SurrendersMischief Read online

  One large hand left the handlebars.

  Riana tensed.

  He toggled a switch on the dashboard, putting the ’cycle on autopilot.

  Riana couldn’t tear her gaze from his leather-clad hands, watching them the way a trapped gizal watched a water serpent.

  Both hands now free, he removed the black leather glove from his left hand and then his right, the action slow and deliberate. On the back of his right hand a ragged scar started at his middle knuckle and snaked its way past his wrist to halfway up his arm.

  Fear chased up her spine.

  His hand bumped her bound wrists as he tucked the gloves into his belt.

  One large hand came around to cup her right breast, the heat from his calloused palm after the cold wind was exquisitely painful.

  She bit back a moan. “Don’t.”

  His thumb and forefinger pinched her nipple.

  Riana gave a startled yelp and tried to lean away from his touch. He hadn’t really hurt her, but the threat of pain was just below the surface.

  His touch eased and he rotated her nipple, pinching and pulling at her sensitive flesh. He covered the distended nipple with his palm until her flesh heated, creating an oasis of warmth from the cold. His left hand cradled her other breast, mirroring the erotic action of his right hand.

  Riana felt her breath quicken. Fuck, she was beginning to respond. She straightened her spine with a snap and tried to scoot backward. All she succeeded in doing was lodging herself more intimately into the vee of his spread thighs. She shot forward again. Captive, unable to evade his touch, Riana waited for his next move, her heart beating in a harsh, staccato rhythm.

  Her captor removed his right hand from her breast, only to return almost at once. He circled her nipple with his wet forefinger.

  A muffled cry of protest slipped past her hard-won control. The bastard had wet his finger. The cold air rushed over the now-wet flesh, causing her nipple to pucker painfully.

  “No,” she moaned, wriggling desperately against the icy chill.

  He removed his left hand and treated that breast to the same sensual torment.

  Riana tried to brace herself, but it was useless. A half sob escaped her clenched teeth.

  He smoothed his palms down her ribs, outlining each ridge with a delicate precision. He paused halfway down her side then retraced his path.

  Chills chased over her skin as the rough tips of his fingers explored a scar—a savage reminder of a run-in with a Delvidian snakebird—with surprising delicateness. The slow seduction after the pain was enough to begin to drive her from her mind.

  His hand began moving again, lower, lower, until he grazed her stomach with a light touch.

  The nerves beneath his palms fluttered, setting off sparks that went straight to her core, and to her horror, she felt her sex grow wet with desire.

  She squeezed her eyes shut. Don’t think about what he’s doing to you, she mentally chanted over and over, only to be distracted by a heated moan. The betraying sound had come from her lips. Focus, Riana. Focus on what you’re going to do to him once you get your freedom.

  She’d kill him. A slow and horrible death. She savored the thought of taking her time, enjoying each second of his demise. Maybe she’d feed him to a snakebird when she was done.

  He slowly, erotically separated the swollen folds of her labia, shattering her concentration. The cold wind became an icy whip that flicked her clit to greater arousal. Her lower body became a study in heat and cold.

  She was going to die from the pleasure.

  The wetness between her legs became a flood. She lifted her hips, frustrated to the point of screaming when she discovered she was too tightly bound to move far enough to brush her throbbing clit against his teasing fingers. “Oh Zethra, help me,” she moaned as a relentless tide of desire rushed over her.

  His roughened fingertips moved a fraction of a centimeter closer to her clit.

  “Please.”

  He moved his fingers over her clit, caressing her, stroking her distended tab of flesh, using her juices as lubricant to smooth the way.

  “Yes. Oh yes,” she hissed in unbearable relief.

  He shifted behind her, placing his mouth on the side of her neck and bit gently.

  A shiver slid down her spine, heightening her enjoyment. A part of her was stunned at her reaction, her response, amazed at her lack of protest at having a complete stranger take control of her body. He began to suck on her neck and his hand moved up to cup her breast, ensnaring that shocked part of her in passion.

  Riana arched her spine, throwing her head back, encouraging him to continue.

  He pressed his thumb against her slit.

  She began to burn deep inside. She smelled her own arousal. The light, musky fragrance embarrassed her as nothing else had, not even her nudity.

  He moved his thumb only to slip a finger inside her, thrusting it in and out while his thumb flicked against her clit.

  The burn became a furnace as he slipped another finger inside and stretched her, testing her tightness.

  Colors shimmered behind her closed eyes. “More, please, more,” she breathed over and over. Her hips lifted and fell, matching the rhythm of her captor’s invading fingers.

  He removed his hand and leaned back until he was no longer touching her.

  Dazed, it took her a moment to realize the meaning behind his action.

  “No!” Her scream ripped through the night, only the vast indifference of space hearing her cry of rage. “Damn you! Why are you doing this to me? I did you no harm. All I did was crash on your planet. On my world, we help stranded visitors. I’m a trader, dammit!” she stormed, only half aware of what she was saying. Inside, the fire of passion burned, outside, the wind turned the proof of her arousal icy, mocking her uncontrolled response.

  “You are no longer on your world. You are in Nexar.”

  They were the first words he had spoken to her since he began teasing and tormenting her.

  Riana sucked in a breath and forced herself to regain a modicum of control. “You will pay for this outrage. I swear I will make you pay.”

  Her overheated body began to cool off, and shudder after shudder ripped through her.

  “No. You will learn your place. How difficult you find your adjustment is purely up to you.” His hands slipped between her thighs again.

  “No!” Riana screamed.

  He ignored her.

  Her nerve endings roared to life. The muscles in Riana’s stomach clenched in protest. This couldn’t be happening. The folds of flesh between her legs, soft and moist, plumped with immediate arousal. Riana slammed her legs together, but it was a futile gesture as the saddle of the aircycle kept them obscenely wide. Fury and panic hit her, laying waste to any semblance of control. She jerked, this way and that, struggling to rip her bonds loose.

  Her captor let her wear herself out, his hands between her legs the entire time.

  Sobbing for air, awash with humiliation, Riana breathed brokenly, “Who are you? Answer me!”

  He remained silent.

  “Damn you, the least you could do is tell me your name.”

  His response was to slip his finger, slick from her body, inside her.

  Time lost all meaning. Her captor brought her to the brink of fulfillment time and time again, only to deny her release. Her own broken sobs and pleas rang in her ears.

  Lost in the sensations he had aroused, Riana was only vaguely aware of the aircycle slowing to a stop. Every nerve in her body quivered with influx of sensory overload. Even the touch of the breeze was painful.

  “Please…no more,” she begged as she felt movement behind her.

  He freed one of her hands and placed it on his groin. He wasn’t the slightest bit aroused.

  It was the final humiliation.

  He leaned forward. “I am Darias. Your master.”

  Chapter Two

  Darias, Supreme Chief of Nexar, the largest of the country-states on the planet T
arbos, leaned one shoulder against the doorjamb separating the bedchamber from the smaller sitting room. One hand went to the back of his neck. Damn, he was getting too old to sleep in a chair. He glared at the woman in his bed. She stretched, and a small frown formed between her eyes when her head turned on the pillow. A residual headache, he knew, from being stunned.

  He rubbed the knot on the side of his head before his fingers trailed down to the bruise on the side of his face. Served her right. She was just damn lucky he let her sleep in the bed at all. In his father’s day, slaves slept on the floor or in their quarters when not serving their masters.

  She shifted again, and this time a tiny groan leaked free as she moved her shoulders. An unexpected jolt of guilt slugged his gut. He straightened, his aches and pains forgotten.

  He’d kept her arms tied in the awkward position far longer than he’d originally intended. But once he touched her, he couldn’t seem to stop. Her skin was so soft, like the finest spidersilk cloth. She’d needed a lesson, but he feared he was the one who paid the price. Something that wasn’t supposed to happen.

  Males punished females, but they weren’t moved by it. Detachment was imperative to drive home the seriousness of the infraction so the female didn’t repeat the offense.

  He scrubbed his fingers against the sides of his leather breeches, but the sensation of liquid silk and the heat of hidden depths remained. His hand clenched on his thigh. He inhaled a slow breath and, damn, caught the elusive tang of her arousal.

  The hard, heavy beat of blood in his groin, the same one that’d made a good portion of his night miserable, jumped. His father’s disdainful laughter rang in his ears. He’d never understood his son’s distaste for sex after a punishment. One time, determined to erase such softness in his only son, his father had locked him in the women’s cells with the woman Darias had punished just hours before, during his training. The scent of her wild arousal and the blood pounding through every cell in his body had been sheer torture for a young man barely past the cusp of manhood and barely in control of his emotions. Old fury tore through Darias. Never again had he allowed his father to manipulate him, but he’d still lost much that day and some things just could not be regained.

  Darias shoved both the memory and the ache in his groin to the back of his mind. He was no longer that boy.

  No, now he was a man besieged by problems on all sides. Not the least of which was his impulsive decision to take the offworlder as slave. What the hell had he been thinking? To find surcease in her shapely body? Hah! Already the woman proved to be more troublesome than a pack of firekits turned loose in the keep. Talk about defiant. Even exhausted and hyper-aroused from her punishment, she’d refused to acknowledge him as master, much less herself as slave.

  A soft knock at the chamber door pulled him from his thoughts. He opened it to find Bryta, his first-in-command’s woman. In her arms were several silken outfits. She aimed an uneasy smile in his direction. Darias repressed a sigh when her gaze skittered away from his. He wasn’t a monster for Quaral’s sake.

  “Gaith said you had need of these.” She held out the clothes, still seemingly fascinated with a spot somewhere below his chin.

  “Thank you.” He took them, resisting the urge to see if she’d jump if he said “Boo”. Gaith’s woman was too damn timid for his taste. But then again, most women were timid around him. Hopefully she was more outspoken with his friend. Curious now, he studied her closely, perhaps for the first time. Wild blonde curls capped a face made up of gentle lines. The soft curve of a cheek, full bottom lip, a gently rounded chin, all spoke of a woman whose nature was to please.

  He couldn’t ever imagine her attacking a man, not even during the most extreme circumstances.

  So unlike the redheaded hellion he’d claimed for his own.

  A thought occurred to him. “Bryta?” She jumped and he again repressed a sigh. Darias consciously gentled his voice. “My new slave is an offworlder and unfamiliar with our ways. I would deeply appreciate it if you would take her under your wing and make the adjustment easier for her.” He waved a hand, inviting her in. With Bryta keeping his slave busy and out of trouble, he could engage Gaith or one of the men-at-arms in a satisfying, exhausting bout of training. Gods knew, he needed something to take care of the annoyingly persistent awareness plaguing him. When Bryta just eyed him, trepidation in her dove-gray eyes, he tried out a reassuring smile, only to let it die away when she took a step back.

  Damn his father. Ten years after his death, the women still couldn’t bring themselves to trust a de Vares. Not even one who had abolished the practice of sovereign’s right to punish. “I will be in the courtyard.” The relief on her face as she slipped by him gave Darias pause. Maybe Bryta was too gentle. The woman had no defenses, and he’d hate to see her injured in any fashion. He touched again the bruise on his cheek. No, the slave had reacted out of panic. Since that moment in her ship, she hadn’t shown the least sign of violence. Just to be sure, though, he’d have servants look in on them frequently. At least at first. It wouldn’t take long for her to settle. Especially with Gaith’s woman guiding her. If anyone could tame the woman’s rough edges, it was gentle Bryta.

  * * * * *

  The wad of silk smacked the man across the face when he walked into the bedchamber that evening. Riana refused to feel guilt when, the sorry excuse for a tunic in one hand, he touched the other to the corner of his eye where that ridiculous gilt tassel adorning the high collar had caught him a stinging blow. She lifted her chin and stood her ground when he advanced, one slow step at a time.

  He wrapped a large paw around her neck, tipping her chin up with his thumb. The antique gold of his eyes glittered.

  Anger?

  The son of a bitch should be afraid to close his eyes. Make a slave of her, would he?

  “Was last night’s lesson not enough? Are you so eager for another?”

  Despite her fury, a chill went through her at the soft tones. She’d heard warmer sounds from the growls of a sabre-cat poised for attack. Too bad her captor wasn’t on that primitive ice world so the two predators could battle for supremacy. Though she had the uneasy suspicion that the sabre-cat wouldn’t stand a chance. Fear, the same fear she’d been combating since she awoke to his midnight voice, clogged her throat, making breathing difficult. She fought back the same way she always did, the deeply ingrained response too powerful to ignore.

  She went on the offensive.

  She took one step closer, until only a breath separated them. This close, she was aware of his scent, of the strength in his long, lean form. “What kind of world is this? You treat women as second-class citizens. No, wait. Third class. Heck it’s worse than that. Women are non-people here.” Surprise flitted through the antique-gold gaze. Riana pounced on it. “Oh yes, Bryta explained a few things to me. The poor thing seemed to think it natural.” She lowered her voice to keep it from shaking as outrage rushed in anew. It sickened her to know that sweet, gentle Bryta was subject to the restrictions and punishments she’d so matter-of-factly detailed. Like the punishment Riana had undergone last night. “What kind of man are you?”

  The fine lines at the corners of his eyes tightened and the skin across the high cheekbones drew tight. “One whose patience is fast evaporating.”

  “Hah! Patience, my ass. What need have you of patience when you’re a man, and men make the rules on this benighted planet? The attitude toward women is cruel, degrading and downright inhumane.” Something in his face stopped her tirade. Oh shit. When would she ever learn to watch her mouth? Self-preservation belatedly sinking in, Riana turned to run, or at least to put some space between her and the man whose very stillness screamed danger.

  She wasn’t fast enough.

  One large hand clamped around her wrist like a manacle. His voice, when he spoke, came from the deepest, darkest regions of space. A place so cold, it’d singe a person’s flesh like the heart of a sun.

  “You want to know cruel, degrading and inhum
ane? I’ll show you.” He dragged Riana to the door, her heels digging in all the way.

  “Look, can’t we talk about this? Maybe I spoke a little hastily.” She was a merchant, for Zethra’s sake. Where the hell was her smooth tongue when she needed it? But Riana had the sinking feeling that no amount of fast- or smooth-talking would get her out of this spot. She’d pissed in her chili this time. What the hell was chili anyway? And why the heck was she even concerned with her granddaddy’s sayings and what they meant at a time like this, she wondered with a touch of true hysteria. Zethra, she had to get hold of herself.

  Focus, Riana, focus. There had to be a way out, there always was. The thought of several past close calls had a steadying effect on her nerves. Okay, she had a few rules of her own. And number one on that short list was to forge ahead. To stop was to admit defeat and she’d be twice damned if some barbarian on a backwater planet was going to defeat her.

  She stumbled as he yanked on her arm, silently demanding she keep up with his much longer stride. Heat scorched her cheeks as, shackled like a recalcitrant child, he pulled her past two grinning warriors. Barbarians, every damn one of them. Those grins would soon slide off their faces if she had that nifty little gizmo from planet Bereani. Not that she’d use it to kill them. Well, maybe… No, she decided, feeling righteous, she’d just use it to put them on their asses for a couple of hours.

  He hauled her down another long corridor, past several doors that looked as if they’d been closed for years. A chill that was more than the cold coming off the thick stone walls went through her. The cold, the sense of dankness, the stretch of hallway lined with a multitude of doors with tiny grates for windows, the large, old-fashioned locks on the doors—especially the locks—reminded her eerily of a dungeon.

  Nonsense, she told herself bracingly. Dungeons were on the lower levels of a monstrosity such as this keep, not one level below the ruler’s quarters. It was just the atmosphere of obviously long unuse giving her the creeps. And her imagination. Imagination in a trader was not always a good thing.

  He stopped before one door offset from the others. Without loosening his grip on her, he wrapped his other hand around the huge iron ring that served as a handle. With a reluctant groan, the thick door opened.