Page 48 of His Darkest Deceit

But he would not put his work aside. Cock dancing and prodding through my belly, hands working in tandem with the wriggling thing. It almost seemed as if he stroked himself through me, milking his organ and pushing what poured from it somewhere important.

I dreamed despite the minor annoyance, surrounded by perfect sound and saturated in sweet scent.

Until he was pleasuring me again, drawing me out of my deep stupor to luxuriate in rapture. Stroking my throat, weighing my breasts, learning the dip and curve of my waist, he praised my beauty and worthiness. Grunted demands and soft, coaxing words urged me to arch my back for more and enjoy every climax, every last orgasm, he might give me.

He'd been slow and forceful, both languid and violent, throughout the many hours I’d been reduced to my animal self.

When I was far past exhausted, when no amount of pleasure might ease the growing aches in my body, at long last, the knot receded, a warm wave of viscous fluid pouring out of me as my belly contracted at the loss.

I should have been mortified, disgusted. But all I knew was relief.

“Sleep now, beloved. Our new life begins when you wake.”

15

Thirst dominated strange dreams that made it impossible to find comfort on my cot. Skin slick with sweat, I kicked off my blankets, groaning at the heat as a terrible craving for water clawed at my parched throat.

I was a furnace, and the sunlight was too bright through my tiny window.

Groaning into my pillow, I thought to hide my eyes in soft white fabric.

Exceptmypillow back at the academy was gray.

Blinking sleep from my eyes, I held my breath, taking in the wrongness of my location.

Mybed was not this soft or large. Nor was it in a room with walls painted a soft shade of blue I’d never seen before.

But it was the windows that drew my eye. So many I had my choice of vantage points. With light so bright the building had to be high up above the churning fog.

That light was actual sunlight. Not the artificial illumination we were drenched with to keep our vitamin levels up at the academy.

Suddenly, I was very much awake.

And feeling quite ill.

Cautiously, I sat up, dragging a silken sheet over my nakedness while wide eyes took in that foreign room. The bed was massive, larger than five of my cots back in the dorms. Above it stood a canopy, each corner draped with flowing gauzy material pure as morning fog.

The white gossamer curtains blew in a light wind. Real wind from an open window.

Windows in the academy did not open. I only knew wind from the few hours each day I might be scheduled for patrols.

I had never felt it on my naked skin or known the refreshing touch it might offer.

Such a discovery would have thrilled me were it not for the man relaxing in a nearby chair, watching me over an open book. A journal with a leather cover made from sapphire-blue vorec hide.

He closed it slowly, as if trying not to startle the wild, nervous thing in his bed. “How are you feeling?”

Sheet to my breast, my dark hair spilling about where I sat, my eyes darted to every corner of the room, taking in potential weapons, creating an exit strategy should he approach.

“You must be very thirsty.”

Parched and untrusting down to my aching bones.

There was a large vessel of water on a side table, a single empty glass beside it.

When Cyderial moved to lay down the book so he might prepare a glass, my eyes narrowed, a low warning thrum leaving my chest.

The memory was somewhat foggy, but I knew exactly what the general had done to me. Pain of that magnitude, I wouldneverforget. The fear that followed would haunt my dreams.

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