Creations 4: Caging the Beast by Marie Harte Page B

His mate’s mouth would do as well.
    Zachem tentatively stroked the tip of his shaft with his tongue. Then hearing Tarn’s heady groan, began sucking him off. The rasp of Zachem’s tongue, the hot warmth of his mouth, the light graze of his teeth as he lovingly applied the right pressure to his glans… The blowjob aroused him all too quickly. The sound of sucking, Pyrgo’s harsh breathing, and the sweet smell of desire had Tarn spilling before he’d wanted to.
    His knees trembled as he unloaded into his mate’s mouth. “Good boy. Swallow it all, that’s it,” he praised, stroking Zachem’s shiny hair. He caressed his cheeks and neck, loving the feel of subservience in the powerful male. “Now put the loincloth on me,” he rasped and withdrew. Catching his breath, he stepped into the rak hide Zachem held.
    When he turned to Pyrgo, he saw angry desire in the Ebrellion’s eyes and tense frame.
    Under normal circumstances, he might have shared his mate’s skilled mouth. But until Zachem fully committed to him, he wouldn’t chance his mate going into another’s arms.
    “Come on.” Pyrgo turned on his heel and swore the whole way to Furon’s chambers.
    They followed close behind.
    “Better now?” Zachem drew close to ask, sarcasm in his deep voice.
    “Much.” Tarn wanted to laugh. Talk about feeling free. A glance over his shoulder showed him Zachem’s frustration. Shaking his head, he admonished, “Will that arousal away. Later, Beast, I’ll see to my new slave. No one fucks you but me, do you understand?” Zachem grimaced. “Easier said than done in this place.” 

    “Trust me. No one will touch you.” Anger pushed Tarn’s inner sight to the forefront.
    He looked at his mate and saw heat patterns and shei outlines. He saw his other half. “No one will touch you…and live.”

Chapter Eight

    Three days later, Zachem still had no idea what Tarn really wanted. Now that the big fight had ended, Master Furon put the two of them back together in Zachem’s cell. They spent their days training to get stronger, as well as helping the weaker fighters to get better.
    Tarn clearly wasn’t cut out for instruction, as he had little patience with anyone who failed to meet his standards. Zachem, however, liked helping the others. It gave him something to focus on besides his enigmatic new master.
    He stifled a groan at the thought, wishing he could control these newfound sexual responses to his lover. Lover, not master. By the stars, Tarn had some kind of hold on him he couldn’t break. Zachem stood a head taller and clearly had more brawn, but Tarn’s strength went bone deep. Zachem still couldn’t discount Tarn’s strange inner eyelid, nor the male’s ability to score him with nails that never looked sharp enough to do so much damage. And what about Tarn’s teeth?
    He couldn’t count the number of times he’d bled after a sexual encounter with the insatiable male.
    “Beast, like this?” one of the new fighters asked. He stood with his balance all wrong and his hands too low to do him any good.
    Zachem shook free of his distracting thoughts and corrected the slave. Like the others, the slave had the mistaken perception he could win his way to freedom. But the more he won, the more valuable he’d be to Furon, who’d never part with anyone who could bring in currency to this shithole.
    After another few hours spent working with the fighters, some experienced, others not, Zachem headed back to his cell. There he happened upon Tarn and Pyrgo talking quietly.
    Tarn didn’t stop his part in the discussion, but his eyes turned that vibrant green-gold and his pupil changed shape when he glanced at Zachem.
    “Remember, don’t be late.” Pyrgo scowled, but Tarn didn’t pay enough attention to mind. “Don’t fuck this up,” Pyrgo barked, turned on his heel, and left without another word.
    “What have you been up to?” Zachem asked, wondering how the hell Tarn planned on leaving this place. Pyrgo