The King and I: Celestial Soul-Mates, Book 1 Read online

  “Nothing is going on in here.” She prayed her declaration didn’t sound as weak as it felt.

  “You’re wrong, sweetest. I’m seducing you.”

  She gulped. “Well, it’s not working.”

  He stopped directly in front of her, so close it was a miracle she didn’t suffer a third-degree burn from the intense heat radiating from his bare chest. The earthy scent of forest and the underlying, potent musk of aroused male drifted from his skin, playing havoc with her hormones. She wanted to bury her nose in all that warm flesh until she was lightheaded and giddy. And then she’d lick and nibble him everywhere.

  Rand’s fingers curled around her chin, his thumb brushing the dip beneath her bottom lip. “I don’t believe you.”

  “I don’t care what you—” The remainder of her denial fell victim to the lush pressure of Rand’s mouth against hers. Every energy storehouse in her body began lighting up like a bank of slot machines that just hit payload. His lips coaxed hers open with more ease than she cared to analyze and his tongue met hers in a slick glide. Her hands braced against his chest—purely to keep from crumpling in an undignified heap, of course—and Rand’s rumbling groan vibrated beneath her fingertips and inside her mouth. He tugged her closer, one palm moving to the nape of her neck and the other low on her tailbone. Her breasts pillowed against him, and the insistent bulge of his erection nudged just above her pubic bone. The knowledge that all that separated her from his cock were a pair of zippers and some flimsy fabric nearly had her panting.

  Rand’s tongue stole another slick caress before he sucked her bottom lip between his teeth. His animalistic growl brought a new gush of wetness between her thighs. “You can’t lie to yourself, Nessie. You belong with us.”

  His arrogant assertion acted like a cold dash of water on her desire. She shoved away from Rand and glared up at his passion-flushed features. “I belong to no one. And I told you not to call me by that ridiculous name.”

  “You’re the most stubborn twit I’ve ever known.” Tunneling his hands through his dark hair, he granted her a scowl. “You need a good, long fucking, you know that? Maybe it’d manage to dilute some of that vinegar in your attitude.”

  She bared her teeth. “My attitude is fine. You’re just pissed because I’m not falling at your feet and begging you to rut away at me. Sucks to realize you’re not so irresistible, doesn’t it?”

  And with that big fat lie hanging between them, she stalked from the room.

  He was going to make her eat her words. Amongst other things.

  Smothering his snarl, Rand dropped onto the cushion beside Braeden.

  “Went that good, huh?”

  Slashing his gaze sideways, he met Braeden’s sympathetic look. “Humans are exasperating creatures, but that woman takes it to a whole new level.”

  “Yet you want her with every breath inside you.” Braeden chuckled in response to Rand’s glower. “I know because I’m suffering the same affliction. She’s like a decadent treat I’ve waited my entire life to unwrap, and the continued wait is damn near killing me.”

  Braeden’s choice of words stirred a gloomy brew of worry within Rand. He’d known all along the risk they took pursuing Vanessa. Hell, the delicate nature of their predicament was the only thing that’d kept him from staking a claim on her the first time he’d spotted her five months ago, on that fortuitous and fated day he’d noticed her outside the Veil Alliance’s detainment center. But he didn’t have only himself to consider. Would his heart be able to take the loss of Braeden if Vanessa rejected their bond?

  For that matter, would his heart be able to take the loss of Vanessa?

  Apparently reading his morose thoughts, Braeden cupped Rand’s cheek. “We promised each other no regrets over doing this.”

  “I know. I just—”

  Braeden’s mouth stopped any further protest. He licked the seam of Rand’s lips, his groan husky. “I can taste her on you.”

  A fierce throbbing coursed through Rand’s cock. Braeden’s innocent pronouncement prodded more wicked fantasies of delving deep inside Vanessa’s dripping slit. He’d pull out slowly and offer his cock to Braeden for a lingering taste before plunging to the hilt in her pussy again and again. Until she was shaking and coming, his name a constant scream upon her lips.

  A nip along the underside of his stubbled jaw brought him crashing back to the present. Braeden’s hand trailed low on Rand’s abdomen. “Your skin is on fire. You need sex. Bad.”

  Braeden was right. The ferocious demand boiling inside him wouldn’t be appeased by anything less. He clamped a hand on the back of Braeden’s neck, dragging him up for a lush, openmouthed kiss. Their tongues tangled and sparred, amping his insistent desire to full blast. “Take off your pants.”

  “Not yet.”

  “Yes. Now.” Rand hissed the command through clenched teeth.

  Braeden’s mouth curved in mischief before descending over Rand’s stomach. “Patience is a virtue.”

  “Fuck that.”

  “No, fuck me.”

  “My thoughts exactly, you idiot.”

  “All in good time.”

  Rand growled low in his throat. “Tease.”

  Braeden gripped Rand’s zipper, tugging it down. His cock sprang free and Braeden’s laugh caressed over the taut, swollen head before his mouth followed suit. The suction was perfect and sublime. He rocked his hips, his hand riding the back of Braeden’s head. A faint rustling noise slipped past the edges of his awareness. Lifting his focus from his lover’s bobbing motions, he locked stares with Vanessa. Her pupils were huge and dark, her nipples straining against her top. His cock pulsed, swelling inside Braeden’s mouth, earning an appreciative moan from his lover.

  “I—I’m sorry. Didn’t realize…” Her hard swallow echoing in the room, Vanessa started to turn tail and run.

  “Stay.”

  Her foot hovering in mid-spin, she gaped at Rand. “What?”

  “Watch. You know you want to.”

  Her cheeks grew redder than the anthurium blooms behind her. “That’s ridiculous. I have no interest in—” She broke off when Braeden reached inside Rand’s pants and played with his balls.

  She was going nowhere.

  Duty…or desire? It will take two men to answer that question…

  Wicked Empress

  © 2011 Anitra Lynn McLeod

  The Onic Empire, Book 4

  Bithia, newly crowned empress of Diola, indulges herself with as many men as it takes to satisfy her voracious passion. Now that it’s time to continue the family line, though, her advisors expect the unthinkable: for her to submit to one man from a sexually primitive planet.

  Drahka disobeyed his tribe’s strict sexual rules once. The shame still haunts him. He longs for a fresh start, but breaking one cardinal rule—a man gives, a woman takes—is not an option. His struggle to learn local customs is complicated by a mentor whose eyes hunger for the empress…and for him.

  Viltori is exhausted. He’s tried to teach Drakha that there many ways to find pleasure, only to be met with anger, even violence. Touching the handsome primitive only sharpens his unbearable lust for Bithia, making him wonder if execution for failure wouldn’t be a blessing.

  When Bithia witnesses the results of Viltori’s training, she realizes only these two men can fill her empty heart, inspiring her to take command of the throne at last. Except those who’ve held the reins thus far have a sinister reason for keeping Bithia—and her new consorts—in their place.

  Warning: This erotic romantic fantasy contains a lusty empress, a primitive alpha male, a dedicated acolyte with domineering tendencies, copious amounts of hot m/m and m/f/m sex, secret torments, burning desires clashing with duty, and a little bit of meddling by future gods.

  Enjoy the following excerpt for Wicked Empress:

  Viltori settled into the softest chair he’d ever sat upon as he motioned for Drahka to sit across from him. For a long time they simply sat, using the furniture as a way to
teach each other new words.

  Even in the unfamiliar room, they fell to their usual form. Point, ask, explain and repeat. Immersed in learning, Drahka was oblivious to the fact that his robe, unlike his trousers, did not stay closed when he shifted about. Each time Drahka moved, he revealed more of his hairy calves, then his thighs. Each time he celebrated his understanding, Drahka lifted the crimson fabric up higher, getting ever closer to the juncture of his legs. After grasping a particularly difficult word, Drahka lifted his hands in triumph, which wrenched his robe apart, exposing his hips, cock and both legs.

  Viltori tried not to gape, but the man was huge, hairy and, hottest of all, uncut. Most men on Diola, even those in the barbaric outer regions, were circumcised shortly after birth. Viltori had not known of the difference until he’d traveled to Oughun. As he stood with several other men urinating directly into a rushing stream, they’d excitedly pointed to his differentness. The Oughun men asked a hundred questions and Viltori hoped he’d answered them fully. Oughunian men had never seen a cut cock and Viltori had never seen one that wasn’t. Culturally they exchanged much that bonded them together. Viltori knew Drahka was uncut, and he’d tried to tell Drahka that he should inform Bithia, but when he’d tried to show him this information, he’d lashed out. Oughnians had clearly defined taboos about same-sex touching of any sort.

  To his horror, Drahka noticed the direction of Viltori’s gaze. Before he could babble out an explanation, Drahka cupped his cock and asked, “What is wrong with my cock?” Lowering his head he said, “You tried to touch, to show me, and I tried to hit you. I’m sorry. Please now show me what is wrong with my cock.”

  Gulping, Viltori said, “Nothing.” Not a damn thing he could see, anyway. He’d like nothing better than to do to Drahka what Rown had done to him earlier. “What makes you think there is anything wrong with your cock?”

  “Bithia say something uncute.”

  After a moment, where he couldn’t imagine anyone, even Bithia, calling a cock cute or not, Viltori understood. “Not cut,” he said. “Uncut, not un-cute.” Briefly, he explained the difference between the two words, then tried valiantly to convey the meaning behind Bithia’s comment.

  Thrusting his finger at Viltori, Drahka demanded, “Show me yours that is cut.” Concern filled his stoic face as if he were genuinely worried that someone had cut up Viltori’s cock.

  Eyeing the door, wondering just how much longer Bithia would be gone and if she’d be upset about him teaching her consort this, Viltori moved to a seat that blocked him from view of the doorway. If she did enter suddenly, he could pull his robe closed before she saw what he was doing.

  Drahka seemed to understand the furtive nature of their discussion. Frowning, Drahka moved to the couch, sitting next to him. He eyed the door that was well over the high back of the couch. When Viltori parted his robe, showing Drahka his painfully hard, circumcised cock, Drahka leaned over.

  Breathing hard enough to brush hot air over the pounding length of Viltori’s cock, Drahka said, “You not cut.” Reaching out his left hand, Drahka wrapped his fist around Viltori’s cock. “No cut.” Lowering his head, placing his face a bare breath above the tip, Drahka bellowed, “Ah! Cut off tip!” Pulling back, yanking open his robe, Drahka grasped his own cock and tugged his foreskin. “Cut off tip, not cut up cock!” Proudly displaying his penis, Drahka considered Viltori’s for another moment, then grasped him again. Running his fingers up and down, hardening him further, Drahka leaned close again and asked, “When you were cut, were you hurt?”

  “I was a baby when they cut me.” He thanked the gods for that. He couldn’t imagine what having that done as an adult would be like.

  “You no feel pain now?” Drahka ran a fingertip along the faint circumcision scar that encircled the hardest part of Viltori’s prick.

  “No, it doesn’t hurt now.” Of course, that wasn’t quite true. He was so hard and excited his prick truly did hurt. If not for Rown’s generous gift, he would have erupted all over Drahka’s hand.

  Drahka nodded, turning his attention to his own cock. “Mine hurts. Bithia’s servants scrubbed under the tip.”

  Viltori cast a wary eye to the door, than to Drahka’s hand-held prick. “Does it hurt now?”

  “Some.” Frowning, Drahka looked toward the door Bithia had exited. “She take twice, then suck once. Still I am excited thinking of her.”

  Nodding, Viltori asked, “On Oughun, do men seek solo pleasure?”

  Horrified, Drahka yanked his hand off his cock. “I not doing that, just showing!”

  “Calm down. I’m not accusing, just asking.” However, clearly by his response, the men of Drahka’s tribe did not masturbate. In a way, such a taboo made perfect sense. His tribe was relatively infertile. Each ejaculation was sacred and necessary for the continuation of his people. Self-fulfillment would be considered the height of selfishness.

  Not only had Drahka been a virgin when he’d gone to Bithia, he’d been relatively untouched. If he could have swooned, Viltori would have. Drahka was a blank slate. Anything he or Bithia taught him about their culture he would believe, accept and likely perform. Heady with the erotic possibilities, then cautioned by the ethical dilemma, Viltori reluctantly wrapped his robe around his body.

  Following suit, Drahka covered himself up too. “Is looking wrong?”

  “No, I’m cold. Did you want to see more?” Gods, why was he asking? He should let this matter drop.

  Drahka considered for a moment, then whispered, “Do you do solo touching?”

  Technically, he wasn’t supposed to, but then he realized he was teaching and letting Drahka watch him masturbate could be considered a form of education. Or maybe he was just desperately trying to justify doing what he wanted to do.

  “Do you want me to show you?” Viltori caught their reflection in a mirror strategically placed across from the couch. They made a wicked contrast: he in white, Drahka in crimson, his finger-length blond hair glowing, and Drahka’s long black hair gleaming. Drahka was bigger, broader, the silk of his robe caressing massive muscles below. Viltori was muscular too, but not like Drahka. In his tribe, Drahka had been a hunter, felling great beasts to feed the entire group. He also cut trees for their fires. Such hard labor gave him a remarkable body, one the elite would pay handsomely to mimic through surgical enhancement.

  Drahka nodded. “Show me solo touching.”

  Parting his robe, Viltori took his cock in hand, cradling his shaft with his dominant right hand as he cupped his balls with the left. “The trick is not to rush.” Gods no, he wasn’t going to rush. He wanted to enjoy every bit of this encounter. Desperately he prayed to the god of Harvesters that Bithia would not return until he was finished with his lesson.

  Drahka watched intently for a moment, then parted his robe. He gripped his cock with his right hand and stroked, fumbling.

  “Use your dominant hand.” Viltori nodded to his left.

  Drahka switched to his left hand. Now his motions were sleek and exact, mimicking perfectly what Viltori did.

  “Slowly?” Drahka asked. “Faster would feel better.”

  “Stroke too fast and it’s over too fast.” Viltori had to summon the very depth of his will to continue with his measured, even strokes. “Solo touching is a way to learn to last longer when with a woman.”

  “Ah, that is good to learn. Bithia happy with longer lasting.”

  “Bithia will be happier with me lasting longer,” Viltori corrected automatically.

  “Bithia will be happier with me lasting longer.” Drahka repeated the words, then looked to him for confirmation that he’d spoken correctly.

  Viltori nodded, knowing full well his interest at the moment was not with Bithia’s pleasure. His gaze darted between his own hand, Drahka’s, and the mirror where he could see them both. Drahka’s body was big and covered in dark hair. Muscles flexed as he tightened his form to keep his mounting passion at bay.

  “Feels good,” Drahka said, squeezing his
fist a bit tighter, causing his foreskin to move smoothly up and down his shaft, exposing the slick, dusky-red tip.

  Viltori thought he would climax right there. Drahka kept his gaze on Viltori’s hand, mimicking each motion. He followed along so exactly that when Viltori looked into the mirror he felt he was stroking Drahka’s cock. His mouth watered, desperate for a taste of him.

  Behind them, they heard a click. Their eyes met, widened, and they hastily jumped to their feet. Viltori had his robe down covering his prick in an instant, but Drahka struggled with the open ends and the tied sash. Before he could determine if the couch was high enough to shield him from Bithia’s view, she looked directly into his eyes through one of the mirrors.

  “Tell me, Viltori, exactly what have you been teaching my consort?”