Free Creations 4: Caging the Beast by Marie Harte

cell, searching for the lumbering male who wouldn’t leave his thoughts.
    On the pallet, Zachem blinked at him once before he rolled onto his side, giving Tarn his back.

    Tarn clenched his fists, annoyed and aroused. Zachem wore nothing, his tight ass and sculpted back on display like one very large tease.
    Pyrgo needed Zachem for the mission, because he had some connection to the crystal.
    Tarn could pretend he needed the Creation for the same reason, but he’d be lying.
    Zachem aroused him in a way he couldn’t explain. A few steps closer and Tarn smelled him, the warm scent of wildness and chaos and the potential for destruction. The very qualities all Ebellions prized in battle.
    And in a mate.
    Crazy thinking. Yet it didn’t diminish the stiffness of his cock at all. He too easily remembered how Zachem tasted, coming in his mouth. Visions of Pyrgo and those females pleasuring one another fuelled his lust, imagining Zachem between his legs, swallowing the desire he couldn’t stop.
    Tired and sexually frustrated, he sat down on the oversized pallet, conscious of Zachem’s sudden stiffness. Wanting the affection Zachem had shown him thinking him a threll , Tarn sounded overly harsh when he said, “I don’t have the patience for your shit right now. So move over unless you want me buried so far up your ass I’m coming in your throat.” Zachem said nothing and moved over.
    More annoyed that the man would give him neither a fight nor an excuse to screw him, Tarn swore and tried to fall asleep.
    To his surprise, the scent of Zachem calmed him, and he soon fell into a dreamless, well-needed rest.

Chapter Six

    Zachem spoke little when he woke the next morning. Tarn still lay in bed, apparently too tired from his previous night’s activities. Jealousy reared its head at thoughts of Pyrgo fucking Tarn, but he didn’t smell Pyrgo on him at all. Dammit, why do I keep thinking of him as mine?
    My what? Zachem didn’t know ‘what’, nor did he want to know. He lived to fight, to one day lull his captors into believing he liked The Pit, so that he could escape. Once he figured out how to disable his collar, he’d kill Furon and a few of his friends and take off. Yet the thought of leaving Tarn behind bothered him. A lot.
    After visiting the lav and cleaning up, Zachem sat and stared at the puzzle of his cellmate. The urge to fuck him was still there, but not as strong as it had been. Instead, Zachem felt a need to submit, to be fucked, to please Tarn in hopes of making his master smile.
    He froze. Master. Tarn. Submission. Three words he’d never thought—or wanted—to use together.
    Worried about his state of mind, Zachem rose, determined to put as much distance between him and Tarn as possible. He quickly left his cell and requested an audience with Master Furon, who proved willing enough to grant him everything he requested. Zachem should have questioned Furon’s allowance, but he was too relieved to look deeper into Furon’s acquiescence.
    “Just make sure not to kill him,” Furon warned. “Slave Six has the potential to pull as much currency into The Pit as you do. And I like him.” Shit. When Furon liked someone, they normally ended up dead within days.
    “Yes, Master Furon. It’s just that apart, I’ll better be able to focus on the fight. I sense Tarn studying me, and I know I’m studying him for weaknesses all the time.” Truth. “It would be a much better battle if we met in the ring without so much familiarity between us.”
    “You make a good point, but then, that’s one of your strengths, isn’t it? To constantly look for ways to win, no matter the cost.” Furon studied Zachem with an intensity that unnerved him. “We’re going to make more on this fight than we’ll probably make on the upcoming Slave Trade.” Furon smiled, a genuine show of pleasure. “And that’s saying something. Extra rations for you and Slave Six. I want you both strong and ready in three more days’ time.