Asmir panted into the plaster, heart pounding. His forehead ached where it was jammed into the edge of his peephole but he barely noticed, transfixed by the wide, moist blue eyes of the Tahl-maia as her beautiful face jerked repeatedly into his line of vision. Those luscious lips drew his gaze, her breathless gasps punctuated by almost incoherent sobs of, "Gentler! Please! My lord!"
He could see no more this time, but his mind burned with the glimpse he had once had of her naked, panting on her back on the concovation table when he had brought the Tahl tea. Her begging now was lost in a rising moan when the speed of the harsh, rhythmic slap of hips to buttocks increased despite her plea, the masculine grunts of pleasure echoing Asmir's flying hand beneath his robe and hammering heart.
The grunts were louder, rising towards triumphant to drown the soft, smothered chokes of "No! Please! No!" from the girl, when minutes later Asmir straightened himself on a long sigh, swiftly washing and wiping clean in the spare bowl and towel he brought for this purpose. Composing his features, he picked up his service tray and stepped soundlessly around the corner and along the last few yards of the tiny corridor buried between two walls, halting beside the guard poised outside the hidden doorway into the small withdrawing room where the Tahl was currently enjoying his bride. He could see nothing through the peephole here, but knew from the staccato grunts of his ruler that he must be ready. The Tahl no longer rested even a little after finishing in this one, dismissing her instantly after he had slaked his lust.
Slaked for a while, but never wholly assuaged. And no wonder, with a body like that at his beck and call. Asmir felt the tingle of lust reawakening while his mind flickered over the glimpses of the Tahl-maia he had seen in the three days since her apology. The sweat-drenched, golden skin and beautiful, trembling curves, limp with exhaustion wherever the Tahl was done playing with her -- and he was obviously making up for lost time after ignoring her all those weeks.
A favourite memory rose: her slumped on her knees on the floor with her arms tied behind her, the drenched, woebegone blue eyes above wet cheeks and parted lips, heaving breasts bewitching under the almost transparent silk while she had fought to regain her breath. That had been her third summons that day, and despite all the begging she had still not been taken between the thighs and allowed to reach that long scream of pleasure which had used to punctuate each encounter. It was a foolish woman who sought to rule their Tahl. Thank the gods the emperor had recovered from his strange diffidence and was now ruthless in reminding her of her place.
The high, wordless cry echoing from the room reminded Asmir that the Great Tahl
sometimes
still took his pleasure in a way that would pleasure his bride. The servant fought down the fire tingling in his blood, trying to ignore the way his cock pulsed at the harsh snarl of pleasure which echoed the girl's cry, shudderingly aware of the motionless bulk of the warrior poised beside him. Did the personal guards feel
nothing
?
Trembling, Alanna rolled off the sofa, landing on all fours beside the short, carved legs. Hoarsely gulping, trying to draw breath back into her screaming lungs, she huddled against the silk, limb shuddering, while Xanir strolled away, readjusting his clothing. He hadn't even undressed. Hastily Alanna clutched her untied bodice up to her chest when he spoke to the servant who appeared in the doorway bearing a tray with an urn of tea beside a steaming bowl of water, soap, and towel.
Wiping her eyes, they landed on the crumpled scrap of the undergarment she had used to support and enhance her cleavage, and widened. Her women had advised her not to wear it, and as they had predicted her husband had ripped it off in disgust without even looking. Swallowing, she reached for it.
"Leave that!"
Her hand jerked back at the harsh tone, and tears sprang automatically to her eyes. Damn her oversensitive tear ducts. Her mind whirled. He wasn't touching her. So he
meant
it.
Alanna swallowed again when the servant's eyes rested on her flushed face, and she turned it into the silk, sternly smothering the desire to smile. The servant, the lords she passed in the corridors, the concubines -- they were all so smug, relieved, delighted that Xanir no longer listened to a word she said and treated her with harsh, unrelenting lust, no tenderness. Although the concubines weren't so happy about the frequency.
No-one knew what he had whispered in her ear that first time he had summoned her after the garden, the elaborate game of opposites that they had been playing whenever he touched her. It had been so hard at first to remember through the haze of lust, and she had begged him to thrust harder, only to be furiously disappointed when his pace had immediately slackened. Now screaming, "No!" and "Softer!" and having him do the exact opposite sent her desire skyrocketing. There were times when as soon as he touched her she
begged
him not to take her throat again. She didn't know why she loved kneeling before him so much while he used her mouth; even the ache of dissatisfaction between her thighs was a strange pleasure, knowing from the tightness of his fingers in her hair and speed of his thrusts how much he loved her in that position also. She also strangely loved that today he had ignored her plea, making her scream in fulfilment when her slick passage had melted around him.
"Another," Xanir ordered, holding out his empty teacup, and the man busied himself with his task.
But sometimes this backwards, tortuous communication was frustrating. Heart pounding, while he was joking with the servitor, attention elsewhere, Alanna sneaked a trembling hand out to gather up the brasserie. An exclamation of stifled anger, and her eyes jumped to meet his as he bore down on her in fury.
"What did I tell you?"
The flashing black eyes flickered at the desperate message she was trying to convey with hers, and he yanked the material out of her grasp, stuffing it into his sash. "You don't need padding, princess. Let me show you."
His grip was gentle despite the firmness with which he hauled her to her feet, and then he was behind her, leaning her trembling figure back against his hard frame, hauling her hands up to clasp them together behind her head. She shuddered at the exposure.
"Eye on the floor!" Xanir snapped, and the gaping servant hastily dropped his mesmerised gaze from her naked breasts, fell to his knees, and pressed his forehead to the carpet where he remained, motionless except for the tremble to his frame.
Xanir looped the halter tie of the bodice of her dress tight around her wrists and tied them at her nape, elbows bent to the ceiling, the thin material plastered taut to every line. Her flush was burning almost painfully while her husband leaned in close and nipped her ear, growling fiercely, "You do as
I
say."
"I -. My lord," gulped Alanna on a whisper, trying to find words to explain while his hands carefully smoothed the fine silk which flattened her breasts to her chest, tweaking the hard buds with to punctuate each fierce phrase: "
Exactly
as I say. No less. No more."
She trembled. She knew there had been some risk in what she had done, but so very little, and despite the amazing sex she was miserable. She had had no contact with him. The
real
him. Three days! "My lord, please -." Her voice was hoarse.
"Bethesda will release you," Xanir cut across her, stepping away so abruptly she swayed. "Perhaps this will remind you of your duty of obedience. And do not even
try
to wear such a garment again." Her eyes flew to his stern, fierce face and she blanched when he clapped his hands briskly.
Not like this! Please, Xanir.
His eyes were cold, and he gestured for her guards to take her away.
The tears were sparkling on her cheeks when a moment later she was escorted past the avid eyes of the courtiers outside the door. Damn it, why did his displeasure make her cry?
