Daemon & Sunny Ch. 03

"We'll keep it as a lounging robe—it's too plain for anything else. Next!"

The third one was a bodysuit in deep red. It covered her from ankles to wrists to the edge of her slave collar…except it was crotchless and had peepholes for her nipples to poke through. She was getting a solid feel for what ‘kept ready' meant. The color of the bodysuit wasn't the only red she was beginning to see.

"Armon," Sunny stated, holding onto her temper, "if I don't see some real clothes, pretty soon—you can kiss your ‘tailor' goodbye!"

"There's no need to threaten, Sunny. The next few outfits are proper Astorran gowns. In fact, their measurements were based on the one you arrived in." Armon gestured and a trio of servants came out, one carrying a red gown, one carrying a blue gown, and one a green gown; the only differences were the lighter weight of the green brocade and the shortness of the sleeves, in deference to the warm weather.

Sunny suffered through their fitting, then through silk pantsuits, cloaks, and somewhat decent lingerie, though all of it was made with sheer silk and soft lace fitted to her proportions. A servant came hurrying in as Sunny was removing the latest garment. The woman bowed hastily.

"Consort—you are summoned!"

Armon moved faster than the tailor, snatching up one of the new gowns from the hangar it had been placed on. He slipped Sunny's arms into the green sleeves, buttoned up the inside buttons, reached in unceremoniously to readjust her breasts so that they weren't squished, and fastened the rest of the buttons from shoulder to hip. "Slippers!"

"Excuse me—I haven't got any underwear on!" Sunny pointed out, wobbling first one way, then the other as the seamstress's assistant fitted the left slipper on, and the seamstress the right one, the low-cut footwear fashioned from a matching brocaded satin. With a deft twist, Armon snatched up the side and front locks of her hair and fixed them in place with an emerald-studded haircomb. "Ow! Hey!"

"No time to waste, my dear—when you're summoned, you're supposed to be ready…and in more ways than one," he added, snatching back the underpants she had snagged from the shelves holding her new clothes. Tossing them at the tailor and her assistant to put away, Armon hustled Sunny out of her dressing room, down the stairs of her suite, and out across the main hall of the saeda, the maidservant hurrying ahead of them, leading the way across the pool and at an angle to the entrance Sunny and the head eunuch had used before. They picked up a pair of guards for escort, moving from the privacy of the saeda into the halls of the palace proper. The incredible thing was the startled looks the men and women she passed gave her, and the way most of them bowed out of her way.

Her thighs were chafing uncomfortably by the time they reached a formal sitting room. Daemon was within, seated in a vaguely throne-like chair…and Lord Chellan, the Ruyikan Ambassador whom had bought her, was seated on the sofa. The latter rose as she came into the room with a broad, false smile.

"Ah, Deena, child—how are you faring?"

She gave him one dismissive look, then ignored him. Pointedly. Sunny turned and surveyed a painting of fruit on the wall as if it were actually fascinating.

"Speak to your betters when they address you, slave!"

Daemon, already having to put up with the old man's insistent demand—however politely phrased as a request—to see his former slave, did not care for the ambassador's tone. Before he could say anything, however, his Sunny replied. In a calm, even bored, tone of voice.

"Sodder off, you fart-faced pile of sloppy craker."

Daemon saw the box the ambassador pulled out of his clothes, but not in time to stop that thumb from jamming down. He could feel the pain she suffered with a choked grasp, an echo of agony radiating out as if from his own throat—a very strange sensation--and lunged, grabbing the box out of the ambassador's hand. She gasped a second time as the pain faded, and Daemon found and thumbed the collar-release control, aiming the box at her throat. His eyes were pale, cold, aquamarine fire as he fixed them on the startled ambassador while she quickly removed the awful thing.

"She is mine, to punish or pleasure, Ambassador. You will stay away from her. Is that clear?" he snarled softly, not even stopping to wonder why he was acting this possessive, this protective.

Lord Chellan swallowed and nodded. He had just made a serious mistake, one his queen might not be willing to forgive if it cost her the expansion of her empire. He bowed as his gift slave tossed away the ribbon-like collar in disgust. "…Forgive me, Your Majesty. I was merely deeply concerned that her insolence had given you offense. Forgive my protectiveness towards your sanctity."

"CrakerM.U<." That came not from the king, but from his concubine. Sunny faced the flushing ambassador, not quite knowing where her knowledge was coming from, but knowing it was as certain as her hair was curly and its color auburn. "You only want to flatter him to get into his good graces, and you want to get your hands on me so you can make sure you can use me to use him."

"Sunny—" Those accusations were rather blunt; Daemon didn't need a diplomatic incident on his hands. She ignored him, however, stalking towards the ambassador like a queen traerr stalking a trespasser trying to encroach on her pride's territory.

"The only reason why you demanded to see me is because when all the other concubines were dismissed, most of the serving staff was also dismissed, and there went your saeda spies." The more she looked into his eyes, the more certain her knowledge grew, almost as if she could pick the knowledge right out of his frightened hazel eyes. "The more your ‘gift' pleases His Majesty, the more favorable you think he'll be inclined to be towards you. Because you're sitting there, hoping he'll be more amenable to unit—"

"—I will not stay here and be interrogated like this!" Skirting her, he left quickly, rudely, ignoring the guards just inside the room, and the maid, the guards, and Armon waiting just beyond the open door.

Sunny blinked. She had been so close to finding out what the man wanted. Something to do with his queen, something about ambitions…but he had left too soon for her to find out.

Daemon faced his bewildering concubine. "Sunny. Sunny!"

"What?" She looked back at him.

"Are Craidans telepathic?"

She blinked in surprise. "No. Why?"

"Because you…looked and sounded like you were extracting all of that straight out of his mind."

"I…I'm not telepathic," she stated, but it came out partway as a question as she lifted her gaze to his. "I just…knew. He's ambitious," Sunny found herself warning him. "He and his queen want something from you."

"Everyone wants something from me, Sunny," Daemon retorted, running his hands through his hair. "I'm the king, remember?"

"No, something…more. Something they still want. Something they didn't get," she murmured, trying to make sense of the fleeting impressions she'd had. She shook her head.

Daemon didn't know what to make of her. He stared at her, let his eyes trail down over her tumbling curls, swept back from her face, down over the attractive green gown she was wearing, down the cloth-covered buttons to her hip…and back up again. It was slightly wrinkled. Her dress was mis-buttoned, offset by one button all the way down. That suggested it had been thrown on in haste to meet his summons. Wondering what else she had missed in dressing made him flick out his hand, dismissing the guards inside the room. They bowed and left, closing the door behind them as his concubine chewed on her lower lip, deep in thought.

Closing the few steps that lay between them, he took her hand and tugged her over to the coffee table where his and the ambassador's abandoned drinks sat. She lifted her bright aquamarine eyes to his, startled by his touch, and sat down on the low surface at his urging with a puzzled frown. "What?"

"You," he answered just as succinctly, then smiled and undid her buttons. "You were in such a haste to dress for me, you left the job undone."

"Armon did it. I was in the middle of trying on some of the most ridiculous outfits I've ever s…ohhh…" He had undone the inner panel, kneeling in front of her, and had suckled her nipple into his mouth. Distracting her words right out of her head. Pushing the gown off her shoulders, baring her naked body, he worked on the fastenings to his own, unbuttoning his tunic, his trousers, and pressed himself into her core. He was ready, though she wasn't quite as slick as he wanted her to be. He couldn't wait, though.

Pulling her to the very edge of the table, he buried himself in her as deeply as possible, forcing her knees wide, her thighs parted to accommodate his hips. Sunny gasped as he held her there, so deep he was touching her deep inside, and sucked in a second sharp breath as he rotated his body, grinding his pelvis into her own, mashing her pearl, stimulating her nerves. A moan escaped with effort from her suddenly tight throat at the incredible sensations.

"That's it…yes, Bright Astor!" Daemon tightened his jaw when she clamped around him in her quickly mounting pleasure. He kept up the stimulating pressure, kept his attention firmly on arousing her pleasure, until he felt her grow rather damp. Then he pulled back and thrust in, attending to his own. Pushing her down against the surface of the table, shoving the cups off the table, uncaring if they broke as well as spilled their half-drunk contents, he drove into her as she cried out with each rhythmic thrust. Driving him higher with each of her feminine sounds. Driving him wild.

She was addicted to him. He was a drug to her, in and of himself. It was the only explanation for the strength of her reaction. Whatever had altered her freckles, made her mind unnaturally perceptive, it surely also had to be responsible for making her so physically sensitive, so responsive to his passion. And if it's out of my control…like my new freckles…why shouldn't I enjoy it?

He gasped when she rocked her hips enthusiastically up into his. What had been planned to last longer didn't last very long at all. Just long enough to drag her into completion with him.

…The White Dragon dove under and around her mate, brushing against him. One cycle complete. There were a few more to go, as they arced together at the border between Day and Night; it didn't matter how many. The first had begun; the rest waited patiently to be done…

Daemon and Sunny both opened their eyes with a frown. Both remembering the odd moment and its even odder image.

The image made no sense to Daemon. Kissing his concubine, he pulled out of her, kissed his way down between her breasts, over her belly, and down between her thighs for a sensual, thanks-giving taste. She shivered in an aftershock of pleasure and he grinned against her flesh, licked her one more time, then pulled back and started reassembling his clothes into the neat arrangement his valet had given them that morning.

For Sunny, the brief flash of two serpentine dragons, one white with the odd feeling of it being herself, the other black and with the equally odd sensation it was Daemon, held her attention. Until he distracted her with his intimate, brief feast. When he stopped, Sunny felt like throttling him, caught still aroused on the tail edge of yet another orgasm. With her new determination, feeling rather bold, she sat up, grabbed him by the ears, and yanked him down as she fell back onto the coffee table again.

Daemon grunted at the painful tugging, frowning until his nose bumped into something curly, damp and passion-scented. He managed to lift his head just enough to look up her body, at the impatient fall and rise of her chest, then allowed her hands to guide his head further down into her feminine nest. Burying his smile there, he did as she silently demanded, and finished what he had started. And when he was done, or rather, she was done, he couldn't resist; he surged up over her and reburied himself inside her still quivering flesh, taking her hard and fast with the taste of her pleasure's essence moistening his lips. The sight of her lazy, blissful, feminine smile put a triumphant, masculine grin on his own face. A fierce, intent stare when he released himself into her. And a rather sated smile when he pulled out of her and refastened his clothes.

Feeling him tugging the panels of her gown back into place, Sunny stretched languidly. Soft black hair tickled her belly as he pressed a kiss above her navel, then he buttoned her up properly this time. She let him pull both of them to their feet, accepted his deep, relatively brief kiss…and widened her eyes as he lightly swatted her backside.

"Go back to the saeda, Sunny. I have more work to do."

Sunny saw red. "Excuse me! I had work to do, too, before those pirates stole me! It may not have been running an empire, but you're not the only one in the universe with an important job!"

Hauling her against him, catching her hands as she tried to shove him away, Daemon met her furious gaze with a chiding one. "I meant simply that you have the power to seriously distract me. And your previous job no longer exists—the pirates saw to that. Your job now is to make love to me. To keep me satisfied." He rubbed his nose against hers, smiling to lighten her mood. "But since I do have an empire to run…we are making my Grand Chamberlain seriously unhappy with this delay in his impossible to keep schedule. And he's already irritated with me for missing all of yesterday."

"I'm a historian!" Sunny asserted. "Not a courtesan!"

Freeing her hands, he slid his own into her swept-back hair. She pushed against him as he brought his mouth down to hers, but her strength wasn't in the halfhearted shove. Within moments, she was returning his assertive kiss. Daemon pulled back just as he was beginning to rouse again and regarded her. "You are both. Now, go."

She shoved at him again. "I want my freedom."

He kissed her a second time, a soft, brief, tender time, then shook his head slowly. There was no way he was going to let her leave him, so there was no way he was going to let her go. "You are bound to me, Sundrea. You belong to me. Return to the saeda; I will come to you tonight."

The promise in his words made her shiver. Sunny backed up a step, another, and turned and quickly left. Armon had a big smile, waiting for her with the two saeda guards outside the room, and he quickly caught up with her and guided her back towards her vast, luxurious prison.

"He is positively besotted with you," Armon whispered to her as they strode along. "The whole Court is a-buzz with gossip about his entire missed schedule yesterday. And once it's widely known that you're his Consort—why, I can only think that there'll be some noble-born young ladies weeping in despair tonight that they cannot capture a heart that you own."

Sunny stopped and faced him. "He doesn't have a heart! He just has a big pe—"

Armon clapped a hand over her mouth, blushing and giving her a stern look. Luckily, there weren't any people around in the corridor they stood in at the moment, but that could change. "Listen to me, young lady," he lectured her, keeping his palm planted over her lips. "The only reason why you would be named Consort is because you've caught his heart. Because otherwise, you'd be called Mistress, which is the next highest title, and the one most commonly given to a favored concubine."

Sunny peeled his hand away and gave him a dry-voiced reply. "Forgive me if I don't believe you."

Armon sighed and urged her down the corridor again with a hand on her elbow. "You aren't by any chance noble-born or royal blooded, are you?"

"No. Why?" Sunny asked, suspicious.

"Because if you were, you could marry him. But Astorran law is quite firm on that point—the queen has to be either a noblewoman or a royal one."

"Marry?" she spluttered, shocked in her disbelief. "What makes you think I'd marry that arrogant…!" She couldn't come up with an appropriate label. "I wouldn't want to marry him even if he were the soddering Empe—"

She stopped. Mid-sentence, mid-stride, mid-thought. The white, serpentine dragon inside her mind brightened in triumph at her awareness. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to deny it.

"No. No. It can't… I can't…"

"Sunny?" Armon asked in concern. "What's wrong, dear?"

She remembered. Touching the box, righting it. The slight shock, and the opening of the lid.

Remembered the Matrix filling her. Imbuing her with the power of the White Dragon Remembered…the Matrix choosing the king, the moment their hands had touched, when she had been hanging outside his bedroom window. Her Black Dragon. Her mate.

"Soddering Hell!" She opened her eyes with the angry epithet…then remembered Armon. She blushed. "Sorry, Armon; I didn't mean…"

"I know you didn't," he reassured her with a pat to her arm. "Astor knows I use it myself often enough. Sort of like shouting ‘rape', yes?" he asked with an amused smile. He patted her arm again, her elbow still cupped in his other palm. "Now, what was bothering you, just now?"

She had to think about it before she could confide in anyone. So Sunny shook her head, and let him guide her back to the saeda. "Nothing Armon. Just…an unpleasant thought."

"Well, you're due for your first lesson in pleasure-dancing, so hopefully that'll get your mind off of it," he reassured her.

"Great. Now I have to learn how to dance." But her attention wasn't fully on her complaint.