Kieran (Tales of the Shareem) (7 page)

Felice took a nervous sip of ale. It wasn’t very good, as far as ale went, but it was cold and clear. “Now that you’ve brought me clothes, I can go,” she said. “I don’t want you to get into trouble for hiding me. I can get away by myself.”

“Go?” Kieran sent her a sharp look. “Go where?”

Felice shrugged. “Space station. Colony with no extradition treaties in case TGH Corp tries to have me arrested. A place with anti-slave laws better than Bor Narga’s.”

“No.” Kieran closed his hand over hers, his voice turning hard. “I don’t want you to go.”

He was frowning, his irises looking normal again, his hold strong.

Felice tried to keep her voice light. “Then you won’t have to worry about the patrollers looking for me.”

“Screw the patrollers.” Kieran set down his ale. “I want you to stay, because I want you to.”

Felice had no idea what to do with the flat statement. For the past four years, people had yelled or barked orders at her, but none had spoken to her as a person. Not for herself. Now Kieran was focused on her, talking to her, interested in
her
. It was a strange sensation.

He transferred his grip from her hand to the cloth of the tunic she wore. “I want you here, and I’ve decided I don’t want you wearing anything.”

Felice blinked. “What . . . ?”

Kieran leaned to speak into her ear, the dark, sinful tone returning. “Take it off.
Now.
”

Of all the orders yelled at her, no one had given her that particular one. And not in a voice that said he wanted her clothes off so he could look at her body.
Like a robot,
she’d said they’d treated her. As though she had no human flesh at all.

“But . . .”

“Felice.” The name was a caress. “If you don’t do what I say, I will discipline you. And then you’ll do it anyway.”

“Oh.” Her vocabulary seemed to have dried up.

Something clicked inside her, like the right piece falling into place. Felice stood up. She wanted him to see, wanted him to look at her. At
her
, not a worker who might as well have been made out of metal and circuitry. At her, in spite of the scars that branded her. She was a woman, flesh and blood, and she hadn’t had a man see her as that for four years.

Felice grasped the tunic as Kieran kept his full gaze on her, and slipped it off over her head. She wore nothing underneath, because there had been nothing to put on.

Kieran watched her without smiling, his eyes quiet as he gazed at her bare breasts. He’d already seen the scars on her body, but Felice still wanted to move her arms across her chest.

“No.” Kieran’s word was harsh and abrupt. Felice hadn’t hidden herself this time, but he’d known she thought about it. “You’re beautiful. I want you to understand it.”

Chills crept over her, but Felice was warm at the same time.

Kieran stood up. He didn’t touch her, didn’t approach her. He studied her, more intently than anyone had in a long time. Being the focus of that steady gaze was unnerving, but at the same time exhilarating.

“Blue, I think,” he said.

Blue? Blue what?

Before she could ask, Kieran turned abruptly and went through the open door into his bedroom.

Felice didn’t move, somehow knowing Kieran would want her right there when he returned. She heard things rattling around, then a slam of a drawer, and he came back out with a length of rope wrapped around his arm. The rope was silken, and a deep, sapphire blue.

Kieran unwrapped the rope as he came to her. “Turn around.”

Felice’s lips formed the word
why
, but before she could speak, Kieran took her shoulder and spun her to face away from him.

The rope was soft to the touch. It felt good against Felice’s skin while Kieran quickly and competently slid it around her waist, then wound it in complicated twists around her breasts, down her back, around her thighs and back to her wrists.

He turned her around again, folding the slack of the rope in his big hand. Kieran slid his gaze down her body, taking in where the rope lifted her breasts and hid the worst of her scars.

“I knew you’d look good in blue,” he said.

Another matter-of-fact statement, coupled with the sensual way he let his eyes linger on her breasts made Felice take a sharp breath, her nipples tightening under his scrutiny.

Kieran gave the rope a firm tug. Felice unbalanced—the only way to stay upright was to let him pull her straight into him. Another tug, and Felice went up on her tiptoes before landing against his hard, hot body.

Kieran leaned down and kissed her, the kiss commanding, even bruising. His mouth pried hers open, his tongue sweeping inside to make hers respond. Felice was steady against him, his hold on the rope not letting her fall, but not binding or cutting her either. His kiss stole her breath and gave back a wild ripple of pleasure.

Still holding the rope, Kieran broke the kiss, pulling away when she tried to follow for more. Kieran was frowning down at her, as though trying to understand something. When Felice started to ask a question, he shook his head, letting the rope slack until she stood flat on her feet again.

But Kieran wasn’t finished. He lowered himself to the chair behind him, sliding down her body as he did so, kissing and licking, giving the occasional nip as he went. He spread his thighs and tugged Felice so she stepped between his legs.

The tight tunic hid nothing of him, as Felice felt when his huge cock pressed her through the fabric. Kieran didn’t have to raise his head far to run his tongue around her swollen breast, lifted and supported by the blue rope.

Kieran closed his mouth over her nipple, his eyes drifting shut as he made a noise of satisfaction in his throat.

Hot tension, a bite of pain, glorious warmth. Felice arched to him, wanting to drive her breast farther into his mouth. Her nipple was hot and tight, Kieran’s mouth and tongue wet. He sucked and licked for a long time, closing his teeth on her nipple as he drew away. “Ah!” Felice said softly, half in pleasure, half in pain.

When Kieran looked up at her, his eyes were filled with blue, a color only a shade lighter than that of the rope. On any other man, Felice might think this looked weird. On Kieran, it was right.

He gently pushed her back from him, still holding the rope, then Kieran slid out of the chair to his knees. He pressed a kiss to her abdomen, followed by one just above her clit.

Kieran pulled the rope in such a way that Felice’s left thigh lifted. A strange sensation, as though she were a marionette on his strings.

Her leg stayed raised, held in place by the complicated binding. Kieran massaged her thigh, coaxing her to relax, to trust him, and the rope, to hold her in place.

When Felice gave in, not trying to fight it, she found herself perfectly balanced. Kieran was a master.

Another pull moved Felice’s thigh higher until it was against her chest. This opened her up completely to him. Kieran’s gaze on her told her he saw everything—her curls of dark hair, her clit tight from excitement, and her opening, which was wet—and that he liked what he saw.

He came forward and started to lick.

“Holy mother goddess,” Felice moaned.

Kieran’s tongue found every sensitive inch of her, then parted her opening to delve inside and lick there too. His mouth worked, his fingers hard on her thighs. His tongue was strong and sure, his strokes hot, as he feasted on her.

When he drew back from drinking her, Felice made a soft cry of disappointment. She’d had to be strong for so long, and to surrender herself to this man—something she never thought she’d do, was both comforting and impossibly exciting. He bound her, but steadied her, growled orders at her, but made sure she was safe. Her heart was beating so fast she was sure it resounded through the room.

Her disappointment at him pulling back didn’t last long, however. Kieran leaned forward and licked her opening once more, then he moved his mouth to her clit. Felice, hypersensitive from his ministrations, sucked in a sharp breath, trying not to scream.

Kieran flicked her clit with his tongue, his eyes closing in concentration. He knew exactly how to pleasure her, exactly how much pressure to use, when to increase the speed of his tongue, and when to back off. Felice’s knees went watery, the fires he ignited radiating to her heart and weakening her already exhausted body.

But Felice couldn’t fall—Kieran’s binding held her steady. Whenever she thought she would lose her balance, the rope neatly caught her, and never hurt.

Felice rocked on the foot planted on the floor, her head going back as Kieran licked and nibbled her clit. She heard sounds of joy coming from her mouth to ring in the small room. This wasn’t
surrender and be cowed
; it was
surrender, and I’ll take care of you.

Her trapped position only made the feelings wilder—Felice couldn’t twist away from Kieran’s mouth, his tongue, his skill. He’d said,
You give yourself to me, and I show you what you are, what you want.
Now Felice understood.

Kieran closed his mouth all the way over her clit and sucked hard. Felice released a breath and a scream at the same time, a crazed dark wave sweeping her into glorious oblivion.

She lost track of where she was—
who
she was. Felice knew only that Kieran’s mouth released white-hot pleasure in one point of ecstasy, and she felt the soft silken rope holding her in place. She stopped being aware of the floor, the tepid air, the closeness of the room. She was floating, the only real things the rope and Kieran.

“Holy mother, help me!” she shouted, and then her words became incoherent. Felice begged, she sobbed; she had no idea what she said.

Kieran held her with his mouth and with the rope as she rocked and thrust, her body taking over and understanding what it needed to do.

The next thing she knew, Felice was on the floor, its hard surface softened by one thin rug and the cushion of the ropes. The rope still held her thigh against her chest, but they cradled her in their cocoon as Kieran slid on top of her. He stared down at her, his brows drawn together into a fierce frown, as though he tried to understand something.

He held that frown, and her eyes with his, as he shoved his tunic and loincloth out of the way, and slid his hard cock straight into her.

Kieran didn’t wait for Felice to get used to him or understand what was happening. He said nothing, only held her by the ropes and entered her, spreading her.

His thrusts began slowly, and then built, all the while he held the rope and stared into her eyes. He didn’t kiss her, didn’t caress, only moved faster and faster, after a time turning his head and closing his eyes.

The ropes moved Felice’s thighs apart and kept her knee against her chest, so Kieran could go deeper. It was hot, hard, and furious. Kieran’s hips worked, and his body thrust hers against the floor.

Felice was crying out, the feelings pouring over her incredible and beautiful. Liberating. She was bound, but at the same time, he’d set her free.

Kieran let out a grunt and an abrupt groan. Then he whispered,
No,
before his whole body jerked, and his seed flooded into her.

Another wave of darkness swept Felice up into it, then she fell back limply, searching for breath.

Kieran collapsed on top of her, heavy but not hurting her. He held the ropes in his competent hand, but the look he gave Felice was startled, as though what had just happened surprised him.

After a long time, Kieran unwound the rope from his hand, releasing Felice’s bent leg. He didn’t lift away from her, but remained on top of her, kissing her gently as he let her relax.

He lowered his head to her chest, lying still, like a beast taking his rest. Felice stroked Kieran’s hair, and he drew a long, shuddering breath.

After that, all was silence, stillness, and quiet peace.

*** *** ***

Kieran woke. Felice lay on the floor beneath him, her head turned, her eyes closed, her breathing even. Felice slept, content.

Kieran was shaken. That last part of their sex play wasn’t supposed to have happened. As a highly trained level three, Kieran’s purpose was to show Felice pleasure, to do things to her that taught her to love her own body, love how it could feel. A Dom took care of his sub.

What he didn’t do was lose his mind, throw her to the floor, and thrust into her like a brainless animal.

Kieran, as screwed up as he was, knew his job. He knew how to fine tune sex, to time it so it was the ultimate pleasure for the woman.

But as he’d felt Felice come in his mouth, her body rocking, her voice flowing over him like a waterfall of bliss, Kieran had lost all control. He’d laid her down and thrust into her, the joy of it the most intoxicating he’d ever experienced. He’d thrust until he’d released himself—without thought, without calculation—simply a man enjoying a woman.

Never should have happened. Kieran knew his fellow Shareem sometimes surrendered to the passion of the moment, but Kieran never had.

The trouble was, he wanted to do it again. Felice was maddeningly sexy wrapped in the blue rope, which caressed her breasts and thighs, spreading them for him. She couldn’t see the complicated knots he’d woven between her legs, but they were works of art that had basically let him fuck her with his tongue.