The Slave (Free Men Book 1)(9)

"Soldiers aren't allowed to take lovers?"

"Not male ones." He grimaced. "No one in Granthia is allowed that."

I sucked a breath. "You mean you've never-"

"I'm not a virgin," he answered sharply.

"But you've never been with another man."

"No."

We lay quietly, looking at each other. Eventually, he spoke again. "What's it like?"

"What, being with a man?" I shrugged. "I've nothing to compare it to."

"You've only ever been with him?"

I smiled wryly. "He would not have permitted anything else."

"Yet he wants us to, to … ." His cheeks coloured, and he dropped his gaze.

I lay placidly. "Yes, he does."

"Why?"

"I don't know," I admitted.

"Do you want that?" He looked at me again, a thread of anxiety lacing his tone.

I considered his question. He was certainly a handsome man. My  examination turned lingering, taking in his sharp cheekbones and strong  jaw, rough with stubble that extended down the column of his neck almost  to his collar, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed. The deep  dimple at its base and the soft swell of firm muscles across his chest.  He sucked in his already flat stomach, and I smiled at his needless  insecurity, looking into his eyes. "Perhaps."





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Master wore bottle green at breakfast. We presented neatly at the foot  of his table, a pair of silent sentries overseeing his lonely meal, the  metallic scrape scrape of his spoon the only sound. He ate fast and  efficiently, placing the spoon in the bowl at a careful right angle to  his body when he was finished. Sasha cleared the table and closed the  door behind her with a soft click.

He looked at us, dark eyes narrowed. "What is that?"

I looked at Kai, more pointedly at the thin robe he stubbornly refused to surrender.

"Tam gave it to me, Master."

If Kai thought he could appease him with the prompt use of his title or  imply some other significance for the reason he sought to cover himself,  he was sorely mistaken.

"Is my house cold?"

"No, Master."

"Then you will take it off."

Kai's jaw squared in defiance, and inwardly I cringed.

"I said take it off." Master's voice was low, purring, and the hairs on  the back of my neck rose at the subtle danger laced in his tone.

Kai's hands flexed at his sides, but still he silently disobeyed.

Master leant forward, his eyes flinty shards of darkness. "Take it off, or I will punish Tam for giving it to you."         

     



 

That, at least, provoked a reaction: Kai flinched and glanced in my  direction, perhaps seeking confirmation of the validity of the threat. I  pleaded with my eyes for him to obey.

"Tam, come here."

I don't think I had ever approached my master so unwillingly.

The moment I was within reach, he wrapped his strong arm around my waist  and pulled me flush to his side. He looked at me, his expression  unfathomable, his fingers tight at my hip. Then he turned to Kai. "Last  chance."

We both watched the myriad emotions flitting over the soldier's face.  Eventually, with an angry grimace, he threw the robe off and stood  defiantly facing us.

"Uncurl your fists."

Master's voice was so sharp, I jumped. He smiled at me, his grip around  my waist tightened, and with his free hand gave my belly an affectionate  rub.

"That's better." He nodded approval as Kai complied. "Turn around. Let me see what I have bought."

The muscles in Kai's back showed in tense lines as he rotated.

"Not bad, eh, Tam?"

"No, Master." I too looked with curiosity at Kai's exposed skin. The  impression of lean muscles and rude health I had garnered when he first  stepped into the Cage had not been mistaken. His shoulders were broad  for his frame, his waist narrow. His collar hung on a neck surprisingly  delicate, vulnerable-looking as he bowed his head and simply let us  stare.

I was suddenly overcome by a desperate urge to kiss the soft bump of his  topmost vertebrate. Master restrained me when I made an unconscious  move forward.

"What are those marks on him?"

The muscles in Kai's back tensed, and his head inclined fractionally to hear my reply.

"The slavers whipped him."

"And the others?"

We stared at the angry red line that neatly bisected the long groove of  Kai's spine, and the smaller scabs and cuts which flecked his nape and  shoulders.

I gritted my teeth. "The collar."

"Have you treated them?"

"He wouldn't let me."

"You must. I don't want him scarred."

We were speaking in Granthian, and I knew Kai could hear and understand  us. There was defeat in his bowed head, in the faint tremors which shook  him. I ached to comfort him. He was just a kid, thrust into the world  barely past adulthood to fight, love, mourn, and at the last be  captured, sold, and treated no better than a dumb animal or possession.  He was a person, not livestock, and I suddenly felt queasy at the  dispassionate way Master spoke of him. His body belied him: it was that  of a powerful man, a warrior, but Kai was neither. He was a lost soul, a  spirit bare inches from being broken, quivering on the brink of  collapse.

Master's touch recalled me to my position, and I gave him my full  attention, my long hair cascading over us both as I looked down. He  reached to tuck it behind my ear, a slow, sad smile on his face as he  stroked my cheek. "Go to him," he said in Thirskan. "Make this easier."

I nodded, and he released me. I approached Kai from the side, giving him  warning of my presence before setting a hand on his shoulder. He  cringed at my touch, his eyes in that second wide with some untold,  unknown fear. I smiled in a reassuring manner and began to guide him  from the room.

"Tam."

We paused, and I half-turned to Master.

"I shall return early today. When I do, I want you both to come to my chamber. Understand?"

He had spoken in Granthian, and we nodded before leaving the room.





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Kai suffered my ministrations in fierce silence. The whiplash had  scabbed over, the swollen skin an angry red around it. I applied a  cooling lotion to the area but concluded after careful inspection that,  providing he didn't scratch, it would heal without a scar. The slavers  knew better than to permanently mark their wares.

The scratches around his collar were worse: rough-edged and deep in  places. I washed his skin and dabbed on a stinging antiseptic that made  him hiss and flinch, the muscles in his shoulders jumping.

He was so tense, tense with a nervous energy that thrummed off him in  waves. As I completed the task, my attention fixed again and again on  the small rise of his nape. On the fine blond hairs that covered his  skin. On the contrast between the thick collar and his achingly delicate  neck, cruelly exposed by his severe haircut.

I placed my hands on his shoulders and massaged him almost without  conscious thought. I had often done this for Master, easing the knots  built during long and frustrating days attending to his duties as  underlord of the surrounding area. A surprised snort was Kai's only  response, and he remained docile on the little stool I'd brought to his  room, head bowed, shoulders tense now more with the effort of remaining  tense than aught else.         

     



 

I dug my fingers into the grooves of his collarbone, pressed my thumbs  against the meat of his shoulders. I felt him relax, not by increments  but all of a sudden, his spine fluid as he leaned more towards me than  away.

His head came up, twisting a little to either side, weaving the way of a  cobra when its owner played the flute, but there was no aggression  here, just an honest reaction to the simple pleasure I was giving him.  His head fell back, eyes closed, and for the first time since I had  bought him he seemed at peace. I ran a hand up through the short spikes  of his hair, my fingers spread across his scalp, nails rooting furrows,  and he shuddered, his mouth falling open and a small sound of  satisfaction escaping.

He was practically purring, a few simple touches all it had taken to  break through some fragile barrier he had placed around himself. I  wondered, as he gripped under his knees and flexed, when he had last  experienced an intimate, loving touch. Not the trained whiles of a paid  whore or loose woman for whom his body began and ended with his dick,  but a true lover, a companion who had both time and desire to map his  flesh, learn it and make it sing. Had he ever known such a person?

His toes curled and he not-quite groaned, his head resting on my abdomen  as he looked up at me and smiled. I scraped my nails through the scruff  on his neck and jaw. I had never kissed a bearded man, and I wondered  in what ways it might be different to kissing Master, with his  sandpapery stubble scratch.

Of course, the fledgling beard would have to go.

I gathered my shaving things and returned to him. He eyed with curiosity  and not a little apprehension the collection of towels, soap, and the  wicked-looking razor. I settled him on the stool, a hand on his forehead  guiding him to lean against me. He blinked, quiet and trusting. I  dipped the first cloth in the cold water of the washbasin, wrung it out,  and placed it on his face.