Page 55 of Veiled Flames
“We do teach the candidates honor.” My mouth is dry again. “But most women at camp are willing to bed any of the men when required.”
“You’re saying the women at camp areforcedto have sex with the men?” Her eyes narrow.
I shake my head, but then shift my gaze from hers, feeling sure she’ll see uncertainty in my eyes. I don’t know whether or not the women arealwayswilling. I doubt they are in every case, but I’ve never put much thought to it before now. Any woman I’ve approached has consented. At least it has always seemed that way to me.
“Perhaps.” I run my fingers through my hair. “Perhaps there are times when the women are less than…eager.” I shift my gaze to meet hers. “But I promise, if you are mine, no other man will dare touch you.”
She wrenches her hands from my hold and backs away from me.
“Thank you for your offer,” she snaps, “but I have no need of your protection. Or your cock. And I will train as a rider.”
Turning quickly, she exits my tent, taking my heart with her.
Twenty
Rosomon
Driven by indignation, I stride from Master Saxon’s tent, choosing to stick to the tree line rather than crossing the open field. I can’t risk being spotted.
My legs are shaky and tired, like I’ve climbed a mountain, and my cleft holds the physical memory of the friction and fullness of Saxon, as if his rod has taken up residence in my channel. I’m throbbing and tender, but it’s a good feeling, my body reminding me of every place he ventured, and of all of the new things he made me feel.
Things he will never do again.
My fury-fueled energy runs out, and I drop into a crouch, head in my hands.
What just happened?It’s like I lived an entire lifetime over this night, the highest of highs, followed by the lowest of lows.
If only I could focus on the joyous feelings—the wonder of discovering sex, the pure elation of Saxon’s flattering, tender words—and wash away my rage from our final conversation.
It’s difficult to decide what made me angrier: the multitude of insults to my gender, or his assumption I’d simply go along with his plan, that I’d behappyto serve at camp as his courtesan. That would be little better than the forced marriage I escaped.
No.I shake my head. Serving as his courtesan would be far better thanthatfate—there is no comparison between Master Saxon and King Vyktor, but I won’t willingly land in a position of servitude to a man again. At least not so soon.
I straighten from my crouch. Wallowing in self-pity won’t help. I must focus on the positives, of which there are many.
I’ve learned how it feels to be drilled by a man. And I liked it. Very much.
No, Ilovedit.
And even if Saxon refuses to perform the act with me ever again, I’m certain I’ll find other men more than happy to share such pleasures. At the moment, I can’t imagine performing sex with anyone beyond Saxon, but that’s just because our night is so fresh, only because I can still feel the deep bruise of his rod throbbing inside me. With time, that will pass, and I can’t believe that sex will everfeel bland or hollow. Not for me.
Also high on my list of positives: we will reach the dragon camp tomorrow. Excitement bubbles inside me. Sometime in the near future, I’ll get the chance to bond with a dragon! That tempers my loss from the choice Saxon forced me to make.
His attitude toward women having a chance to become riders was disappointing, but not unexpected, I suppose. I have yet to meet a man who doesn’t consider himself superior to every single woman in the Seven Kingdoms, and in every possible regard. Why did I expect Saxon to be any different?
It’s what all men are taught and shown their entire lives. He may not have ever seen evidence to contradict those lessons. But I plan to do just that.
Iwillbe a dragon rider. I’ve never felt more certain of anything in my life.
A tall figure steps out from behind a tree. I gasp, and my heart starts to race.
“Well, hello there.” Moonlight catches Prince Tynan’s smirk as he stands in my path. “Did you have a good time being railed by the dragon master?”
My heart seizes. He knows I’m a woman. And yet the look on his face is more mischief than malice—I think, I hope.
Not taking his bait, I glare a Tynan, hoping to neither confirm nor deny his accusation. He doesn’t know, he only suspects.
“I didn’t realize that Master Saxon so enjoyed the company of little boys,” Tynan says.
