She found herself on the narrow balcony, gripping the balustrade, her knuckles white, the pain biting through her panic. “Did they all just get fucked until a sovereign’s favorite cut their throats?”

  “No.” His hand stroked over her tight shoulder and she flinched, but his hand didn’t drop away. “On the third taste of the essence, the candidate dies as she achieves orgasm.”

  Ceta crushed her eyes shut against his very plain words. She bit her lip and blinked back the run of tears. But the pain in her chest had her breaths tight and she couldn’t pull air into her lungs. Panic surged again, her body heaving as she fought for air.

  Strong arms wrapped around her and turned her into his chest. She pressed against the warm material of his tunic, not the cold metal of his breastplate, and his scent, the strength of him surrounding her, eased air back into her body. Ceta blew out a final, slow breath and let her body relax into him. “Why?” She dragged the heel of her hand over her damp eyes, cheeks. “Why does this happen?”

  “It’s always been a part of the bond. For more years than anyone can remember.” Iason’s voice rumbled through his chest. “Our sovereign has never explained it and I have never asked.”

  “You choose us knowing we go to our deaths.”

  “Yes.”

  Ceta snorted. “Wonderful.”

  Iason stroked his hand down her spine and it soothed her, she had no idea why. Something about the paladin had worked its way under her skin long before and she couldn’t fight it. “Our sovereign controls our lives. We can’t fight him.” He pressed his lips into her hair and the gesture almost cracked her heart. “I
’m sorry, Ceta.”

  She pulled back from him, her arms wrapping around her waist. His strength was addictive. In Iason’s arms, she felt safe. Which was insane. “The third tasting?”

  He jerked a nod and unease flickered through his eyes. He had broken the sovereign’s law again with her.

  “When will that be?”

  “The ship decides.”

  “Fine.” Ceta bit out the word. She wanted him out, away from her, wanted to bury her face in his chest, wanted to claw at him. Instead, she pulled in a steadying breath and straightened her shoulders. Her arms wrapped around her body. “And if I said I knew of this? Knew I was going to…” She waved her hand, unable to say the word, before her fingers clamped to her waist again. “What then?”

  Iason shook his head. “Don’t, Ceta.”

  “Scared for yourself?”

  His tight expression didn’t change. “He would make me choose another woman before he killed both of us.”

  Ceta snorted. “So someone else will die? But if I stay quiet, then you live and someone in the temple gets another year of life.”

  A bleak smile pulled at his mouth. “It does depend on how much you loathe me right now, doesn’t it?”

  The cool air brushed against her bare skin and for the first time she realized her near nakedness on the balcony. She risked a look over the edge and fixed her eyes on the sovereign’s black throne. The mass of writhing flesh surrounding it gave her a fresh shudder. Thankfully, the balcony sat too high above the crowd for her to make out the sounds or the scents of the bodies below.

  She hurried back into the room and searched for the storage Iason had mentioned. Clothes. She wanted clothes that masked her from her throat to her toes. She stumbled over the paladin’s heavy cloak half-crumpled against the bed and still buckled to his abandoned breastplate. He’d thrown it off to offer her the comfort of a warm body. It had her stomach cramping.