Chapter 17

She saw his eyes open, his pupil a contracted dot within the azure iris, and he laughed, breathlessly. "I should tear out your throat for mounting me, little mate," he seemed unable to lift his head, he was so relaxed in the aftermath of his orgasm. "It is forbidden. But," he moistened his lips with his tongue and grinned, an almost feral expression. "I find it is a forbidden pleasure. An extreme pleasure." He pulled her against his chest and slid them down the backrest until they lay, bound together, nose to nose. "What is it that you think you have won from me?" He wondered, brushing her lips with his. "You know." She was warm now, from the activity and his body against hers, and she had gained that comfort on her own terms, not his. "Hmm," he was amused and almost falling asleep. She had not seen him so unguarded before, so smugly sated. A cat who had got the cream... or who had been ridden well and hard. "I believe I have won," he replied, his hands tightening on her hips to prevent any squirm of protest. "You reached orgasm without my mating croon." "Is that what you call it? The growl? A mating croon?" She did not tell him that she had preventing him using the sound on her, a small measure of defiance, another small victory of wresting control from him. "Mmm." She touched his cheek, feeling the scars beneath her fingertips, and traced them to his nose. His eyes opened just a slither, watching her face, not quite trusting her. She felt the bone and cartilage of his nose beneath the skin, tracing its sharp line, before smoothing the hair of his eyebrow out towards his hairline. His eyes closed fully, and she brushed the tips of her fingers across the edges of the eyelashes that grew thick and heavy there. Studying the enemy, she told herself, though the truth was that he was so beautiful she wanted to touch him out of simple fascination, and he seemed content to allow her to do so, his breathing even and his body relaxed. She explored the softness of his lips with the pad of her thumb, and then lifted her face up to his in order to taste them with the tip of her tongue as she stroked her hand down his arm, feeling the rise and fall of the heavy muscle beneath the corrugation of scarring. He flexed his hips, pressing into the hold of their flesh, rumbling a little in his chest, a background hum that was barely audible, and leaned into the kiss, keeping his lips gentle against hers, and returning the soft strokes of her tongue with his own, gradually rolling until she was underneath him. He kept his lips against hers, and his eyes open so that she knew she had to maintain eye contact, something she normally hated to do, the intense scrutiny too intrusive, but the expression in his eyes had changed and the change fixated her, as she tried to identify it s meaning. After his orgasm, when he was able to ease out of her, he focused on painting them both with the result of their sex. As she watched the ritualistic behaviour, she fought against her curiosity. "Why do you do that?" He didn t look at her, and for a moment she thought he would not answer. "Scent marking." "Scent marking," she repeated. He marked himself as well, she thought. Not just marking her as belonging to him, but also marking himself as belonging to her. Somehow, she did not think that he considered the action from that perspective, but she explored it with excitement. If she was his slave, marking him as hers made him equally her slave, another small win on her tally board. She took some of the sticky mess from her skin and smeared it across his chest. She felt his shock, and for a moment, wondered if she had crossed a line that would have repercussions, but then he purred approvingly, and nuzzled his nose against her cheek before running his tongue across her cheekbone. She met his hand with hers, claiming the come as he collected it, and rubbed it into his skin, sliding it across his torso and over his arms, covering him as thoroughly as he covered her. His breathing changed, becoming heavy, his c-k stiffening against her. Her own lungs felt tight, and her body ached, a throb of need building as his fingers within her changed purpose, stroking his thumb over the piercing through her clitoris, his eyes on hers smouldering. She put her fingers in his mouth, and he groaned, his tongue stroking against them, seeking the flavour they held, his eyes losing focus. She re-evaluated his constant forcing her to taste their come in light of his reaction – what she viewed as disgusting, he found erotic. She drew his mouth to hers, stroking her tongue against his, sharing the flavour of their sex in his mouth as he had done to her in the past. He made a growl that was pure lust, and she felt her body react, the craving for him intensifying beyond tolerance, and she moaned, dragging her hands down his body, and directing his hard-on into her, rising into him. His responding growl was dark with need and his thrusts against her were violent, untamed, very unlike the gentleness that he had been using with her, and yet it did not hurt her, and she pushed her heels against the couch, seeking more. "Oh, god," she cried out as he delivered. "Oh, don t stop. Harder." His growl was almost a roar as he obeyed her, driving himself into her with a ferocity that she knew should have been frightening, but instead pushed her into wildness against him, her nails digging into his skin as she climaxed, the force of it stealing the sound of her voice so that she simply gasped like a fish out of water, her clench around him milking him as he came, the muscles in his neck cording into his collar bone, and the grimace on his face on the edge between pleasure and pain. He collapsed heavily over her, and she could feel his heart the beat frantic against her chest. He shook, and she could feel the twitches of him within her, as if his orgasm lingered, as her own seemed to do, throbbing where they were joined. Her head was filled with white noise, a roar of non-sound and her nails were caked with his blood. "I am sorry," she whispered, suddenly fearful. "I clawed you." "That," he was almost asleep, but he purred reassuringly. "You should never apologize for. I will wear those marks with pride." They fell asleep together on the couch, and she only stirred when he was released from her and stood, lifting her against him, and carried her into the bedroom, placing her beneath the blankets. When she next awoke, her skin stiff with dried come and her muscles relaxed and lazy, he was gone, and a dress had been laid across the foot of the bed. She showered, washing the layer of come that became a slime under the water from her skin thoughtfully. Scent marking. That would imply that his people were sensitive to smell. How sensitive? Did washing remove the scent? If she escaped, would her scent betray her to his people? How could she disguise it? She considered the dress in the bathroom mirror as she ran the comb through her hair. Her attempt to examine the lead over the door had been punished by the removal of her clothing, and her seduction and participation in the scent marking had earned the return of one dress, and a few sentences of conversation. She walked out and stood before the door, regarding the lead. She had felt it s bite and now knew what would happen if she drew too close or passed under it, the energy feedback between the collar and the lead designed to immobilize escaping slaves. She did not doubt that the cuff that Arken Rikash wore both controlled the device and protected him from the feedback. She had not determined how to remove the cuff from his wrist, yet. She was not entirely sure it would be possible. But would one type of energy defeat the other? Or would she simply create a bigger feedback and suffer the consequences? She drew her power to her hands, spreading the sparking energy into threads that zapped and curled around her fingers, branching out to connect with other strands of power in constant motion, similar to an electrical current. Similar enough, though? She raised her hands slowly, frightened of what she was about to attempt, and directed the energy at the lead. For a moment, there was a reverb of the energy that stung its way from her fingertips to her elbows, and she grimaced in pain. She pushed harder, dragging deeply from her reserves, until the metal strand adhered to the wall fizzed along its length, and smoke rose in a dusty electrical stink. The lead disconnected from the wall and fell to the floor with a dull thud. She released her power, exhausted from her efforts, and not sure if she had achieved a win, or just caused herself further trouble. She returned to the room and laid down in the bed, the linen heavy with the scent of their sex. It was a gamble, she thought as she closed her eyes. How would he interpret her actions and what would he do about them?