Desire After Dark: Lords of Pleasure (11 page)

“Luc, get up on the table and spread yourself for us like the feast you are.” With that, she unclipped his leash, leaving only the harness and cock ring on him.

Oh Gods.
Obeying, he used a chair to carefully climb up, and he realized his trembling was in pure lust. If he came too soon, he’d die.

Once he’d scooted to the middle, he lay down, arms out slightly from his sides, and spread his legs. Every part of him was on display, his smooth skin, his balls, his cock arching over his stomach. Slut that he was, he wanted them to look, to appreciate. He longed to find out what was next.

“Isn’t he lovely?” Kass said. Murmurs of agreement sounded all around. “Tonight our dessert is fruit and brandy cream.”

Servants surrounded him on each side of the table, carrying small pitchers. Luc’s eyes rounded when he realized what they meant to do. As one, they tipped the spouts over his body, and began to pour the cream. They literally coated him with the stuff, thick and no doubt sweet—his arms, chest, torso, legs, and most heavily, his groin.

Luc couldn’t stop the moan of pleasure at what he knew was going to happen. The guests were going to feast on him while he writhed in a haze of sexual agony. “Yes, please…”

Someone laughed. “I think your slave is eager.”

“He’s not the only one,” Kass said, pleased. “Dig in!”

From all sides, the guests raided the platters with enthusiasm. They plucked grapes, bananas, strawberries, and pineapple. They crowded close.

And then the first fruit, a strawberry, was swiped through the cream on his left nipple. Another on his stomach. A grape in his belly button. A peeled banana slid behind his balls, and up along his cock. Back and forth it toyed with him. Then the man took a slow bite, making sure he saw—and wanted more.

Kass reached between Luc’s legs and released the cock ring. “Do not come until I tell you, and you must achieve release without touching yourself.”

“Y-yes, mistress,” he croaked.

More fingers dipped, and someone fed him a grape. The cream was divine mixed with the fruit, and he wondered if it was as decadent for them to eat off him as it was for him to be the subject. The constant touches, the fruit rubbing his body, was so fucking sensual. It was almost too much, his skin too sensitized. He began to writhe in earnest. His balls were so tight, his rod painfully hard.

“Please, mistress. I can’t hold back!”

“You may come.”

“Ahh!” Throwing back his head, he shot hard. Ropes of cum spurted clear over his belly and chest, hitting his chin. Distantly, the guests’ approval reached his ears. On and on his cream pumped, mingling with the sweeter kind. Just as he thought he was done, he was proven wrong.

“And now you all may enjoy eating
both
kinds of cream off my slave, if you desire. Go ahead, taste him.”

Several mouths went to work, laving and sucking everywhere. His nipples, throat, belly. The insides of his thighs. But
his balls and cock were the most popular, sought-after spots, and some guests had to wait their turn.

Incredibly, he remained hard, even managing to orgasm one more time, much to their pleasure, and his. They ate him with fervor until there wasn’t a drop of cream left, of either kind. He’d never been so boneless and sated in his life.

He’d never felt so sexually free. He’d shared something unique with a room of strangers, and with Kass. Somehow, he felt connected to them all, as if they now shared a sort of kinship. He’d given his body for their enjoyment, and he’d received as much as he’d given.

“You did very well,” Kass whispered in his ear. “You’ve made most of them so hot, they’ve had to find rooms of their own to stay in for the night.”

He gave a tired laugh. “Glad I could make them happy.”

“You made me happy, too.”

“I’m glad.” And he was.

“Do you trust me?”

“Yes.” The word had come without hesitation this time.

“Good boy. Come—let’s get you cleaned up and in bed. You’ve earned the rest.”

“Thank you, mistress.”

If that was a taste of what he could expect here? He might never leave.

This wasn’t nearly as much fun as being served for dessert.

“Oh, come on, Kass,” Luc growled, using the back of his hand to wipe the sweat from his face. “I’m so out of practice, it’s pathetic.”

His mistress arched a dark blond brow. “Obviously. Why else would you have been riding in the woods with no weapon, leaving yourself vulnerable to attack?”

Annoyed, he stuck the tip of his borrowed sword into the dirt and leaned on the hilt. “We have never once had a werewolf sneak onto our property. I had absolutely no reason to think one would choose to do so that particular day.”

“You’re missing the point,” she said in exasperation, waving the business end of her sword at his chest. “It could’ve been
any
enemy, and it still wouldn’t have made a difference—you would’ve been just as dead.”

“No, I wouldn’t have. You saved me.” He grinned.

“Gods-dammit! You—”

“I know.” Straightening, he held up a hand in surrender. “I was just messing with you. I get what you’re saying. But there isn’t much call in my world for an ordinary citizen to go around armed to the teeth as we did centuries ago. We have strict laws governing our caste society, and tough enforcers to deal swiftly and harshly with lawbreakers. That’s why we’re so unprepared when attacks
do
happen, I guess.”

Kass subsided a bit, lowering her weapon, but continued to push her agenda. “Exactly. Which is why we’re here, and I’m making certain you regain your skill and sharpen your alertness.”

“Why is this so important to you?” He couldn’t figure the woman out.

She shrugged. “I saved you. I feel somewhat responsible for honing you into the fighter you once were, for your sake.”

That was a nice sentiment, but it wasn’t the whole truth. He could tell. Her eyes shifted away from his for the briefest moment, her jaw clenched, and her fingers tightened around the
sword’s hilt. These outward signs were quickly gone once she met his gaze again, convincing him all the more that she was hiding something.

Everything about Luc’s being here was off. Her story was too pat. Yet he couldn’t say he was hating his “captivity”—far from it.

“If that’s your story, fine,” he said nonchalantly. “I need the exercise, anyway.”

She frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I know you’re not telling me everything. But I can live with that, for now.”

“You’re delusional. Let’s continue, shall we?” Smirking, she said, “You win, and I’ll submit to
you
tonight.”

“And if I lose?”

She paused, thinking. “I’ll come up with some sort of extra devious torture for you.”

“All things considered, that’s an offer I’d be a fool to turn down.” A shiver went through him. What would she do to him if he lost? Or what torment would he choose for her? He failed to see how he’d lose, either way. “You’re on.”

She took up a fighter’s stance in front of him, feet braced apart, sword gripped in both hands, at the ready, and then she waited. Resisting the suicidal urge to roll his eyes, he yanked the tip of his sword from the dirt, loosened his shoulders, stepped back, and gave the weapon a couple of experimental swings. Whatever her motivations, he had to admit it did feel good to test the weight of the sword in his hand, to wield its strength even if only in mock combat.

He circled her, forcing her to turn to keep him in her sights. Putting her on the defensive had proved damned near impossible so far, which wasn’t surprising—but it was frustrating. On the
battlefield, he’d have been her equal, once. Those years were long past, and though he still didn’t see the necessity of sharpening his skills to their eighteenth-century glory when a gun loaded with silver bullets would do just fine, the competitor in him didn’t wish to be bested.

She wasn’t making success easy. He tried a couple of swings that she quickly blocked, steel clanging throughout the courtyard. He advanced, and she dodged with the fleetness of a deer while twisting her body to deliver a strike he had no time to counter. Her blade sliced his left upper arm, the sting immediate, warm blood streaming down to spatter onto the ground as he spun away and managed to counter her next blow—barely.

Satan’s balls, she actually cut me!

He didn’t know why that surprised him so much when his brothers would’ve done the same during practice. In fact, they had, on many occasions. And he discovered that his own incompetence pissed him off just as much now as it had back then.

With the anger came a surge of adrenaline and of fierce concentration that slid into place like a key in a lock, opening a door he had thought closed by time and his own complacency. Suddenly he found his rhythm, his balance. And along with those, his confidence. It was like achieving liftoff.

Luc saw the exact moment Kass realized the stakes had changed. Her eyes widened just a bit, and she sidestepped, barely escaping a blow that would’ve given her a wound to match his own—perhaps worse. His attack was so cunning, so relentless, she was forced to redouble her efforts, to give their battle everything she had in order to counter him. Vaguely, he became aware that they were attracting an audience.

The rush of victory, a feeling long forgotten, sang through
his veins. Right at this moment, their bargain wasn’t a factor. He was determined to win because winning was in his blood. That was what Fontaines did—they conquered.

As he drove her backward, it happened. Kass tripped and hit the ground hard on her hip, allowing him the second he needed to snap the tip of the blade to her throat.

“I win.” He punctuated the announcement with a wink.

Several servants gasped from nearby. Chest heaving, Kass stared at him incredulously from her sitting position. Unable to stop himself—and why should he?—Luc took a few moments to study how wonderfully fuckable his goddess looked with her dark blond hair coming free of its thick braid to frizz around her face. She wore tight brown pants, matching knee-high leather boots, a tank top that was presently covered by a protective breastplate, while a fine sheen of sweat glistened on her supple skin.

Scrumptious.
He was so going to enjoy savoring every nip and nibble.

Smiling, he offered his hand. Kass hesitated a second, her expression neutral, before she accepted and allowed him to pull her to her feet. When she remained silent, he cocked his head.

“Nothing to say? Want to back out of the deal now that you’ve lost?” His teasing went unchallenged. Shrugging, he turned and began walking toward a side door. “If you want to sulk, that’s perfectly fine with me because the outcome will still be—”

A solid blow slammed between his shoulder blades, driving the air from his lungs. Staggering forward, he fought to retain his balance and made an awkward pivot, spinning to face Kass. Her expression now hard as stone, the Valkyrie swung the blade in a downward arc, forcing him to thrust out his own sword in a block that was almost parallel to the ground. When he did, his
already precarious balance tipped, and he was the one who ended up on his ass this time, the point of her weapon at
his
throat.

“You lose,” she said softly. “Never turn your back on your opponent.”

“But we were finished!” he spluttered in outrage. And yeah, embarrassment. Because the onlookers who were so impressed with his win before were now snickering and not bothering to hide their derision. Gods, how embarrassing.

“The battle is never finished. Not until the enemy is dead. You know that, but you’ve gotten soft.”

His face burned. Fuck, he couldn’t recall the last time he’d been so humiliated. In all fairness, he’d invited defeat in exactly the way she’d said. But that didn’t mean he had to like that she was right.

“Sonofabitch.” Flipping his sword toward her, hilt up, he nodded. “I yield.”

Taking his weapon, she handed both swords to a young boy who hovered nearby, then removed her breastplate. The kid took all three of the items and left them alone.

Turnabout was fair play, so she helped him up with a smirk and gestured for him to walk ahead of her. “Inside.”

“Then what?”

“We’re going to get showered, and then you’ll wait for me in your room.”

“I can’t shower with my mistress?” Over his shoulder, he gave her his best pout.

It didn’t work. “If I wanted you to shower with me, I’d tell you.”

“Damn, you’re a hard-ass.”

“Pardon me?” Her glare could’ve melted a polar ice cap.

“Nothing, mistress,” he added. He wisely fell silent, not speaking again until they were upstairs. “What do you have planned for me?”

“And spoil the surprise? I think not. Now run along and do as I told you. Be ready in ten minutes.”

“Come on. That’s hardly enough time to catch my—” The half-formed argument suffered a swift death in the face of a single arched brow from Kass. “Ten minutes. Gotcha.”

“Good boy.” Trailing a fingernail the length of his jaw, she gave him a genuine smile that reached her eyes.

“I’m beginning to think you can be taught. After tonight, we’ll know for sure.”