Page 62 of Captured
Chapter Thirty
Juliet
I shiver despite the heat.
My eyes are set on Rakir, my future Amare, my absolute master. He is waiting for me, standing tall and impossibly handsome on the wide-open stage. So rugged and hard, his face made of sharp angles, his body sinuous, long, thick limbs wrapped in muscles.
Rakir is covered with his black armor, the scales shimmering under the low light. He looks like a vengeful God, like a hungry idol, ready to devour me whole.
A sea of watchful, yellow eyes reflect the low light, but this is all I can see from the audience. The entire room is cast in darkness, the only light coming from the small circles lining the edges of the stage. There is no sound in the vast domed room, no movement either.
This is a defining moment. The moment my life changes forever. Although if I’m honest, my life hasn’t been the same from the second I met him.
Rakir motions for me, his open palm extended in a welcoming gesture. I accept his offer as fear flutters in my belly, forcing me to swallow repeatedly.
Beside Rakir is a long wooden bench, its curved surface polished to a low shine. A queasy feeling stirs in my stomach at the sight of it, but I can’t dwell on it as my eyes stray back to Rakir. Behind him stands a tall wooden post, the deceptively innocuous circle of shackles dangling from its top. As I stare at the restraints, a knot forms in my gut.
This is a proclamation of what it means to be his.
I am his Amara. His heart and his soul, the flesh of his flesh, the blood of his blood.
I belong to him to the most intimate parts of my mind and body. And to belong to him, I have to obey, bend myself to his will in a way so complete, so total, I’m not sure I will even be myself after it.
It’s too late to turn back now. Too late and I’m in too deep. I couldn’t refuse Rakir even if I wanted to. He’s carved himself into the fabric of my being. Deep and bloody, just like what I feel for him.
Rakir stands there, waiting for me in silence. There’s no doubt in his face as he watches me approach, the long, floating gown of the Drakian female swirling around me, floating behind my bare legs as they move. I’m more naked than clothed in the thin, shimmering fabric. Two panels run up my back, tying at my navel and widening again. They move freely as I walk, exposing the entire length of my legs, my breasts bobbing and moving, my erect nipples rubbing against the cold, soft fabric.
I wear nothing else but the gown. No underwear.
I stop just in front of Rakir, my entire body vibrating with an expectant kind of anxiety.
Rakir moves. His hand comes to my chin, long, strong fingers holding it firmly yet gently. He’s taking his time, looking at me like it’s the first time. A flash of that day comes back to me, all that pleasure and fear, bundled up into one.
I can see in his eyes that he remembers, too.
His fingers slide, going down my throat, slowing to better feel the frenzied beat of my jugular. A faint smile tickles the corner of his mouth as his fingers slide lower and lower. Then he grips the shoulder of my gown and pulls it to the side.
Nothing holds it back but the knot at my waist and it slides down. The cold air kisses my exposed breast and I gasp. I glance at the assembled Drakians, their yellow, intense gazes on me. Not one of them flinches as they look upon my naked body.
They will watch it all. Witness it all.
Will they feel anything? What does it stir in their strange, alien hearts?
Rakir’s hand goes up to my chin and he gently turns my head back to him. He doesn’t want me to see anyone but him. The one face in the crowd that matters. I hold on to the sight of his face, to the heat burning in his eyes. His erection is obvious even against the black scales, the bulge large and wide between his legs. I know all too well how big he is. How deliciously hard and long.
Rakir doesn’t stop. He means to expose me, undress me on that stage for all to see. With a few efficient gestures, the remainder of my gown slips to the floor in an elegant swoosh and I stand, utterly and completely naked. My limbs shake like a leaf and my nipples are so hard they hurt, but I remain motionless.
I don’t think I could move even if I wanted to.
“Beautiful.” The sounds coming out of Rakir’s mouth are rough like a growl. The universal translator that allows us to communicate in his private quarters doesn’t work here. It’s not surprising, but it does make me feel even more vulnerable. “Perfect.”
Rakir’s thumb and index close around one rock-hard nipple. The shock of the contact makes me gasp, tiny electric currents traveling under my skin as he rubs his fingers, rolling the small bundle of sensitive flesh.
Heat floods between my legs, wet and demanding. I can feel it dripping down the inside of my thighs, the beads of moisture just rolling down. My face catches fire as I close my eyes shut. Shame burns through me like a wildfire even as arousal rages on in my traitorous flesh.
“No.” Rakir intimates the command. “Look, Juliet.”
My eyelids obey on instinct, and I’m a prisoner of Rakir’s gaze. His lust, raw and savage, pierces through me, impaling me in place like I’m nothing but a doll and he is my puppet master, pulling the strings.
