Dark Empress: The Onic Empire, Book 5 Page 3

  The populated worlds may not know Diola, but they knew of her mother. Empress Bithia was renowned, notorious, even, mainly because she’d restored Diola to financial stability by cunningly marketing images of her double bonding ceremony. Everywhere Farjika went there was someone who had seen the lusty images of her mother and her two consorts, one of whom, Drahka, was Farjika’s father. Determined to keep control of the images, Bithia had placed them on one-watch crystals, so that if someone wished to see the ceremony again, they had to buy another crystal. Bithia kept the prices low, thus discouraging copies of the copies, and they sold well. Even now, over twenty seasons later, the crystals were still in production. As good as this was for the coffers on Diola, it certainly didn’t help Farjika in her mission. She found it difficult to be taken seriously when all the men could think of when they saw her was mating with her. Offer after offer, each more depraved than the last, eventually set Farjika’s feet back on her spacecraft and turned her sights to another world.

  This world, Avalith, was peaceful, with huge homes called manors surrounded by humble thatched dwellings that reminded her of Diola. She felt comfortable in a place that had clear lines between the general populace and the wealthy elite, for that was how Diolan society was structured.

  “Welcome Farjika of Crimson House.” The owner, Master D’Buren, greeted her with a perfectly executed bow. She was pleased he’d taken the time to learn her customs. However, when he reached for her hand, she flinched back, which alarmed her guards and caused everyone in the room to startle. Thankfully, he backed off, and she realized he’d only been trying to kiss her hand. She felt awful for not remembering his customs but hoped he would forgive the small slight. All night she’d studied, but after spending two cycles learning their language, she didn’t have much time for the subtleties of customs.

  “I am honored, Master D’Buren.” Farjika smiled warmly as she turned to the woman at his side.

  “My wife, Shyla.” The pale woman with enormous blue eyes bowed awkwardly in her unforgiving skirt.

  Farjika nodded to her, wondering how she moved in such a confining outfit. When she looked about, she realized that all the women were dressed in a similar fashion—high-necked blouses, enormous sleeves that narrowed at the elbow then skimmed the skin down to the wrist, and skirts that were tight from navel to knee. All the women wore only the lightest pastel colors, which made Farjika stand out even more in her low-cut crimson dress. She had to forcefully remember that they did not delineate status by color as Diolans did. On Diola, the darker the shade, the higher the rank. As the daughter of the empress, she wore the deepest crimson.

  After some mindless chatter about the weather and her accommodations, Master D’Buren introduced her to his other guests, who seemed fascinated by her but kept their distance in deference to her guards. In a way, she was relieved. She did not like to touch so many people, especially not when their hands were too clammy or dry, or too hot or cold. There was a reason bowing predominated in her culture.

  Soft music filled the air as the lights dimmed, subtly drawing attention away from her as couples embraced. Curiously, they did not dance, and then she realized in the leg-clamping skirts the women could hardly do more than sway. Still, the familiarity soothed her but also made her deeply homesick.

  “Do you wish to dance?”

  When Farjika turned, the most stunning golden eyes confronted her. Never having seen eyes of a metallic shade, she parted her lips to say yes but then blanched at his brown suit. Only slaves wore brown. Reminding herself again that color did not have the same meaning here on Avalith as it did on Diola, she almost said yes until another man stepped up beside the first.

  “Do. They. Dance. On. Your. World?” He spoke in a deliberately slow and loud manner, as if she were nothing but a simpleminded child. Where the first man was dark of hair and eye, this one possessed bright blond hair and crystal green eyes. His deep green suit expertly complemented his coloring. On Diola, such a dark color would indicate a very high rank, but not one higher than hers.

  A coldness filled his gaze, a slow-burning hatred that she did not understand, for she had never met the man. How could she slight him without contact? Tilting her head as if she did not understand him, she leaned close and whispered, “They dance on my world, but the men have far better manners.”

  His face hardened as his companion’s transformed into a proud smirk.

  “Shall we?” she asked, lifting her hand to the man in the dark brown suit.

  He nodded, clasping her hand in his.

  Farjika swore she felt a sizzle from his touch. All of her senses cut to acute awareness. He placed her free hand on his shoulder, then slipped his arm around her waist, pulling her snuggly against him. He handled her as if he owned her, a thought both frightening and tempting. Even in her heels, he was taller than she. To maintain eye contact, she had to tilt her head back. His body was firm against her, his chest a wall of muscle unyielding against her breasts. When she drew in a breath, she took in his essence: exotic and unique, his fragrance unnamable but thoroughly intriguing. Despite the tailored suit and all the trappings of civility, she knew below he was as wild and untamed as the highest slopes of the Onic Mountains. Sun-streaked hair partially obscured his gaze, and his new beard cast shadows against his features, darkening his expression, giving him a raw, primitive appeal.

  “How long are you here?”

  His voice rumbled in his chest, which in turn hardened her nipples. Instinctively she pressed closer, inadvertently bringing her lips nearer to his. She opened her mouth to answer but hesitated when she tried to remember how to convert her time units into his. In the end, she decided it didn’t matter. She would stay as long as she pleased.

  Coyly, she asked, “How long would you like me to stay?”

  With a slight growl, he tightened his arm, pulling her closer still. Their clasped hands were pressed between their bodies, keeping them from full body contact, but she didn’t need confirmation to know he was hard. She felt the heat of him penetrating through the thin fabric of her dress. Her panties, made of the finest astle, were wet and hot, slicking against her flesh each time they moved.

  “Forever.”

  For a moment, she could not recall what question of hers he answered. When she did, she smiled playfully. “I can hardly stay forever with a man I do not know.” Even though they were in a room full of people, she felt utterly alone with him.

  “I am Lorren D’Buren.” He nodded in lieu of a bow.

  “Your father is—”

  “Yes, but you should now tell me your name.”

  A sore spot there, between Lorren and his father. She wondered over it briefly, then dismissed her curiosity. She would not probe his parental issues if he left hers alone as well.

  “I am Farjika, daughter of the Crimson House, heir to the throne of Diola.” She had said those words a hundred times; however, this was the first time she actually wanted them to impress. Why she cared what he thought of her she couldn’t fathom, but still, she wanted him to realize she was a woman of great import. Even though inside she often felt like a child playing at adult roles that she still didn’t fully understand.

  Slowly, he smiled as if he’d known but longed to hear her speak the truth. “And I thought you were simply a goddess.”

  A wave of pleasure washed over her. “The way you look at me, I feel as if I am.” A naked goddess. She barely noticed that the music had changed, along with their movements, but one thing she could not shake from her awareness was the man in the green suit. As they danced, he stared hard at them, his handsome face thunderous, his wide shoulders curved in, his whole body poised as if in readiness to pounce. “Who is that man who continues to glower at us?”

  Lorren didn’t even bother to glance at him. “My friend, Errion. He’s jealous.”

  “Of you or me?” She honestly did not know as his gaze raked over the two of them with equal ferocity.

  “Both?” He shrugged nonchalantly but wo
uld say no more.

  Again, curiosity consumed her. Picturing the two of them together tightened her nipples and slicked her panties even more. Deliberately, she forced the image of the two of them with her from her mind. She would not become her mother. However, there was nothing wrong with engaging in a brief encounter with this man. One good thing about her travels through the universe was that she could leave her troubles behind her at any moment. Should her assignation with him not be satisfactory, she could simply fly away without repercussions.

  “Errion, Lorren… Your names are very similar.”

  “Avalith is driven by trends. At the time of our births, names with double consonants were in vogue.”

  She thought that also explained why all the women wore the exact same style of dress, hair, and even faces. Somewhere in her reading, she remembered a passage explaining that the women of Avalith would undergo facial reconstruction surgery to match the current fashion. Right now, big eyes, pert noses and thin lips must be in style. All the women in the room had those same features. Rather than feeling separate from them, she was pleased to be unique. Farjika couldn’t imagine altering her face or body to follow a trend.

  “I have never heard a more unusual or beautiful name than yours.” Softly he whispered, “Far-sheek-uh.” His mouth was so close she could taste his breath, rich from some type of alcohol. She wanted to taste the source. His firm lips would feel strong against hers. She imagined his tongue would penetrate hard, taking possession of her mouth with masculine power.

  “I thank you.” She nodded to him. “I am named after the first empress of Diola, Farjika the Dark.” She waited for him to ask the obvious question.

  “Why ‘the Dark’?”

  Taking the opportunity to lean closer, as if the answer were a secret, she softly said, “She was a fearsome warrior. It is said she beheaded her enemies with one swing of her mighty sword. Their blood coated her, turning her skin dark.”

  His eyes sparkled. Unlike many men, he clearly found the image of a warrior empress intriguing. “What else do you know about your namesake?”

  Farjika paused dramatically. Deliberately, she met his gaze, then lowered hers as if she were slightly ashamed to reveal the rest. She wasn’t, but it made excellent theater. “It is also said that she had over a hundred consorts.” Lifting her gaze back to his, she added, “And she kept them all personally satisfied.”

  Lorren smiled wickedly, displaying a devastating smile that transformed his face from harsh to handsome. “They should have called her Farjika the Busy.”

  Returning his smile, she said, “Or Farjika the Exhausted.”

  His laugh rumbled his body against hers, making her think of the pleasurable grumble of her ship. There were times, late at night, when that low vibration worked its way into her dreams, bestowing intense orgasms that left her breathless and filled with unnamable longings. Here, in her arms, she thought she had found the answer to her cravings.

  “How many consorts do you have?” Though he tried valiantly to hide the truth, there was an edge of jealousy to his voice. He drew her just a bit tighter, as if determined to keep her all for himself.

  Pleased by his possessiveness, she lowered her face but lifted her gaze, knowing exactly what that cast of her head did to a man. “I have no consorts.” She knew she’d successfully hit her mark when he inhaled sharply, then exhaled an animalistic grunt that surged feminine satisfaction over her nerves. “It has not been that long since my Harvest.”

  One eye narrowed in question. “Harvest?”

  The word translated into his language was similar in meaning to the word in Diolan: a gathering of ripened crops. But there was another meaning unique to her planet.

  “By the prophecy, I gave my virginity to the Harvester.” Demurely, she glanced down, toying with the top button of his stiff shirt. Mesmerized, she watched his throat work as he swallowed. When she looked up, his hungry gaze locked on hers as he licked his lips. “Every woman must do so when she is eighteen seasons old. Afterward, she is a citizen with full rights.”

  Lorren appeared to want to ask a question, but he was too aroused to fully engage his brain.

  Leaning near, placing her lips a breath from his, she whispered, “The Harvester is the only man I have ever known.” Carefully, she slid their clasped hands away from his chest. “Sadly, during the ritual, I could not feel anything.” She pressed her body the length of his, closing her eyes on a gasp when she felt his cock press into her belly. “I imagine a man like you has had many, many lovers.”

  Lorren said nothing, only stared down at her, his pupils wide, his nostrils flared and his breath harsh as he struggled for control. In the end, he lost the battle. Lowering his head, he kissed her, so softly at first his lips were only a whisper against hers, but when she parted her lips, surrendering to him, he grew bolder, plundering her mouth, crushing her against his body as if they were alone. But they weren’t.

  With a shuddering breath, he pulled back, his golden eyes turning molten with heat. He said something in his language, something dirty and dark and dangerous, but she knew she would do anything he asked. Farjika would blame her impulsiveness on alcohol but she’d not had a drop. She felt reckless and out of control, her body’s demands taking precedence over her own safety. She’d waited a lifetime to find this intense attraction, and now that she had, she would take her due.

  “Are you ready?”

  She nodded.

  He let go of her and reached into the front pocket of his trousers. She didn’t know what he did, but a moment later, all the robotic maids daintily lifted their skirts, and all the mechanical butlers dropped to all fours, baying like wounded animals. Shocked gasps and fainting women filled the air with dramatic sounds.

  Confusion reigned.

  Lorren grabbed her hand and pulled her away. He took her from the crowd and up a narrow, dark staircase. Clearly, he knew exactly where he wanted to go as he strode toward a tall, thin wooden door. Pushing it open, he pulled her within, then closed the door, pressing her against it, leaning into her. His lips found hers in the dark with unerring accuracy. Hot and heavy, his cock pressed into her belly, making her wet, causing her to moan with longing.

  His hand grazed her hip, feeling along her leg until he found the split in her dress that allowed her to walk without hindrance. Pushing his hand under the fabric, pulling it up as he sought the juncture of her thighs, he growled low and long when his fingers brushed against her soaking panties.

  “As if there was any question I was as aroused as you?” she asked.

  “Mine is obvious; yours was hidden. Until now.”

  Tugging the fragile fabric down, he forced his hand between her legs. Something came over him then, a choking gasp of shocked pleasure when he discovered that she had removed all the hair from her sex.

  Hissing expletives between clenched teeth, he yanked his hand away and twirled her toward something in the dark. She landed awkwardly on what felt like a couch, her legs splayed, but that’s what he wanted as he knelt between them, pushing her dress up as he ripped her panties off. Once he had her exposed, he placed his massive hands against her knees, spreading her wide. His rough beard scratched the tender skin of her inner thighs as he drew his face up between her legs.

  He took a deep breath of her, moaning out against her slick sex. Her senses were overactive, causing her to swear she could feel each individual hair on his face, each particle of his breath, and the very depth of his painful need to be inside her. All her lonely nights, the feverish dreams that would not let her find peace even in sleep, now came to life. Here was a man who wouldn’t let her lofty title stand in his way. Lorren was a man accustomed to taking what he wanted, and he wanted her.

  Teasingly, he used his scruffy beard, his fingertips and his breath to torment her into breathless pleading. Forgetting herself, she begged him in Diolan to bury his face between her legs. After a moment, she realized he couldn’t possibly know what she was saying, but it didn’t matter.
He understood from the tone of her voice what she so frantically beseeched him to do. So long had she waited to feel a caress there that did not involve her own hand, she thought she would die if he didn’t touch her fully, and soon.

  Murmuring softly of her beauty, her luscious scent, he finally drew his face close, then, without warning, he plunged his tongue into her core.

  He tamed her instinct to lift up by gripping her hips and pinning her down into the couch. Holding her captured effortlessly, he swirled his tongue around her clit, forcing the hood back, exposing the tender flesh to the roughness of his tongue and then his scruffy chin.

  Her cries filled the room, echoing the pace of his movements. She blessed the dark for hiding her from him, because in her frantic need she was convinced she would look unbecoming. No lady would be caught with her dress pushed up, her panties yanked off and her legs wantonly spread for the wicked ministrations of a man she hardly knew. Darkness let her relax and be just a lusty young woman and not the future empress with the reputation of her world upon her shoulders.

  Grasping his head, she twined her fingers in his hair, marveling at the smooth silkiness of the strands. All through their dance, her fingers had itched to push his hair away from his eyes, but she hadn’t, as the gesture seemed far too intimate for such a public place. Again, here, in the dark, she could do as she pleased, so she combed his hair back with her fingers, loving the noble feel of his brow. Of course, what he was doing to her was far from genteel. Base and animal, he ravished her. All her wicked dreams came to life in this velvet blackness.