Mercenaries (16 page)

“No!” Zaria cried, stepping between the Thrall and her sister's lifted fist. “He's mine! You will not touch him!”

An unholy light flooded Marcelle's eyes. She took a step forward as an ugly smile curled her lips. “Oh, won't I?”

As Zaria looked up at her taller, brawnier sister, something inside her cringed. Then she remembered the bloody back of Marcelle's last Thrall, and fury stormed in to replace the fear. “No,” she gritted. “Not this one. I saw him first. I want him.”

Marcelle laughed, a disbelieving shout of contempt. She lowered her head until she was nose to nose with Zaria. “You wouldn't even know what to do with him!”

“I'd know not to leave him a bloody ruin,” Zaria snapped, refusing to back down from the frenzy she could see growing in her sister's dark eyes.

“That's enough.” Ila's voice slashed through the atmosphere of violence swirling over the room. “Marcelle, your sister gets the Thrall.”

Forgetting her fury, Marcelle swung around to gape. “Mother, look at him. She can't handle—”

“At least she's never had a Thrall disappear,” Ila said. “How many have you lost this year alone?”

Six, since Zaria had grown sick of watching her sister's submissives suffer under Marcelle's brutal hand.

“He touched me!” Marcelle raged. “He should be punished!”

“Dear, when you twist a man's cock when he's not expecting it, these things happen.” The Dominess's eyes flickered. “Besides, it's past time your sister developed a . . . suitable interest in a man.” She turned to the Thralldealer. “How much?”

As the dealer diffidently named a price that was probably far less than he'd originally intended, Marcelle turned toward her again. The killing light in those black eyes made Zaria step back a pace. “You. Will. Pay.” Whirling, Marcelle stalked out.

“YOU know,”
Sebastian commed as Marcelle slammed the door behind her,
“I don't believe I've ever wanted to kick a woman's ass quite that bad.”

“Yeah, well, it's a good thing you controlled yourself,”
Nathan replied. He, Trin, Cassidy Vika, and another crewman were posing as the Thralldealer's assistants. Which meant they, at least, weren't standing around with their dicks hanging out for any passing lunatic to grab.
“We damn near ended up in a battle with the entire palace guard.”

“Bloody hell, we should have gone for it,”
Sebastian growled, his abused cock still throbbing.
“We could have taken the queen bitch hostage, and I could have given that vicious little lunatic the ass warming she so desperately needs.”

“We still don't know where the Domince is,”
Vika pointed out.
“They may be holding him somewhere else altogether. We can't take the chance.”

“Which means we're going to have to do this the way we originally planned,”
Nathan said, fixing a stern gaze on Sebastian.
“And that means you can't let yourself be taken off guard like that again. These women are sadists—and that includes your new owner. One of them will probably go after you again. Don't lose your temper next time.”

“Actually, I'm not so sure the other girl is quite that nasty,”
Trin said thoughtfully, eyeing the little Domina who still stood protectively at Sebastian's side.
“She was willing to step in front of him and defuse the entire situation. And judging from the look in Bitch Sister's eyes, she took a chance to do it.”

Trin had a point, Sebastian decided, looking down at his new “owner.”

Of course, he'd hoped to be bought by the mother, which would have simplified things considerably. Still, this girl had all the potential of being a much better alternative, from a personal standpoint if nothing else. She might be short, but she had a luscious little body. He was particularly looking forward to getting his hands—among other things—on those magnificent tits.

Besides, the girl had spine. She had to be a good fifteen centimeters shorter than Bitch Sister, and at least fifteen kilos lighter. She was also curved where the bitch was all wiry muscle. Yet she'd been willing to tackle Marcelle on his behalf.

All of which couldn't help but give a guy a warm, fuzzy feeling. Especially since there was a chance he'd get to sample her before he had to spring Ferrau. Particularly those galactic-class tits.

Hiding a grin, Sebastian started making plans.

AT last Zaria was able to escape back to her quarters with her new prize, Searle at their heels. She was itching to sketch the thrall. . . .

Among other things, whispered a wicked little voice.

Striding into the wide, airy room that was her studio, Zaria headed straight for the cabinet that held her supplies. Glancing automatically back at the Thrall—he had the unusual name of Sebastian, according to the Thralldealer—she saw he'd stopped to look around. His gaze was distinctly calculating, which might explain why Searle watched every move he made with narrow attention. Her guardsman plainly didn't trust him.

Perhaps with good reason. Perhaps she should tie the Thrall up, just to be safe. Her mind flashed to the image of Gemma, her body arched into a bow in the rack that morning. She pictured Sebastian's brawny form curved in the same dramatic pose and licked her lips.

Even her mother would approve of that composition.

“Lock him in the mounting block,” Zaria ordered Searle over her shoulder as she opened the supply cupboard and contemplated its contents. She decided she'd start out with a charcoal sketch. There'd be time for oils later.

“Mounting block?” she heard Sebastian mutter. “What do I look like, a horse?”

“You look like whatever the Ten Hells the Domina wants you to be,” Searle growled. “Now get into position.”

By the time Zaria had her easel set up with a thick sheet of paper affixed to the clip, Searle had manacled the Thrall to the block. The female superior position had never done that much for her, but when she turned and saw Sebastian bent in a bow over the mounting block's padded curve, she felt heat spin into her core.

The block was made like a wooden half circle standing on the floor. He lay draped over it on his back with ankles and wrists shackled to either side. Afternoon sunlight poured over his muscled contours, gleaming among the strands of his long hair as it spilled to the floor in a pool of golden silk.

Zaria had never seen a Thrall look more beautiful—or more pissed off. The green of his eyes had gone positively icy, and there was a distinct snarl in the line of his handsome mouth.

And unfortunately, his impressive cock was completely limp. Not at all the effect she was looking for.

Zaria crossed the room to him, barely aware of Searle closing the door behind him now that the Thrall was safely secured.

Sebastian lifted his head and glared up at her. “This is damned uncomfortable.”

“Oh, don't be a nig,” she said, bending over him and taking his cock in hand. “I know you've ridden a mounting block before.”

He watched warily as she began to handle him, as though afraid she was going to give his cock the same nasty jerk Marcelle had. “What's a nig?”

Zaria lifted a brow. It was a common expression. “A Thrall who whines at every little command.” Keeping her touch light and tender, she caressed his cock lovingly.

He swallowed. “You do realize that doesn't detach? I mean, you can borrow it, but only if the rest of me comes along for the ride.”

Zaria chuckled. “Don't worry, Sebastian. I have no intention of doing any damage to your magnificent anatomy.”

He gave her a flashing, roguish grin that made his goatee tilt up and something turn over in her chest. “Magnificent, huh?”

She smiled and cupped his balls. They were heavy, deliciously full in her palm. His cock filled, swelling to equally impressive proportions. “Oh, yes. Definitely magnificent.” Releasing him, she turned back toward her easel. “Now hold that pose.”

“What?”

Zaria grinned at the outrage in his voice. Her sister had never realized that you didn't need a whip to instill discipline.

“A good Thrall doesn't ogle the Domina in public, Sebastian,” she purred as she stepped behind her easel and picked up a piece of charcoal.

S
HE was going to
draw
him?

Sebastian stared at Zaria in disbelief as she stood behind her easel, sketching in long, confident strokes with some kind of black stick. He'd assumed she'd bought him for kinky sex, especially when she'd had that guard chain him to this . . . whatever it was. And he'd been perfectly willing to play along, as long as she didn't intend to yank any tender portions of his anatomy.

He hadn't realized she'd intended to torture him.

Look at her, standing over there with those incredible tits just barely contained in two leather cups that weren't nearly big enough for the job. She wore some kind of narrow leather thong thing that passed between her legs and left most of her pretty ass bare, while thick leather straps circled her legs from small booted feet all the way up to her crotch. The whole rig was obviously going for the I'll-kick-your-ass-and-make-you-beg-for-more look, but on her, it didn't quite come off.

That failure might have something to do with the softening effect of the lush sable curls tumbling over her shoulders. But more than likely it was her eyes—soft, brown, and damn near too big for her heart-shaped little face. Add the straight, delicate nose and the full lips that just begged for cock, and any pretensions of being a vicious dominatrix were simply doomed.

However, he could easily picture her all tied up and ready to take his dick in the orifice of his choice.

Damn, now there was a thought. He felt his cock twitch in lecherous appreciation.

Since there didn't seem to be much else he could do at the moment, Sebastian let himself sink into wicked daydreams in which she was the one shackled to the mounting block.

Only he sure as hell wouldn't be messing around with any little black sticks.

“THERE'S a term for women like you,” Sebastian growled after she'd spent a half hour sketching him. His cock had gotten longer and harder with every minute that passed. Zaria wasn't sure she wanted to know why.

She gave him a grin around her easel anyway. “Domina?”

“Tease,” he growled. “You know what happens to teases?”

Something inside Zaria gave a hot little kick of excitement. A Thrall had never looked at her like that, with feral masculine heat in his eyes, as if imagining all the ways he'd like to take revenge for her taunting.

New Thralls more typically wore expressions of breathless anticipation, as if eager to see what wicked thing she would do to them. Those familiar with her, however, only looked slightly bored. After all, they wanted a dominant as much as she did, and she simply wasn't convincing in the role.