Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 80903 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 405(@200wpm)___ 324(@250wpm)___ 270(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80903 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 405(@200wpm)___ 324(@250wpm)___ 270(@300wpm)
She looked up at Braze. His golden eyes met hers, blazing in the dimmer light. They held a storm of emotions—arousal, yes, but also a stark, vulnerable intensity she had never seen there before. The charade was over for now, but a far more dangerous game had just been announced, and Kaitlyn knew it.
They had to stay…they had to perform. And after what had just been revealed, Kaitlyn wasn’t sure where the performance ended…and her own desperate, hungry truth began.
6
BRAZE
The herald moved with silent, gliding steps, leading them through the overwhelming grandeur. Braze followed, his own footfalls a dull, heavy counterpoint on the polished floors, every muscle in his body pulled wire tight.
The palace interior was a symphony of decadence carved from living stone. They walked down a corridor where the walls weren't mere marble, but vast, seamless panels of iridescent pearl-stone that shifted from pale lavender to deep rose with the angle of the light. Between them, arched windows open to the balmy air were framed by cascading waterfalls of what looked like liquid silver, flowing without sound or source into troughs filled with glowing, bioluminescent blossoms.
The ceiling soared overhead—a curved vault painted with a breathtaking mural of Salimban history. They displayed scenes of elegant women receiving tribute…of lush vineyards…of tangled, flowering vines wrapping lovingly around kneeling male forms. The air itself was perfumed—heavier here than in the throne room—a cloying mix of what smelled like night-blooming jasmine and something muskier…more animalistic, that seemed to seep from the very stones.
But none of their surroundings registered with Braze beyond a blur of opulent beauty. All of his awareness was funneled into a single, throbbing point of agony and shame between his legs.
His cock was a rigid, aching brand against his belly, still trapped behind the maddeningly soft maroon silk. Every shift of the fabric as he walked was a torturous caress—a whisper against the over-sensitized flesh. The swollen knot at its base felt heavy and full—a persistent, demanding pulse that echoed the beat of his heart.
Fuck—kneeling beside Kaitlyn, sucking her sweet nipples, and having her put him on display the way Mistress Lovely one had often displayed him had made him so fucking hard. He needed release with a desperation that bordered on pain—there was a pressure building in his sac that made each step an exercise in sheer will.
But beneath the physical torment churned a cold sea of guilt.
What in the Seven Hells came over you? whispered a voice in the back of his head. Why did you do that? Why did you act that way?
He’d crossed a line that had no uncrossing. He’d put his mouth on her—on Ambassador Kaitlyn, his charge, his responsibility—without a word of permission.
It was a fundamental violation of every code he lived by. Kindred protocol was absolute—consent was sacred and asked for explicitly—especially outside the context of a formal Claiming. A Protector initiating sexual contact with his charge without her permission was grounds for immediate dismissal—for being stripped of his rank and exiled from the Mother Ship in disgrace. The Beast Kindred were warriors of control…yet he had exhibited none.
He replayed the moment in the throne room—the feel of her stiffening nipple against his tongue…the sweet, salty taste of her skin…the way her breath had caught in her throat. But she hadn’t pulled away and he’d been lost—submerged in his role and in the scent of her shock that had quickly melted into pure, undiluted arousal. That was the worst part—the thing that made his gut clench even now.
Because Kaitlyn hadn’t been angry. He’d braced for a slap or perhaps a hissed command to stop. Instead, he’d smelled her desire as he teased her nipples with his tongue and fingers. That warm, sweet, unmistakably feminine scent of a female getting hot and wet had tickled his nose.
And later, as he’d spoken to the Empress, his voice gravelly with a possessiveness he hadn't feigned, describing how he would thrust into his “wife,” how his knot would swell and lock inside her tight little pussy… the air around Kaitlyn had bloomed with her hot, sweet fragrance.
It had been unmistakable—a pheromonal call that had gone straight to his already straining cock. She had been aroused by his blunt, carnal description. By the idea of being taken…claimed…bound to him.
Gods, he wanted her so fucking badly!
The memory alone threatened to undo him. A fresh surge of pre-cum leaked from his tip, soaking the silk panel and adding a damp, cool patch rubbing against his cock to add to his torment. He adjusted his stride—a slight, awkward hitch in his gait, trying to find a position that didn’t make the ache worse.
It was impossible.
What the fuck comes next?
He didn’t know.
The Empress’s decree rang in his ears. Days—they were here for days. He had to continue this performance—to kneel, to submit, to play the devoted, pleasure-giving husband in public. And, the Empress had strongly implied, in more private situations too.