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Sinadim’s lips twitched as he watched the other’s back. “Maybe.”
“Taking chances with my life, for the sake of indulging your lewd impulses.”
“I am a prince,” Sinadim drawled, knowing just how it would prickle the other’s temper.
That he’d already won.
“A spoiled prick born to privilege few others will ever know,” Balkazar agreed, still not looking, still standing immobile on the threshold of a choice. Doomed by temptation.
“I could just… command you to fuck her,” the prince said, taunting. “Or… you could think of her as a reward for your years of loyal service.”
“To be clear,” Balkazar said, turning his chin ever so slightly toward the prince as the tide of that internal war began to shift against him, “the price for my service is far more than one sloppy fuck. The price for looking after you is one not even the Sultan himself can afford.”
“And if my offer was for three days, a full rut, and more tight pussy than a mere commoner can possibly handle?”
Balazar turned to face him, then. Mane standing at a full bristle, pupils narrow pricks of furious interest. And before he spoke, his hand slipped into his breast pocket and he withdrew a glass vial.
Dark green glass. Sealed with wax, it bore the mark of the Tengit brothel they’d razed to the ground.
And Sinadim knew. What it was.
Wine, laced with the slick of a doomed female.
A potent ambrosia meant to bring on the rut—at least for a male with no harem and no prospects that weren’t given by a generous benefactor.
Popping the seal with the tip of one claw, Balkazar tipped it back and swallowed the contents in three easy gulps. Shivering as that sweet nectar slipped into his gut, his mane shimmered with a full-body shiver. Peppering the warm desert air with the anxious, hoppy scent of nervous energy.
And as Sinadim watched, Balkazar’s pupils bloomed, yawning wide. Inky black moving to swallow the ring of icy blue of his iris as the rut seeped through his blood.
“Wake the little bitch, then,” Balkazar barked. An uncharacteristic order spoken from a male who’d sworn to serve.
A cunning smirk spread across Sinadim’s lips as he watched the other embrace this rare chance to indulge. Pulling a stiff and bloated cock free of his laces, Balkazar’s gaze was as wary as it was eager. No doubt leery of the legendary possessive rage that came with touching a prince’s Omega.
Turning to look, Sinadim considered the tragic, courageous creature splayed between them.
Admiring dusky, brown nipples puffy from vigorous attentions. The curve of modest hips that had grown slightly more generous under his care.
But most of all, his gaze was drawn to the lips of that delectable, salted quim. Once a deep shade of sorrel, now glazed a pearlescent white. Marked by his seed, soiled so all might know she’d bear him many fine warriors.
A sight that might have sent him into a possessive rage, had she been one of his coveted jewels.
But out here? In the heart of the desert, in heat and about to be buried beneath her mighty sands?
She was a treasure, certainly.
One he’d add to his harem when he returned to the Silver City.
Until then…
Sinadim found himself growing impossibly hard at the thought of the forbidden. Thick and swollen, his cock ached as he knelt beside her. Balls growing heavy with seed desperate to be spilled, he roused her to be bred by another.
Gentle hands slipped through her hair. Claws catching behind her sensitive ears, Sinadim drew her back to consciousness with quiet murmur.
Bleary eyelids flickered. Showing a hint of inky pupils blown wide as they might go.
She rolled.
Nosing at his thigh with a fragile coo, she went to her hands and knees, following the scent until she found her prize and lapped at his plump sack.
