Cat Star 03 - Rogue Read online

  "My guest needs more wine," Scalia said, crooking a finger toward the Siberian tiger.

  Nodding, he collected a flask from the sideboard and came around the table. When he leaned over to pour the wine, his cock was just below my eye level, but as my eyes were slightly downcast, I had an excellent view of it. Among other things, I noted that the jewels on his genital cuff were every bit as blue as his eyes. Scalia, it seemed, was not the slightest bit color-blind and had paid attention to detail when decorating her slaves.

  "Thank you," I said hoarsely.

  "You are very welcome," he replied. "It is my plea­sure to serve you."

  His deep voice was like melted butter and, even though polite, his choice of words had me envisioning all manner of pleasurable things—none of them having anything to do with food or drink. I couldn't help but look up at him, and, when our eyes met, he smiled again and blinked slowly. Then I watched, fascinated, as his nostrils flared with a deep inhalation—and his smile in­tensified, as did the hot blue of his eyes.

  "Oh, excellent!" Scalia said in hushed tones.

  Yes, he is! Excellent, perfect, amazing, unbeliev­able—and just about any other superlative you'd care to use. Still gazing up at him, I felt as though I were about to melt into a puddle and slide off my chair. Honestly, if I'd ever felt a more overwhelming sense of desire for any other man in the galaxy, this one would have made me forget it.

  I felt something wet drop onto my hand. Glanc­ing down to see if I was, indeed, melting, I saw what Scalia had undoubtedly been referring to, for the tiger's penis was now fully erect. As thick and long as a well-endowed human's would have been, it also had a wide, scalloped corona at the base of the head that was obviously there for one reason only: to give the great­est possible pleasure to any woman fortunate enough to be penetrated by it. Looking closer, I noted that the clear fluid that had fallen on my hand appeared to be coming, not from the opening at the apex, but from the starlike points of the corona.

  I tried to swallow and couldn't. I looked up at him again with what must have been an expression of raw hunger mingled with guilt written clearly upon my face. In return, what I saw on his face was the most open invitation to partake of anything I'd ever seen. His mes­merizing eyes beckoned, his full lips promised sensuous delights beyond my wildest imaginings, and his pro­vocative smile assured me of his knowledge of every possible way to drive a woman wild. He was offering himself to me—completely—without saying a word.

  Unfortunately, just as I was about to take a taste of him, I suddenly remembered where I was. We were not alone, and he was a slave who belonged to the liz­ard queen sitting across the table from me. Reaching awkwardly for my wineglass, my sleeve slid across the head of his cock, soaking it with his fluid and drawing a barely audible groan from him.

  Trying desperately to ignore his reaction, I looked away from him and saw that Scalia was watching us in­tently, but she had her hand on the Bengal tiger's thigh, stroking him, though without any erotic response on his part whatsoever. I would have thought that such a porno­graphic vision right across the table from him would have been enough to stimulate him, but apparently, it wasn't.

  Then I remembered the blue-eyed tiger inhaling as though he was taking a whiff of me. It was something to do with scent, then—though it was surprising that I was clearheaded enough to figure that out at the time. What was also surprising was the fact that my "scent" hadn't reached the other man, because if the way I was feeling was any indication, it had to have been pretty heavy on the sex pheromones.

  Breaking the silence, the Queen's voice was now brisk and businesslike. "You will require a personal at­tendant during your stay with us," Scalia said. "I believe he will suit you very nicely."

  "Who, him?" I gasped. As I sat staring at his cock, I decided that if anyone could "suit me," it would have been him, but he was far more... man... than I'd ever so much as touched in my life! He could turn me to mush in a heartbeat—and, of course, in that state, I'd never play piano again... "Oh, but I don't really need—" I protested, before she cut me off with an imperious wave of her hand.

  "Yes, you do," she said firmly. "You are new to this world, Kyra. He will be able to help you... adjust."

  Adjust. What an interesting choice of words! He probably could have helped me adjust to just about anything—even daily torture—if only he were to hold my hand for the duration. And speaking of hands, I wondered if I'd be able to keep mine off of him when we were alone together. Having been within a hair­breadth of licking his cock just moments before—and in full view of two other people, I might add—I thought I'd probably have some difficulty with that. I also wondered if he'd go running to Scalia to complain if I did something of that nature—or what he would do if I didn't.

  To be honest, I doubted that I needed a servant of any kind, though due to the scarcity of water and fab­rics, it was a given that there wouldn't be any easy way to wash my clothes. I wondered if my bed would have sheets on it, or if I'd be sleeping on a bed of stones or sand. Hopefully, Zealon had done some homework in that area as well.

  My tiger was still standing next to me, flanking my chair just as his counterpart did for Scalia—quite slave­like behavior, despite his persistent erection—and it occurred to me that he might like to have some say in the matter.

  "What about you?" I asked, looking up at him curi­ously. "Do you think I need a personal attendant?"

  "Absolutely," he replied, his luscious lips curling in a smile. "There are a great many things I can do for you."

  I'll just bet you can, I thought grimly. "But do you want to?" I said aloud. For some reason, I felt it was important that his service to me be voluntary. Not that he wouldn't have done whatever he was told to do by his owner; after all, he was a slave, though a very valuable one. What would happen if he refused? I doubted that Scalia would punish him—doubted that she ever had, for neither of them had a mark on him, nor did they have the cowed expressions of people who were habitually abused or bullied. In fact, they appeared to have been well cared for, if not cosseted, by their owner—truly more like cherished pets than slaves.

  "I can think of nothing I would like more," he assured me.

  "Because you have been told to." I said this not as a question, but as a statement.

  He seemed uncertain about how to reply to that, glancing at Scalia out of the corner of his eye as if for direction, but she gave him none that I could see.

  "Because you smell of desire," he said finally. "Being near you pleases me... and I have no doubt that I can please you."

  "An honest answer," Scalia asserted. "You may be­lieve what he tells you. They are both very truthful."

  I nodded. "Yes, I can believe that much," I said. This man undoubtedly could please the most stone-cold woman imaginable, but I secretly wondered if it was my desire which pleased him, or if any woman's desire would do.

  Sighing deeply, I relented, knowing that while I might regret my decision in the end, if I refused, I'd regret it even more.

  "It is settled, then," Scalia said to my tiger. "You may escort Kyra to her rooms." Turning to me, she added, "Your quarters have been adapted to suit human needs. I believe you will find them to your liking."

  "I'm sure I will," I replied, "but, if you don't mind my asking, how are you going to keep him a secret if he's with me? The Princess, or someone else, may see him."

  "We will take that risk," Scalia said with conviction. "I believe it to be worthwhile."

  And her word was law. After all, she was the queen.

  Chapter 4

  Scalia might have spoken with all the conviction of a reigning queen, but it was with a great deal of trepidation that I followed my new "attendant" to my quarters. I'd never had anyone do much of anything for me—had never needed to—and I wasn't sure how to deal with him. It was hard enough for me to ask some­one to pass me the salt, let alone anything of a more personal nature. How in the world was I going to ask this incredibly attractive, naked man to wash m
y socks? I hoped he was really good at being a slave, because then I wouldn't actually have to tell him to do anything; he would identify what needed to be done and do it.

  While his aptitude for slavery remained to be seen, the one thing I could see was that it was much nicer following him down the hall than Wazak—very nice naked buns and no tail. And his hair! It was so shock­ingly beautiful it made me want to bury my face in it. I found myself thinking about what it would feel like to have those curls draped across my skin and shivered, de­spite the heat. I felt a little light-headed, too, and thought perhaps I hadn't drunk enough water with dinner—or had drunk too much wine...

  I tried to think of something else. I remembered hear­ing that it could get very cold in the desert at night, but the sun hadn't been down long enough to make much of a difference in the temperature yet. What if my bed was made of that shiny stone? What if there were no sheets, and I woke up freezing to death in the middle of the night? And for that matter, how did you turn off those glowing stones? Was it even possible? The more I thought about it, the happier I was that I had him to help me—whatever his name was. I would have to ask him at some point, but would he become as annoyed as Wazak if I asked too many questions? For that matter, what would he consider to be too many? How was I going to sleep with so much on my mind?

  I took a deep breath to steady my nerves. I had been in space for six weeks, and now I was on a completely different planet—with a big, naked, male tiger for a companion; it was understandable that I would feel a bit rattled. I would adjust—and he would help me—it was simply a matter of time. And what was I there for? Oh, yeah, right... piano teacher. I'd even forgotten that part—which had been practically my whole life up until then.

  Reminding myself that I was disoriented, a little drunk, and that the mere sight of a man smiling at me had set off an orgasm the likes of which I'd probably never experience again—unless I actually... but no, it didn't seem like a good idea. Sex with a slave? I shouldn't do it! It was, I don't know... unethical, perhaps? Still, the idea of having a love slave wasn't a/7 bad. He'd seemed pretty willing, hadn't he? Even said that being near me gave him pleasure?

  My mind was in turmoil, but my new attendant con­tinued to lead the way as though it was perfectly natural for him to stroll through the palace wearing nothing but a collar every day of his life—which, I suppose, he did.

  It was a new experience for me, however, because the further we walked, the more fascinated with his buns I became. They were perfect, and I couldn't take my eyes off of them—wanted to bite them, slap them, squeeze them like ripe peaches, and—

  "Ah, my darling, blue-eyed slave!" a teasing female voice called out. "You have found a new lover?"

  Looking further down the corridor, I could see that we were being approached by what I assumed was a Darconian woman—she was wearing beads, anyway— who stopped right in front of my tiger and ran a sensu­ous finger down the center of his chest.

  "I see that I have been replaced," she lamented. "What a pity!"

  Gazing up at her with a look that would have melted a glacier, my tiger lightly caressed her cheek. "If I could truly mate with any Darconian, Cernada," he said suavely, "I promise, it would have been you."

  "Oh, but I am certain that the Queen would not allow it!" Cernada said, laughing. "Beware of this one," she warned me. "His tongue is as smooth as water flowing over shepra stones. You may thinkhe is yours alone, but he is not." Cernada ran her fingers through his curls as she continued on past us with a throaty chuckle.

  Dumbfounded, I stared after her, watching her tail swing back and forth as she sauntered off down the hall. It shouldn't have surprised me that there would be other Darconian women besides the Queen who had the hots for him, but for some reason, it did. And what on earth would the two of them do together if he couldn't—

  I felt a tap on my shoulder and must have jumped about a foot. "Your rooms are this way, Kyra," he said with a sweeping gesture in the opposite direction. "I'm sure you are tired and in need of your bed."

  I gaped at him for a long moment before my brain finally restarted. "Oh, yeah, right... bed. I am pretty tired." I took one more look in the direction Cernada had taken and asked the only question on my mind that didn't involve sex. "So, tell me: are their scales smooth, or rough?"

  "Smoother than you might think," he said with a knowing smile. "And they are also slightly cold­blooded." His smile broadened as he added, "They like to sleep with something warm."

  The look he gave me suggested that he might have been the warm "something" that Cernada liked to sleep with. Scalia had said that the slaves were locked up at night for their own protection, but his comment had me wondering if it was possible to check one of them out for the night—sort of like a library book.

  He turned and started off down the hall again, and I followed just as before, but with so much more on my mind, it was a wonder I could spare the conscious effort to move my feet. We hadn't gone much farther when he stopped in front of a set of doors so suddenly that I ran into him from behind, because I wasn't paying attention. I may have gotten my wish to have my face buried in his hair, but it wasn't exactly the way I'd had in mind, and I didn't even have the presence of mind to grab his buns to keep from falling!

  "I'm so sorry!" I exclaimed. "I didn't mean to—"

  Turning, he put a hand on my shoulder to steady me. "There is no need for you to apologize."

  "But—"

  "I am a slave," he said quietly, "and though I have rarely been mistreated, my feelings are seldom considered."

  "Well, I can't not consider them, just because you're a slave!" I protested vehemently. "You're—you're a living, breathing, thinking being! I can't just ignore your feelings!"

  He regarded me for a moment with a thoughtful ex­pression and then said, "I believe you mean that."

  "Well, of course I do!" I exclaimed. "This is all just so—so weird! Slavery doesn't even exist on my planet! It isn't something I've ever dealt with before." I realized then that it had been a mistake to let myself get so upset. Breathing hard and feeling stranger by the second, I gasped, "And what the hell is your name?"

  I didn't faint, exactly, but I came pretty close, for the corridor darkened just then, and I began seeing spots where moments before there had been none.

  Slipping an arm around my waist for support and pushing the door open, he said, "You need to lie down. The heat is affecting your brain."

  "Oh, is that what it is?" I mumbled. "Funny, I thought it was you."

  It was dark in my room—if this was my room— and I couldn't see his face very well, but I heard him chuckle softly.

  "What's so funny?" I demanded.

  " You are," he replied.

  "You know something? You don't act like a slave. I mean, slaves aren't supposed to laugh at their masters, or flirt with the ladies, are they?"

  "I was not born a slave," he said. "Perhaps that's why I behave differently."

  "Really?" I murmured. "How did you end up here, then?"

  "At the end of the war in which my planet was de­stroyed, several members of my unit were taken pris­oner. We were to be executed, but an enterprising fellow thought he could make a few credits by selling us, in­stead. My brother Trag and I were lucky enough to be bought by Scalia."

  "Lucky?"

  He laid me down on the bed before answering me. It wasn't made of stone, and it even had sheets on it— sheets that felt smooth, almost like satin. Rolling onto my side, I sighed with relief. Now if I could just get some more water...

  "We are both still alive," he said, "and slaves are sel­dom treated as well as we have been."

  "Well, if you don't mind wearing nothing but a col­lar." I thought for a moment and added, "Make that two collars."

  He laughed again, saying: "We prefer it that way. We don't like to wear clothing any more than the Darconians do."

  "Mm-hm," I murmured. "Well, you look very nice without it. Some guys wouldn't."

  "Thank
you."

  He was so close that I could feel the heat radiating from his body and his breath, warm on my cheek. His lips couldn't have been very far away, either—his full, succulent, kissable lips. My own lips tingled with antici­pation; I wanted to kiss him so badly... I had to change the subject before I did something stupid.

  Clearing my throat with an effort, I said, "So, you're going to look after me, then? Wash my socks and comb my hair?"

  "I'll do anything you wish for me to do," he said. "Anything at all."

  "You shouldn't say that," I warned him. "You might not like what I wish for."

  "I doubt that," he said, his amusement evident in his voice. Obviously, he didn't consider my "wishes" to be much of a threat.

  "What do you wish for?" I asked curiously. "Freedom?"

  "I have wished for that in the past," he replied thoughtfully. "But now, I'm looking forward to serving you in any way I can."

  Give up the chance for freedom to serve a woman? That didn't sound like anything a man had ever said to me before, regardless of what planet he hailed from— though, of course, I'd never met a slave. "Aw, you're making that up," I protested.