Chapter Six
O n some level, Rowena couldn’t believe how fast Slay obeyed.
She said the words and there he went, kneeling because she said to. Hell, nobody listened to her like that, not even Graff or Dedrick.
Hettie shot her a smoky smile because her old friend was reaping the first-hand benefits of Rowena’s commanding performance.
The woman set a hand on Slay’s head, and the contact sent sparks through Rowena, like she was connected to everything that passed between the other two.
Inexplicably, it felt as if Hettie were her proxy, experiencing everything so that Rowena could enjoy it beyond the layer of conditioning that the bastard had forced on her.
“And?” Slay prompted.
“Lick her properly.”
As if he’d been waiting for that order, he framed Hettie’s hips in his big hands and went in face first, using lips and teeth and tongue with skill and enthusiasm.
Surprised, Hettie clutched his shoulders for support, and Rowena saw when her friend’s arousal spiked, that this became less of an indulgent game and more of an urgent need for release.
Ro wished she could experience his mouth for herself, but her own fingers would have to do.
It had taken ages before she could even get herself off without remembering—the familiar wave of cold crashed down on her, but she forced it away, resolutely chasing the receding arousal.
Slay centered her in the moment because even as he devoted himself to Hettie’s pleasure, he watched Rowena with golden, hungry eyes.
Deliberately, she held that look as she strummed her clit, absorbing his hunger until her skin tingled with it.
This was pure and clean, untouched by anything but desire.
Though it was too soon for such surety, she felt positive that he’d never force anything on her, never take more than she offered.
With a strangled sound, she came on her own fingers, and soon after, Hettie quivered against Slay’s mouth, fingers digging into his head. Languidly, her friend stretched, but when she moved to reciprocate and help him finish, he stepped back.
“I’ll handle it,” he said. “With your permission?”
His eyes stayed on Rowena, and it gave her a heady sense of potency.
If she didn’t allow it, he wouldn’t touch himself?
But she had no intention of denying herself such a treat.
Living in close quarters with other soldiers, she’d shared space with plenty of men furtively—and not so furtively—getting themselves off.
Sometimes they did it to each other, but she didn’t participate, not even when she was in a blood frenzy.
Rowena took no part in the after-combat revels.
Not because she didn’t want to, but for her, it wasn’t possible.
While the tyrant didn’t destroy her, he’d left wreckage in his wake, unseen scars that had yet to heal.
Lazily she drew her fingers from her pants and licked them. “Go ahead.”
To her amazement, he came over and settled next to her on the cushions, not touching but close enough that she could see everything.
The scent of his arousal swept over her as he palmed his cock.
Ro suspected that Hettie would be glad to return the favor, but Slay was watching Rowena, though she’d taken none of her clothes off.
His fixed intensity became ever more erotic because he never looked away from her eyes.
She drank in his urgency, the hard drag of each stroke, the way he squeezed and dug his teeth into his lower lip and kept watching her, like he wanted something but wouldn’t ask for it.
Touching him was…well, she wanted to. But just because she hadn’t panicked while they cuddled last night, it didn’t mean she was ready for this. She didn’t dare put her hand on his cock, but she could give him her words, as before.
“Just look how wet you are. You’re about to lose it. Do it harder and faster. I want to see your face when you come.”
He let out a guttural groan, obeying her order with such alacrity that she feared he might hurt himself. The slapping sound intensified and soon he was full-on fucking his fist with no inhibitions whatsoever. His abs tightened and his thighs locked.
His golden gaze stayed on hers. “Tell me to come.”
“Come for me, Slay.” She hoped he’d like hearing his name, not that she had much experience in such matters.
“Fuck. Yes, Ro. Yes. ”
His cock pulsed in his fist and then he spurted all over his quivering abs.
Rowena would’ve loved to pet him through the aftermath as he lay there with his head thrown back, beautiful eyes closed.
She contented herself with a long, luxurious look; he truly was gorgeous.
Soon, Hettie brought damp towels and they tidied up.
“Everyone appears believably spent,” the other woman noted with satisfaction. “We have a little more time. Let’s talk, my love.”
Rowena squared her shoulders. “All our old plans…it’s time to put them into motion. I don’t know who’s left, but if need be, we’ll recruit assistance.”
“We lost almost everyone,” Hettie said.
“Then we rebuild. I know it’ll take time, but the plan—”
“Almost got you killed! Or did you forget that I had to watch you walk to the execution block? If it hadn’t been for Prince Alastor, you’d be dead, Ro. It’s not fair to ask me to—”
“If you don’t want to help, I understand. It’s a risk, one I’m willing to take. It’s my life,” she added.
That was all she’d ever owned, all the currency she possessed. And I’m willing to spend it this way. Please let me.
Some things were worth dying for, and defeating the tyrant was one of them. Even if Rowena didn’t live to see it, so many others would benefit from his destruction.
Finally, Hettie sighed. “I had to be sure. There are still a few of us. Thankfully, Chantisse was too clever to be caught, and this time, we won’t fail. You remember our old signal?”
“Of course,” Rowena said.
“Then look for it in a week or so. Chantisse runs the gaming house now, and she has her finger on the undercity’s pulse. She’ll help us.”
Apart from Hettie, Chantisse was Rowena’s closest friend.
Most women had shied away from Ro—in fear, envy, or scorn—because of her status as Tycho Vega’s pet.
Lucan had wanted to be more than a friend, so she didn’t count him among her loyal cohort, plus Old Wendell had said he’d changed.
Briefly she considered asking Hettie, but they’d already taken up enough time.
Better to leave before it seemed they’d had the chance to do some real plotting.
There were always eyes and ears, searching for information to sell. Even hope had a price here.
“Wait for my signal,” Hettie whispered.
This time she didn’t hug Rowena, and she realized that her friend knew that she hadn’t cured her aversion to close contact. At the best of times she kept it at bay, and she faked being fine. But if she did that long enough, maybe one day the pretense would become reality.
They left the comfort house, languid and loose-limbed. It should be obvious to anyone watching that they’d enjoyed the services on offer. Or Rowena hoped so anyway.
“Why didn’t you let Hettie reciprocate?” She didn’t plan to ask the question; it just slipped out as they turned toward their quarters.
His answer floored her. “You didn’t tell me to.”
Rowena stopped walking, eyes wide. “If I’d ordered you to receive a blow job, that’s the only way you would have let it happen?”
“Yeah,” Slay said. “I only did what you asked, exactly as you wanted. Everything that happened was about pleasing you. Did you not get that?”
Oh gods.
Her face went fire hot and her knees suddenly had jelly in them. Rowena stumbled back against the wall, hands on her cheeks. She had no idea what to do with this information, simultaneously exciting and overwhelming, too much power abruptly bestowed on someone who never had any.
“You’re into that?” she finally asked in a very faint voice.
“Turns out, yes. But maybe not with anyone else. It’s just…
you. I’m not a big thinker. I follow my feelings and usually those are wrong.
In this case, I’m not sorry. I liked doing what you told me.
Liked how greedy your eyes got when I came.
I’d be up for more, just the two of us. No pressure, though, I certainly don’t expect anything from you. ”
He doesn’t know , she thought. That I can’t touch him, even if I want to. But maybe we can manage to play.
Any fraction of pleasure she scraped up felt like victory over the tyrant. Maybe it was illogical, but Rowena felt like if she could take back sovereignty over her body, then they could take the undercity and then Golgerra. Symbiotic magic.
“What did you have in mind?” she asked.
Slay had all kinds of ideas, but most of them were impractical.
He shrugged. “We can play it by ear, do what feels right. I just hope you don’t regret what happened. It would suck if things got weird between us.”
Rowena laughed. “All we did was masturbate. I’ve listened to countless soldiers nutting since I joined Prince Alastor’s service.”
Maybe that was meant to reassure him—that this was no big deal in her eyes—but it only pissed him off. His mood plummeted, slicing clean through the endorphins. He’d never done anything like this before, and it felt like she was shrugging and moving on. Yet there was no reason for her not to, so…
“Good to know,” he muttered.
Life changing for me, business as usual for her.
Well, at least he was pissed at someone besides Pru for a change. That constituted progress, right? Morosely he followed her through the market, back toward the shitty alcove where they crashed.
Rowena stopped so suddenly that he almost slammed into her from behind. She stepped into a niche that lent them a modicum of privacy. “I can tell that you didn’t like my reply, but I don’t know why.”
“You compared what happened today with anonymous guys jerking off near you in a shared tent when you were on a forced march. Is there anything I’d like about that?”