Between Two Evils
Chapter 3
Allura felt increasingly nervous as she approached her husband. She was keenly aware that Lotor had fulfilled his side of the bargain and more; it was past time she did the same.
She stopped when she was still a good ten feet away from him. He was so tall and still. In the light of the half moons he looked as beautiful and otherworldly as an angel, but those eyes... Allura was certain that no angel had ever had eyes like his.
She looked away across the sea of grass where last pale wildflowers glowed like early snowflakes. This was one of her favorite places on Arus. She felt a pang of sorrow that she didn't know when, or if, she might see it again—or anywhere else, for that matter—now that Lotor had made his point.
She looked at him and spoke before she could lose her courage. “Lotor, can we... Can it be here, now?”
Over the last few days she'd concluded that Lotor had three basic moods: annoyed, furious and self-satisfied. When she'd walked up he'd seemed very much the latter, but her words managed to banish his small, ever-present smirk.
“I—uh, well, yes, of course.”
After a moment's hesitation, he closed the distance between them with a few swift strides. He stood for a moment, searching her upturned face. It wasn't easy to hold his gaze, but she did it.
“Here. Now.” He raised his eyebrows a little. “In the grass?”
She couldn't help it then; she turned her face away, flushing painfully.
She had barely moved before his hands came up to turn her face back to his. He didn't kiss her with any more caution than he had before, but his wondering enthusiasm didn't frighten her now. Well, maybe it did, a little—so she was relieved when he picked her up slowly and set her down in the meadow as though she might break. He lowered himself down next to her and fit his big body alongside hers. Propped up a little on one elbow, he looked down at her; he seemed intent, even serious.
She stared up at him as he tugged off his gauntlets and then smoothed her hair back from her forehead with his palm. His cat's eyes were so clear, the color of tarnished silver in the moonlight. She felt the weight of his other hand at her waist, the press of his thumb against her belly.
“If I hurt you,” he said, “you may slap me after, as hard as you like.” In spite of her nervousness, or perhaps because of it, her mouth twitched a little at this strange reassurance. Not sure how to respond to him in this mood, she finally nodded.
She closed her eyes as the hand at her waist slid down. He shifted her leg up over his hip and began to pluck at the fastenings of her boot.
***
Allura woke as a long-fingered hand smoothed her over onto her back. Warm lips nuzzled in behind her ear. Neither alarmed her out of her relaxed, dreamy state. Her initiation the previous night had shown her that her wifely duties were a bit sticky but not unpleasant.
His hand stroked up over her bare breast. He hadn't done that last night; she frowned and wriggled a little.
“Shhh. Let me enjoy my wife.”
‘Enjoying’ seemed to involve his hands and his... “Oh my,” she breathed, as his fingers brushed over one breast just as he took an experimental taste of the other. He seemed to like it; his tongue returned again and again, lapping, lips tugging. “Oh my.”
His laughter was felt more than heard, breath warm against her skin, a vibration of his body pressed along hers. As if he knew about the sweet ache that had started there, his palm swirled over her lower belly, soothing her even as his mouth became more insistent at her breast. She clasped his shoulders, but that was no refuge from the unfamiliar; his skin was bare and hot under her palms.
He was suckling now; sharp darts of pleasure tightened her skin and made her hips rise. The heel of his hand shifted lower, pressing, and then the scandal of his mouth was forgotten when his long fingers brushed against her most private flesh. One fingertip dipped inward, then two; then they were skating over her, stroking her open, drawing slick little ovals on her body. At the apex of every revolution they struck something so delicious that she wanted to hit him every time he moved away.
The ovals became circles—smaller, faster. It was not enough. It was too much. She tried to tell him, but she couldn't. His head was heavy between her breasts now, breath coming quick. She struck his shoulder with her fist—once, twice.
The stroking stopped.
His fingers stabbed inside her, almost painfully and not what she wanted at all, and then his hand withdrew to her thigh. He came up over her in muscular surge, sleek, warm satin stroking her bareness, a sensuous contrast to the blunt pressure that grew between her legs.
Allura wanted to weep for her lost pleasure. She lay still, uncaring, as he invaded her by inches with short strokes of his hips. If that maddening, untouched hurt wasn't bad enough, his taking of her this time was not the gentle mating he'd led her to expect. It was much tighter, harder, almost bruising.
He began to move, long and slow, kissing her face and throat.
The tightness became a friction that wanted all of her attention; it soothed the ache of him inside her. By the time he murmured her name into her hair and quickened his pace, she was trying to move her hips in time with his. He petted the curve of her breast, her waist, and then his hand slid down under her hip hauling her up against him as he thrust forward. She whimpered. There, oh god there. Yes. The good hurt was back, and it wasn't untouched—every stroke made it—he arched against her with a low sound, hard and hard, and then she was flying.
***
Lotor collapsed, replete, careful to keep most of his weight to one side. She felt so small under him. Shifting her closer, he raised a hand to her cheek… and lifted his head, muttering a nasty curse; his thumb rubbed over the trail of wetness that he'd found.
“I understood that.” Her voice was very close in the darkness, tart and breathless at the same time. “They hold those animals sacred in that culture, which makes it especially bad.”
He went still.
“I think that's the point, Allura,” he said after a moment.
She gave a little shuddering sigh. “Yes, I suppose it is.”
If she was taking him to task for his language, she couldn't be too badly off.
Her body rested against his, her breathing deep and even. He let himself relax again, reassured. Before long he was pleasantly adrift, all his senses full of warmth and pleasure.
“A-and was this the point? Is this—” her hand stroked hesitantly at his encircling arm “—why you wanted me so badly?”
He opened his eyes a little. He might have pretended to be asleep, but he was pleased that she was talking to him again, and it was clear that the question troubled her—it had troubled him often enough. Answers presented themselves without thought: truth, lines, lies, evasions. With Allura the truth tended to serve him best, though the only truth he had for her wasn't an answer. He closed his eyes again.
“Once I had seen you, Allura, no one else would do.”
***
He awoke to the memory of how he'd fallen asleep. Smiling hugely, he nuzzled in along the jawline of the woman at his side. She stirred.
He kissed the corner of her mouth and stroked his fingertips over her collarbone, down the line of her arm, over the backs of her fingers, and then back up, over the curve of her hip, the small of her back, the line of her spine. The last arched her into him, lips parted; he covered them with his own, putting all of his pleasure in her into the kiss.
He would swear that she kissed him back, just for a moment, her hand closing on his upper arm. Then she stiffened against him.
He frowned. “What is the matter now?” He kissed her again. “I know I pleased you, Princess.”
Allura stiffened a little more and turned her face away. Her hands were against his shoulders.
Clenching his teeth against another test of her language skills, he turned on the light over the bed.
“And that's the problem, isn't it?” he said after a moment, incredulous yet somehow not surprised.
Her expression was answer enough.
As he looked down at her stubborn face, an idea came to him that suited him very much.
“I could please only myself... would that be acceptable to you?”
“Perhaps that would be best,” she said.
He smiled.
***
Allura rubbed and stroked. So far he was as good as his word. He made no attempt to hide his own pleasure, telling her how he'd longed for her touch, dreamed of it, how none of it had compared to the reality of her hands on his skin. And she wasn't enjoying it at all. Her insides were all knotted up with disgust. She wanted to stop and run away, but it was her duty. Besides, her limbs felt all shivery and weak. It was very tiring work.
Perhaps more oil would make the job easier.
She reached out and picked up the flask and tipped it, watching the silver line of oil form a pool where his back joined his hips. She reached down and covered it with her palm. Her gaze followed as she smoothed the oil up the indentation of his spine, watching the muscles on either side shift in response to her touch; she both heard and felt the low sound of pleasure that he made. She squeezed her eyes shut, but even that seemed too much effort. She let them drift open again and watched her cream-colored hands splay against the silver-blue of his sleek shoulders. She closed her hands hard on the upper curves and heard another humming sound of pleasure. Shadows the color of storm clouds marked the bunch and shift of muscle under his smooth, unmarked skin. He really was beautifully made...
There was no need to deny it. Any beast that lived—or died—by its speed and strength had a certain terrible beauty. No doubt there were some women who went for that kind of thing.
She closed her eyes again, and this time she tried to imagine that she were touching someone much closer to her own size, someone with skin the same color as her own—someone like Keith. It wasn't as easy as she expected; she could barely muster a few half-formed images of so much bland sameness.
Her eyes blinked open; she lifted her hands from his skin.
Lotor shifted beneath her and then rolled over. Before she could scramble off of him, he caught her by the hips and settled her onto his chest.
For a long moment he said nothing, just stared up at her. She met his yellow gaze, struck by a sense of unreality. This was her enemy, yet they shared a bed. He was the stronger one, yet he was beneath her.
The oddly peaceful moment didn't last. He shifted his gaze to her breasts, taking a long look, and his hands smoothed up her thighs. His mouth curled, and then he was looking her in the eye again. “I expect that bulldog of a nanny has told you that men are only after one thing.”
She swallowed hard when she felt his thumb touch her between her legs. “She's right,” he said. “This part of you pleases me most of all.”
Lotor's golden eyes were wide with some sort of awful anticipation. “Put your hands on the headboard, Allura.”
She obeyed, her arms feeling strange and weightless. She couldn't seem to look away from him.
“I'm afraid you won't enjoy this at all.” His smirk became a fraction wider, yet twice as wicked. “I had thought to spare you this, but—I trust you'll be a dutiful wife?”
She nodded and tightened her grip.
He slid his hands under her, lifting, shifting her farther up on his chest. Her eyes widened, then squeezed shut. He was going to look—see her there—fingers parted her so that—
“Aaahh!!” She jerked away.
He growled; hands clenched on her backside, pulling her back onto his mouth.
She bucked and squirmed, but she was held fast, first by his hands, then by shock—then by pleasure.
She began to whimper and then to beg.
The ripple and stroke of his tongue redoubled, and again she tried to pull away. He let her this time, but not to escape. He slid her down his body; their joining was sleek and perfect.
***
Allura fell against him, panting and moist. Shocks of pleasure made her hips twitch against his with every breath. For a long moment she lay there, cheek flattened against his chest.
She pushed herself up, light-headed with outrage.
“You no-good, lying snake! I hate you!”
Lotor threw back his head and laughed.
She picked up the nearest object and hit him with it as hard as she could. Unfortunately it was a pillow instead of an anvil. She hit him again.
“Shall we go back to doing it the other way?” he said, holding up a hand. He was clearly terribly pleased with himself. “You have only to say the words. I live to serve you, Princess.”
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