he didn’t like Zachem’s stubborn refusal to bend. Already his mate sought to test his boundaries.
“Our time starts now,” he growled. “Beast, I want you to dress me.” Zachem looked as if he meant to argue but didn’t.
“That’s right. You do what I say when I say. I’m a good master, Zachem. Better than any you’ve ever had. You’ll see that the longer you’re with me.” Zachem said nothing, and Tarn wondered about his past. How many others had his beast served? And why did daggers of jealousy work their way into his heart at thoughts that Zachem might prefer any of them to him?
“Ah, Master?”
Tarn’s arousal grew stiffer at the title. ‘Master’ sounded so right from Zachem’s firm lips.
“Yes, czeva ?”
“What does that mean?”
“It means servant.” It actually meant warrior’s heart , but no reason to let Zachem know, not yet.
“Great,” Zachem rumbled and grabbed his loincloth off the table. “I want to know how the hell I’m supposed to wrap this around you with that massive cock in my way.” At that moment, Pyrgo barged into the cell without warning and closed the door behind him. “Time to get back to reality. Zachem, Tarn, Master Furon wants a word.” He stopped at the sight of both men naked and aroused. “I see you’ve been busy.”
“Give me a minute, here,” Tarn sent him.
“Just a minute? I’m disappointed, Destroyer. No staying power?” Pyrgo answered. Aloud, he said, “You two plan on getting dressed? Or are you hoping to tempt the guards by waving around those huge cocks? Beast, no wonder you’re so popular with the slaves.” He paused and sniffed. “And what’s with that perfume? How the hell did you get your hands on something that fine in The Pit?”
Tarn grinned at Zachem’s pretended innocence. That scent was Zachem’s way of holding onto him. A Creation’s pheromones had been designed as a defence mechanism. To hold an enemy in thrall while taking the offence, though it could also be used with bedsport.
Tarn had watched his nephew and mate play around time and time again with their scents, attracting and holding the other’s attention before darting away to make love. He dared hope Zachem wanted him as badly. That Pyrgo had no idea what to make of it told Tarn Zachem hadn’t used it around him.
Zachem’s skin sparkled with gold. His red eyes flashed with heat. He tossed Tarn’s loincloth at him and put his own on awkwardly around his erection. “Okay. I’m ready.”
“Not quite.” Anticipation surged. Time to test his new mate. “A moment more, Pyrgo?
It won’t take long.”
“Shit. Don’t play around, not in front of me, Tarn. Don’t you know how long I had to fuck to will away this hard-on? And now you’re going to make me watch? You have a mean streak, Destroyer.
Very cruel.” Pyrgo coughed and subtly shifted his stance as the bulge between his legs twitched. “Fine, Slave Six. Just hurry up.”
Tarn pulled Zachem close and shoved the loincloth back in his hand. “I told you to put this on me. If you can’t wrap it around me the way I am, take care of it. Make me smaller…with your mouth,” Tarn ordered, eager to feel his mate’s lips around him once more.
Stars, he couldn’t get enough. And to have Pyrgo watch, to show the Ebrellion how well his mate responded, made him even harder.
Zachem glanced from Tarn to Pyrgo and back again. He lowered his voice and leant closer, “But Pyrgo’s here. You don’t really want me to—”
“Yes, I fucking do.” Tarn grabbed Zachem by the hair and twisted it, yanking him hard enough to hurt. The sweet smell around them intensified. His beast definitely liked a bit of pain.
Pyrgo let out a small moan. “Damn, that smells good.”
“Now, Beast, make me smaller.” He forced Zachem to his knees and waited. The tip of his cock was wet. He ached to spill inside his mate, inside the warm honet that contained such energy—Zachem’s core. But he had little time.
“Our time starts now,” he growled. “Beast, I want you to dress me.” Zachem looked as if he meant to argue but didn’t.
“That’s right. You do what I say when I say. I’m a good master, Zachem. Better than any you’ve ever had. You’ll see that the longer you’re with me.” Zachem said nothing, and Tarn wondered about his past. How many others had his beast served? And why did daggers of jealousy work their way into his heart at thoughts that Zachem might prefer any of them to him?
“Ah, Master?”
Tarn’s arousal grew stiffer at the title. ‘Master’ sounded so right from Zachem’s firm lips.
“Yes, czeva ?”
“What does that mean?”
“It means servant.” It actually meant warrior’s heart , but no reason to let Zachem know, not yet.
“Great,” Zachem rumbled and grabbed his loincloth off the table. “I want to know how the hell I’m supposed to wrap this around you with that massive cock in my way.” At that moment, Pyrgo barged into the cell without warning and closed the door behind him. “Time to get back to reality. Zachem, Tarn, Master Furon wants a word.” He stopped at the sight of both men naked and aroused. “I see you’ve been busy.”
“Give me a minute, here,” Tarn sent him.
“Just a minute? I’m disappointed, Destroyer. No staying power?” Pyrgo answered. Aloud, he said, “You two plan on getting dressed? Or are you hoping to tempt the guards by waving around those huge cocks? Beast, no wonder you’re so popular with the slaves.” He paused and sniffed. “And what’s with that perfume? How the hell did you get your hands on something that fine in The Pit?”
Tarn grinned at Zachem’s pretended innocence. That scent was Zachem’s way of holding onto him. A Creation’s pheromones had been designed as a defence mechanism. To hold an enemy in thrall while taking the offence, though it could also be used with bedsport.
Tarn had watched his nephew and mate play around time and time again with their scents, attracting and holding the other’s attention before darting away to make love. He dared hope Zachem wanted him as badly. That Pyrgo had no idea what to make of it told Tarn Zachem hadn’t used it around him.
Zachem’s skin sparkled with gold. His red eyes flashed with heat. He tossed Tarn’s loincloth at him and put his own on awkwardly around his erection. “Okay. I’m ready.”
“Not quite.” Anticipation surged. Time to test his new mate. “A moment more, Pyrgo?
It won’t take long.”
“Shit. Don’t play around, not in front of me, Tarn. Don’t you know how long I had to fuck to will away this hard-on? And now you’re going to make me watch? You have a mean streak, Destroyer.
Very cruel.” Pyrgo coughed and subtly shifted his stance as the bulge between his legs twitched. “Fine, Slave Six. Just hurry up.”
Tarn pulled Zachem close and shoved the loincloth back in his hand. “I told you to put this on me. If you can’t wrap it around me the way I am, take care of it. Make me smaller…with your mouth,” Tarn ordered, eager to feel his mate’s lips around him once more.
Stars, he couldn’t get enough. And to have Pyrgo watch, to show the Ebrellion how well his mate responded, made him even harder.
Zachem glanced from Tarn to Pyrgo and back again. He lowered his voice and leant closer, “But Pyrgo’s here. You don’t really want me to—”
“Yes, I fucking do.” Tarn grabbed Zachem by the hair and twisted it, yanking him hard enough to hurt. The sweet smell around them intensified. His beast definitely liked a bit of pain.
Pyrgo let out a small moan. “Damn, that smells good.”
“Now, Beast, make me smaller.” He forced Zachem to his knees and waited. The tip of his cock was wet. He ached to spill inside his mate, inside the warm honet that contained such energy—Zachem’s core. But he had little time.
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