The Challenge

Samantha did not go quietly. She had tried to maintain the mental distance she had found earlier, but the moment the guards had lead her naked into the courtyard, and she had seen the so-called altar she was going to be chained to, she panicked. Telling herself over and over that she was merely a tool, and that the crowd of men who were packed within the surrounding loggia were only interested in Cam's performance, had lost it's power to calm her.

She didn't have a chance of escape, but she fought anyway, and the guards were forced to use the magnetic manacle controls, locking her wrists together so they could pull her bodily into the courtyard. But even then, she kicked and wriggled and tried to make it as difficult for them as possible. Until the guards dragged her past the rope enclosure within which the Captain of the Guard and the Royal Vizier stood on either side of the King.

The King glanced at her and, for a brief moment, they made eye contact. Without thinking, she stopped struggling and fell to her hands and knees. "Your Majesty, please!" she begged him, hating herself for doing it but willing to swallow her pride if it roused his sympathy. "Use another slave! I won't give you any more trouble, I swear!"

But the King simply turned away, ignoring her as though she did not exist, and the guards grabbed her upper arms and yanked her to her feet again. Not taking any more chances, they decided to carry her the rest of the way and, stunned by the King's callous indifference, Samantha didn't realize what was happening until she felt the cool, hard stone of the altar against her back.

"No!" she shouted, sitting up and pushing violently away from the guards. But it was no use. With an arm around her waist like a vise, one of the guards shoved her forcefully down onto her back and her head hit the stone altar with a hollow thud.

Pain, like a burst of light, exploded in her brain and the edges of her vision darkened as the courtyard lurched around her in a lopsided circle. Her head reeling and feeling suddenly nauseous, she was unaware of her arms being stretched over her head as they locked each of her wrist manacles to the chains at the top of the altar.

The cool rush of air between her thighs as they forced her legs apart instantly revived her, however, and she managed to get one last kick in before they bent her legs over the side of the altar and locked each of her ankle manacles in place. With the sound of the double click of the locks, the rest of the guards let go of her and stepped back. Immediately, she heaved with all her might against the restraints and gasped when spikes of pain shot up her legs and down her arms.

She was going nowhere. Her joints and bones would break before the chains and manacles that held her limbs firmly in place. Completely immobile, her hips perched on the edge of the altar, her legs spread wide open, she could no longer fight what was going to happen. So she closed her eyes and simply breathed, in and out, in and out, her breathing growing deeper, slower with each passing moment. With each passing moment, wondering when The Challenge would begin. With each passing moment, feeling her anxiety build upon itself.

Slowly becoming aware of the dozens of conversations going on all around her, she tried to hear what was being said, but there were too many male voices talking at once for anything to make sense.

"... Cambion will..."

"... easily by midnight..."

"... hasn't been, but the game..."

"... Security Force will issue..."

"... I do not..."

"... confident that..."

And then the dull roar of the men's conversations suddenly hushed, and she knew that Cam had finally walked into the courtyard.

She squeezed her eyes shut even tighter, fighting the urge to lift her head and look at him, to plead with him not to go through with the barbaric ritual, but also to see his face, his eyes, to know what he was thinking and what he intended to do.

What was he going to do? She had adamantly avoided that question, not wanting to dwell on the reality of what was going to happen, but now it pounded insistently through her brain, demanding an answer. Would he touch her at all before he began fucking her? Would he be gentle? Forceful? Impersonal? Would he finish quickly, or would it take him a while? Was he even aroused? Would it hurt?

It had been so long for her. But he didn't know that. He didn't know that there had only ever been one man in her life. He didn't understand how wrong, how demeaning to Fletcher's memory, it was that he of all men should be the next one to... to...

A scream of rage and frustration reverberated silently through Samantha's head. She couldn't even think it! It was going to happen to her, very soon, and she couldn't even say the words to herself!

She felt tears sting her eyes and she willed herself back into control. She concentrated on her breathing again. She concentrated on relaxing her body, feeling her back sink into the impervious stone of the altar, feeling her wrists and ankles melt into the unyielding metal of the manacles. She concentrated on projecting her mind above her body, above the courtyard, above the crowd of men and the dense jungle and the planet itself. She was flying through the stars. Flying toward her favorite place. The lights and shapes of the Firestorm Nebula moving in a dance of color, like flame, like life. She concentrated, concentrated...

The electric shock of contact, bare skin against bare skin, Cam's hand, warm and gentle, touching her thigh, sent her crashing back to reality. Unable to stop herself, she cried out and jerked instinctively away, although she knew there was nowhere to go and the hard movement sent spikes of pain up her shins again.

Her eyes flew open, suddenly needing to look at him, to see what was happening, needing to know, to be prepared. Startled as always by how extraordinarily handsome he was, her gaze locked with his and the crowd of men surrounding the courtyard faded into the periphery of her consciousness, almost as if her mind really had been catapulted to another world, one where only she and Cam existed.

He stood between her legs and stared at her with tormented eyes, emotions flitting openly across his features so quickly that she could barely read them. Embarrassment, anger, guilt, compassion. Was he going to change his mind? But then she saw the steely glint of determination in his eyes, and the desire.

Her heart hammering in her chest, she lowered her gaze and realized he was as naked as she was. In a flash, she registered the image of the sculpted muscles of his chest and abdomen, the dusting of hair on his lower arms, the smooth skin of his stomach, the engorged shaft and bulbous head of his penis, standing up along his belly. Unbidden and unwanted, the languid pulse of arousal began to flow thickly through her veins once again.

Her gaze shot back up to his. She was suddenly and genuinely afraid now. Not of what he was going to do. Not of the pain. Not of the humiliation. She was afraid of her response. His sheer beauty alone had the power to make her weak. She had already proven that she had no self control where he was concerned. Her face burned as she remembered her response to his touch earlier that afternoon. And, in a moment of stunning truthfulness with herself, she finally admitted that she wanted him. She wanted him desperately! She wanted this—this whole repulsive, demeaning ritual—to force her to experience the kind of pleasure that she could never consciously allow herself to experience, with him, the man who had ruined Fletcher.

A wave of shame crashed over her, more powerful than anything the crowd of men, avidly watching, could ever inflict upon her. Even so, the shame was intermingled with a flutter of terrible excitement. She shook her head stubbornly, trying with all her might to refuse the desire.

Taking the final step closer to her, Cam slid his palm further up her leg and placed his other hand on the curve of her waist. As his hips touched her inner thighs, the hard length of his erection nestled against her sex and she shuddered with the pleasure of it, overcome, feeling weak-willed and helpless, feeling alive, her every sense painfully heightened.

She was on fire with shame and arousal. She wanted to beg him to stop. She wanted to cry out that she couldn't survive this, that if he went any further, she would be destroyed. She wanted to weep for the loss of her self-respect, and for the anguish in his gaze as he continued to stare at her.

"Samantha," he said her name softly, his voice breaking with emotion. "Close your eyes."

She quickly obeyed, not wanting him to see her shameful desire, and the tears that filled her eyes overflowed her lashes and slid down her temples.

She tried very hard to put her mind elsewhere. She focused on the red haze behind her eye lids. She could see the imprint of Cam's silhouette in her mind's eye. She focused on the musky stench of the oil covering her body, the sweet green fragrance of the overhanging vegetation, the wet earthiness of the jungle floor. She could smell the burnt sugar scent of Cam's sun warmed skin. She focused on the sounds of the men around her, the scuffing noises and the whisper of clothing as they moved, the intermittent laughter, the low rumble of conversation. She could hear Cam breathing, shallow and fast.

His hand on her thigh lifted. What was he going to do? Should she open her eyes again? She could feel herself begin to tremble and she tried to stop, willing herself to hold perfectly still, waiting, holding her breath, waiting, pulling unconsciously against the restraints, waiting...

When he touched the side of her neck, she gasped, the shock of the unexpected contact exploding in her chest. She could feel the pounding of her pulse under his fingertips and her head reeled dizzily as his feather-light caress moved across her collarbone, over her breast—she flinched reflexively as his palm grazed her achingly sensitized nipple—and down her stomach. The gentle swipe of his thumb between the lips of her sex reminded her of his earlier touch, and the reason for it. Yes, the slick moisture was proof that her body was ready for him. But her mind was not!

No! Please! Don't do this!

"Shhh..." he placated softly, horrifying her. Had she spoken out loud?! Then he was murmuring to her in foreign words she did not understand, although his voice was low and soothing and she knew he was trying to comfort her.

Comfort her?! She nearly laughed hysterically. Every particle of her being was on the verge of igniting and he thought she needed to be comforted?! What she needed was for him to let go of her, to step back, away, far away, and leave her alone, forever. Instead, she felt the movement of his hand between her legs and, suddenly, the broad head of his penis was pressing against her body's entrance.

Both of his hands gripped her hips, his fingers curling into her flesh, as he pushed slowly, gently into her. There was no pain, only a stretching, sliding, filling sensation as her body remembered what it was like to have a man inside of her. She tried, but couldn't stop the moan that escaped her lips as a wave of intense pleasure radiated out from her core and sent shivers coursing across her skin. Tears stung her eyes again behind her tightly closed lids and, at the same time, she felt rather than heard the groan that reverberated through his body as he continued his slow entry until he could go no further.

Then, sheathed tightly within her, his hips pressed against hers, he stopped. Samantha held her breath. She could feel the throbbing of his pulse inside of her, as well as the throb of her own heartbeat as her body clenched instinctively around his. A strange and bittersweet longing enveloped her senses and the desire to reach out and touch him was overwhelming. Yet, even as she strained against the manacles locked tightly around her wrists, she fought the urge to open her eyes and look into his, to make the connection of their bodies real.

This is not real!, she wanted to scream at him, at herself.

But it felt real, dangerously real, as his palm glided slowly across her belly, his touch warm and caressing. The heel of his hand came to rest over her mound and he pressed down as he flexed his hips and withdrew from her body—slowly, but not as slowly as his entry—then pushed back into her, thrusting gently, withdrawing, thrusting again, and again, settling into a slow and steady rhythm.

The pressure built within her with each exquisitely chafing stroke. Beginning to lose her mind in a fog of pleasure, she pulled against the ankle restraints and rocked her hips up to meet his. Then, catching herself, she tried to force herself not to move, she tried to deny her body's response, she tried to tell herself there was a reason she shouldn't give in to the lust. But it was too late.

Mindless to the consequences, she finally allowed herself to absorb the sensations that began spiraling through her. She shivered, every nerve ending tingling with readiness. Her breathing came shallow and fast. Her body quivered and strained against the bonds, lifting, arching in needy longing.

"I'm sorry," he whispered huskily, sliding his thumb down to lightly stroke her clitoris.

The shattering climax crashed through her. She flung her head back, biting her lip hard to keep from crying out, her flesh pulsating with release. Caught up in sensation as the fiery bursts racked her body, she was barely aware of his final powerful thrusts. Until she heard the low growl of pleasure that he couldn't contain as his own orgasm slammed into him, and felt him pulse hotly inside her, his body shuddering between her thighs. And then, for a long moment, nothing existed but her body and the electric currents that danced along her nerve endings as her inner contractions slowly began to ebb.

Soon enough, however, reality came seeping back into her brain. The hardness of the stone altar, the spaciousness of the courtyard, the low voices of the surrounding spectators, the purpose of it all, the ridiculous challenge... Cam. For the first time since being chained naked and spread open on a block of marble, she felt truly exposed and vulnerable. Overwhelmed by the intensity of the pleasure she had just experienced, and ashamed to the core for her response, she opened her eyes.

He hovered over her, having collapsed forward, his weight resting on his outstretched arms, his hands planted firmly on the marble on either side of her ribcage. Panting with exertion, sweat dripped down his face and chest and darkened the roots of his hair, several locks of which had fallen over his forehead, making him look much younger and more vulnerable than she knew him to be. As did the look in his eyes as he stared at her with open adoration, his expression so completely unguarded that it took her breath away.

Quickly masking his features once he realized she was looking at him, his lashes swept down to hide the emotion in his eyes as he focused on her mouth. His head lowered slightly and he licked his lips and, terrified that he might actually kiss her, Samantha fought to keep herself from tilting her chin up in acquiescence. Instead, a heavy emotional weight settling over her chest, she closed her eyes again and turned her face away from his, whispering shakily, "Please unchain me."

For a long moment, Cam did not move. She could feel the moist heat of his breath against her skin, a drop of his sweat plop down onto her breast, his residual erection slowly shrinking inside of her. She began to tremble uncontrollably. And then, finally, the muscles of his abdomen flexed against hers as he leveraged himself back up.

She felt a cool rush of air between her legs as he pulled out of her body, followed by a hot melting sensation as some of his semen began to seep slowly out of her as well. She wanted to scream and cry at the same time, torn by her conflicting desires to hold him tightly against her and to run as far away from him as she could. Even so, she felt the loss of physical contact and couldn't stop the whimper that escaped her, hating herself all the more as she heard the pitiful sound.

She needn't have worried that he would walk away from her so quickly. Smoothing his palms up and over the tops of her thighs, he slid his hands in between her body and the marble top of the altar, cushioning her hip bones from the hard stone beneath her. She didn't realize until then how painfully uncomfortable her position had become.

"Unchain her," she heard Cam say in a low, hoarse voice.

There was another long pause as Samantha waited for the response, holding her breath and resisting the urge to open her eyes again. She heard several measured footsteps walking toward them across the courtyard, and noticed that the crowd of men around the perimeter were strangely quiet.

Then she heard the Vizier's voice, less than a meter away to her right. Deeply mortified, she realized that he must be looking for proof of insemination to verify that the challenge had truly been completed. "It is customary," he was saying politely, "to keep the female chained on the altar for at least an hour, to ensure conception."

No!

She tensed and felt a shudder go through Cam. "Unchain her now," he growled threateningly.

"As you wish," the King's voice replied evenly from just behind her head.

Almost immediately, two guards approached and began working at her wrist manacles, releasing them from their chains. As soon as her arms were free, she sat up and wrapped her arms tightly around Cam's chest, trying to hide her nudity from the spectators.

Heat radiated from his body and her skin slid wetly across his sweaty torso, but she didn't care, she needed his solidity, his strength. Her shoulders ached from the strain of having had her arms stretched over her head for so long, yet she didn't feel the pain as she breathed deeply of Cam's scent—warm skin and male sweat and something else, something indescribably attractive.

His arms came up around her, strong and protective, and inexplicably she felt herself relaxing as he tenderly stroked the hair down her back. Emotionally shattered, she pushed aside all of the obligations of her past, and all of her fears of the future, and allowed herself to take the support he was offering. As gentle as he had been, he had still raped her, and that was one more thing she would loathe him for later. But right now, in this moment, it was simply beyond her ability to hate him.

As the guards unlocked her ankle manacles from their chains, Samantha tilted her hips and slid off the edge of the altar and, tightening his embrace, Cam eased her down his chest until her feet touched the stone floor between his. The entire length of her body pressed along his, Samantha kept her arms wrapped firmly around his waist and rested her forehead against his chest. She focused on the steady beating of his heart and breathed deeply as she concentrated on calming her nerves.

Until the King commented casually, "Not very impressive, I must say." Samantha gasped softly at the public insult, embarrassed for Cam despite her otherwise conflicted emotions. "That was of significantly shorter duration than we are accustomed to." He paused and she could hear the amusement in his voice. "And considerably less vigorous."

As several men in the crowd laughed outright, Samantha shook with furious loathing for the King and his entire despicable, barbaric culture, scowling when Cam's arms tightened around her and he whispered in her ear, "It's all right."

"However, you were able to perform," the King continued drolly, "and you even satisfied the female. She will breed you a son, no doubt. Congratulations."

Her face burned with shame. Had her orgasm been that obvious?