“Yes, I can see where that would be true. All right then, you’re mine—to do with as I choose.”
As she spoke, she reached up to cup his cheek in one soft, small hand. Braze wanted to fucking melt for her, but he contented himself with holding her eyes with his own and leaning into her palm—offering his surrender without saying a word this time.
The moment might have lasted forever…or even ended in a kiss—but there was a timid rapping at the suite door and the servant called,
“The Feast of the New Moon begins soon, my Lady!”
They both sighed at the same time, and it felt to Braze like some kind of spell had been broken.
“Here—let me get you out of this thing,” Kaitlyn said briskly. She stepped closer, her scent teasing him, and reached down. Her fingers, deft and sure, found the simple knot at his waist and loosened it. The long panels of fabric—the only thing that had offered even a whisper of modesty—fell away, pooling around his feet on the cold stone.
Braze stood before her, completely naked and it was Kaitlyn’s turn to look.
The air felt cool on his feverish skin, but it did nothing to quell the heat radiating from his rigid cock, which jutted out from his body, flushed and leaking with need. He was proud of his body…but he couldn’t help remembering being sold at the Flesh Auction—being put on display just like this for all the Yonnie Six buyers to see and admire.
He could feel Kaitlyn’s gaze like a physical touch, sliding away from his groin, then darting back again. He didn’t need his Kindred senses to know her breath had caught in her throat—he could hear the soft, quick puff of air. But his sensitive hearing could also detect the rapid, frantic flutter of her heartbeat like a drumbeat in the quiet room, syncing with the pounding pulse in his own ears.
This wasn’t right, Braze told himself. He was too attuned to her—a dangerous level of awareness for a Protector—but he couldn’t seem to dial it back. Not now…not ever.
After a long moment, Kaitlyn seemed to unfreeze.
“Well now, let’s get these on you,” she said, her voice striving for a businesslike tone and failing miserably. It came out breathy and a little unsteady instead.
She bent to pick up the crotchless leather trousers—the material supple and black as sin—and held them out to him.
Feeling slightly ridiculous, Braze stepped into them when she held them open, lifting one foot, then the other. She pulled them up his legs, her knuckles brushing against his calves and thighs, and then, when he was sure the non-con manacles weren’t going to shock him, he took over.
The leather was cool at first, then quickly warmed, molding to him like a second skin as he tugged the crotchless trousers up over his hips. He took his hands away then and let Kaitlyn fasten them around his waist. They fit perfectly, emphasizing the muscular curve of his ass and the thick columns of his thighs, while leaving his cock and balls completely vulnerable and exposed to the cool air.
“Feel like a fucking idiot,” he growled, looking down at himself. His shaft looked obscene, jutting proudly from the opening in the leather. “Blowin’ in the fucking wind like this.”
“Well, you won’t be completely bare for long—I still have to put the, uh, ring on you,” Kaitlyn reminded him, her cheeks pink.
She picked up the cock ring from the bed, the metal gleaming dully in the crystal light. She started to bend, then apparently changed her mind and sat on the edge of the vast mattress, the starry blue gown rustling.
“Here—I think I can reach you better this way—come a little closer.”
He took a step forward, until he was standing directly before her, his exposed cock level with her face. The intimacy of the position made his gut tight with need, which he tried to ignore.
Kaitlyn unfastened the buckle on the leather strap of the ring, her fingers trembling slightly. She slipped the cool metal circle around the base of his shaft, just above his knot. She tried to position it, frowning in concentration, her soft lips pursed.
“Should it go above or below the knot?” she muttered to herself, more thinking aloud than asking.
“Below,” he answered instantly, the word out before he could stop it. On Yonnie Six, his old Mistress had always insisted that a cock ring must sit below the prominent ridge of his knot, to emphasize its swell—to make it look even bigger.
The memory was a cold splash of reality, but it was instantly incinerated by the feeling of her fingers adjusting the ring, her knuckles brushing the ultra-sensitive skin of his balls.
Braze bit back a groan. Her touch was fucking killing him—sending bolts of pure, undiluted pleasure straight up his spine.
She tried again, sliding the ring down another fraction of an inch until it settled in the groove just beneath the swollen bulge.
“That’s not too tight, is it?” she asked anxiously, looking up at him, her eyes wide and dark with concern.
He shook his head, his throat too tight for words for a second. The metal and leather band was snug, unyielding—a constant, firm pressure that somehow made his erection feel even more immense—more urgent.
“No, Mistress…that’s fine,” he managed to get out at last.
She hesitated, her gaze dropping back to his imprisoned length.
