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)
Can’t believe I’m doing this! Can’t believe I’m actually sitting on him wearing nothing but this tiny little pair of barely-there panties! Kaitlyn thought.
But having a panic attack over breaking protocol wasn’t going to help her get through this feast. She tried to settle herself and relax a little as she calmed her mind.
Yes, she was sitting on her Protector—his shaft trapped upright in the narrow, heated space between her thighs. And yes, the broad crown of his cock was nestled firmly against her panty-clad pussy—a persistent, throbbing pressure against her most sensitive area. And yes again, it was the most intimate non-penetration imaginable, but she’d had no choice. This was the way they did things here on Salimba Prime and she had to abide by Court etiquette, or they were never going to get a deal for the Love Vine.
So get over it, she lectured herself. You’ll do whatever you have to do in order to complete the mission.
At least now that she was seated, the Empress didn’t look so irritated. She gave Kaitlyn a small, satisfied nod and returned her attention to the concubine servicing her.
Kaitlyn sat perfectly still, every nerve in her body screamingly aware of the hard, hot club of flesh pressed against her. The feast hadn’t even begun, and she was already balanced on a razor's edge of unbearable need and dark desire.
How was she going to get through this?
12
BRAZE
Agony.
It was the only word for what he was feeling, but it was an agony so exquisite—so perfectly pitched between torment and ecstasy—that Braze felt he might shatter from the sheer intensity of it.
He fucking loved having Kaitlyn sit on him. The weight of her…the soft, lush curve of her ass pressing down on his lower belly…the possessive way she was claiming him in front of this entire twisted court—it sent a surge of primal satisfaction through him that clashed violently with the desperate ache in his groin.
But it was worse than that—so much worse. Or better. He really couldn’t decide.
The thin, silky barrier of her panties was a maddening tease. He could feel every thread of the lace against the ultrasensitive skin of his shaft, which was trapped—rigid and throbbing—in the hot, tight channel between her body and his. With every shallow breath she took, the fabric whispered over him. And he knew—he knew—there was a slit in those panties. He’d put them on her himself—had seen the vertical opening that framed her sweet pussy.
Now, he could feel the proof of it. A different heat radiated from that spot—a damp, searing warmth that was all Kaitlyn. It was like a beacon, calling to the most primitive part of his brain. And occasionally, when she made the smallest adjustment—a nervous shift, or a lean to one side or the other—the slit in the panties would part and her body would move just enough that her pussy would kiss him.
Braze felt it every time it happened. When she moved, the soft, swollen, slick flesh of her hot inner cunt would brush against the head of his straining cock. It was a fleeting, molten touch that lasted less than a heartbeat but sent lightning arcing up his spine.
Each tiny, accidental contact was a bolt of pure sensation, and each one told him the same undeniable truth—she was wet. Fucking soaking. So slippery and hot that if she had raised up just a little and moved forward, he could have slipped deep inside her with no effort at all on his part.
The thought made him even harder—as did her scent. Her feminine arousal was a tangible perfume in the air between them, and her body was betraying her own need just as blatantly as his was.
He cursed the cock ring silently. It was a merciless taskmaster—keeping him engorged, preventing any hope of release, and turning what should be a building pleasure into a constant, low-grade groan of frustration. It made every pulse of his blood a throb of desperate want…every brush of lace against his cock a torturous promise. Gods, he’d been in need for so long at this point he was sure he could come from just that—from those little kisses alone—if not for the cruel, unyielding circle of metal and leather around the base of his shaft.
And yet, he wouldn’t trade places with anyone in the whole fucking universe right now. Not the freest warrior on the Kindred home world…not the richest male in the universe—not even the Emperor of the Seven Galaxies.
This was his place—here—under her, serving at her pleasure. His Mistress…his wife. The scent of her…the feel of her…the quiet, shared tension thrumming between them—it was a drug more potent than any he’d ever had. He was on display—bound by protocol and metal—being used as her furniture—and it felt more right than any victory in battle ever had.