“My lovely little rose finally blooms for me,” he breathed. “You are so fair, and so sweet, and so brave, my clever Rosa-Ka.”
He was giving her his name, Rosa’s thoughts wildly whispered, along with his vow and his praise — but she ignored the rising thunder in her heart, and obediently waited, held herself still, fixed her eyes to his stark, beautiful, impossibly tender face.
His hands slightly shook as they gripped thekraga, guided it gently to Rosa’s throat. Settled its cool light weight against her vulnerable skin, against the roaring beat of her pulse.
His eyes never once left hers, perhaps searching for hesitation or fear, but there was none. Only a sudden, jubilant craving as thekragaslipped closer, slow, careful, safe — until at the back of her neck, she heard a deep, definitivesnap.
John’s hands drew away, visibly trembling now, and in their place, Rosa could feel the cool, light kiss of thekraga. Not tight, not painful, not constricting in any way — but most definitely there. Speaking of John, whispering John’s name, brushing John’s vow soft against her skin.
John’s eyes were locked on the sight, gone blacker and hungrier than Rosa had ever seen them, and she lifted a shaky finger to trace against the cool metal, feeling the delicate weight of it, but also the strength. The way — her finger traced up, around, behind her — there was indeed no seam that she could feel, no easy way out.
But it wasn’t a curse. It wasn’t a trap. It wasn’t like Lord Kaspar, with his frilly dresses and empty promises. It was a reflection of what already was, of the path Rosa had already chosen.
She’d faced her truth. She wanted John, and she wanted this life. She wanted to accept her joy, her desires, her choices, without shame, without regret.
Knowledge changeseverything.
John was still gazing at her, so hungry Rosa could taste it, his eyes sweeping up and down her bared body. His own form was huge and taut, his hands gripped to fists, and his trousers were massively tented, twitching, boasting a rapidly pooling spot of wetness.
“What do you think, my lord?” Rosa finally managed, as lightly as she could, one hand still smoothing shivery against the cool circle of herkraga, her other clutching against the soft swell of her bare belly. “How do I look?”
His growl was throaty, helpless, his eyes fluttering, his cheeks and ears flushed with red. “Foolish pet,” he croaked. “You look as though you need a pretty little chain, for your pretty newkraga. And a night of good hard fucking, upon the prick of your bonded mate and lord.”
The hunger was a tidal wave, a towering teetering catastrophe, held in check only by the strength of that vow on Rosa’s throat, its truth kissing her skin. She was his. He was hers. She was home.Safe.
“I couldn’t agree more, my lord,” she whispered. “So please, take me to your pleasure-den, and ravish me.”
41
Rosa had never once imagined feeling the kind of hunger that trampled over her as her fully clothed mate — her lord — silently led her naked, marked, pregnant body through the dark corridor, and into the heated, firelit Ka-esh pleasure-den.
She could hear the slaps and moans fading as John ushered her across the floor, as all the room’s shocked watching eyes seemed to prickle at once upon her bare skin. But it didn’t matter, nothing mattered, only John, only the hunger, as he wordlessly grasped for something from the wall, and clipped it to Rosa’skragawith a smooth flick of his hand.
It was achain, it truly was, a thin golden line that now snaked from Rosa’s neck, and into the easy grip of his palm. And as Rosa gaped, her mouth bone-dry, John slipped the chain through his fingers, weaving it between them with astonishing ease, as though this were something he’d done a hundred times before.
And the reason for it — that hand gripped for Rosa’s chin, tilting it up to meet his glittering eyes — was so he could still use the hand as he pleased, without once losing his hold on the chain. And too, perhaps, so his pet could feel the strength of that gold wrapped on his knuckles, the whisper of its silent danger on her skin.
“When a Ka-esh chains a pet,” his voice rasped, “the pet kneels. At once. Always.”
A hoarse, helpless groan escaped Rosa’s clogged throat, but she instantly nodded, and dropped to her knees. The floor below her was thankfully covered with soft fur, but she scarcely noticed, not with the tall, powerful form of her lord now looming over her, his groin close and visibly swelling under his trousers, the sweet, dangerous scent of him filling her mouth, her breath.
Rosa’s tongue licked her dry lips, and her trembly, tingly hand reached toward that beautiful, desperately tempting bulge — until a light, but very pointed, tug on herkragastilled her fingers in midair, her eyes darting up to his face.
“And you do not touch,” he breathed, gazing down at her through hooded eyes. “You donaughtbut look at me, and breathe my scent, until I grant you leave for more.”
Another choked groan burned from Rosa’s throat, but she frantically nodded, and clasped her fingers together on her bare lap, leaning back onto her heels. Fuck, she wanted to touch him, she needed it so much itached, and she had to bite her lip as she risked another glance up at him, at the cool, easy command in those watching, imperious eyes.
“Gott,” he said. “Now speak to me, pet. In my own tongue.”
His fingers flexed on the chain wrapped between them as he spoke, suggesting an actualthreatif Rosa failed — and the thrill of mingled fear and longing and craving was so breathtaking, she could scarcely find the words.
“Ég vil vera þín, John-Ka,” she breathed, enunciating as clearly as she could. “Ég tilheyri þér.”
I want to be yours, John-Ka, it meant. I belong to you.
John’s tongue slid out, his nostrils flaring, hinting at perhaps a stutter in his cool control — so Rosa gulped in more air, kept her eyes locked to his. “Mér líkar við typpið þitt, John-Ka.Ég elska hvernig þú bragðast.”
I love your cock, John-Ka. I love how you taste.
