Free Chain of Kisses by Angela Knight Page B

hard tip, the wet heat of his tongue sweeping circles over jutting flesh, his lips tightening in a hard, drawing suction. I gasped. My chains rattled, gold links ringing as I writhed in helpless lust.
    Arles growled back, his voice rough and male, as he settled over me like a mantle of hard muscle and warm skin. His scent flooded my head, dark with alien spice and masculine musk. Instinctively, I tried to curl my arms around his strong back, but my chains pulled tight. I was still helplessly spread-eagled beneath him.
    “Mine,” he rumbled, lifting his head from my breast. “At last.”
    And he kissed me.
    It was a burning kiss, a devouring kiss, all tongue and thrust and bite. I moaned, losing myself in his taste as I arched into his tensile brawn. But even as I savored his ferocious sexuality, some part of me squirmed in shame. My mother had taught us that craving a man’s dominance was weak.
    But as the prince kissed me like a conqueror, I realized I did not care. The queen’s teachings had cost me my world, my honor, and the man I loved. I was tired of running from Arles of Tor. There was no point. He had me.
    He’d always had me.
    By the time he broke the kiss, both of us were panting. I could feel his cock against my belly like a length of pipe, velvet over iron. “I believe I owe you a spanking,” he murmured in my ear, his breath tickling my skin.
    “Somehow I don’t remember that particular debt.”
    Arles gave my earlobe a retaliatory nip, then levered off my spread-eagled nudity. Something clicked, and my chains fell lax with a musical rattle. Despite my blindfold, I tried to bolt from the bed.
    The prince snaked an arm around my waist, spun me around, and pushed me back down. My stomach hit hard thighs, and I felt a cool draft across my bare ass. I twisted, driving my elbow blindly at his face with the vicious skill Galon had taught me.
    Arles caught my fist in one hand, captured the other wrist, and dragged them both behind my back, despite my bucking struggles. The manacles’ magnetic fields engaged, locking them in place. The chains draped down over my hip, the links cool against my hot skin -- leaving me helpless across Prince Arles’s knees, just as I’d been in my most searing fantasies.
    I tried to rear onto my feet, but he arrested my surges with a hand on my shoulders, pinning me like an errant toddler.
    It was said the royalty of Tor had been gene-sculpted for combat, creating warriors who were faster, stronger and smarter than any commoner. As I struggled against his iron hold, I began to believe the rumors. He could crush me if he chose.
    “Now,” Arles said, not even winded. The bastard. “Let’s see what shade of pink this pretty ass turns.” He brought his palm down on my butt with a loud smack . I swallowed my yelp.
    Another smack as his hard hand met my soft backside, then another and another. The flesh heated with each swat. “Arles, you son of a bitch!” I snarled, kicking out as I tried to lever off his lap.
    “That’s no way to talk about my mother,” he said mildly, controlling my struggles with no effort at all. The smacks came faster, igniting my ass into a bonfire blaze as I kicked and cursed.
    Despite my snarls, heat burned deep in my juicy pussy. Odin’s balls, I wanted him. Each stinging swat only increased the craving.
    “Do you have any idea of the scandal you brought down on both our Houses, you spoiled little brat?” Arles growled between blows. I realized rage steamed beneath his taunting dominance. “You spat on all the Torrean warriors who fought and died to protect your wretched little world from the Fafnar.” Swat! Swat! “Twelve years my people battled the lizards to drive them from Swanhilde space, and how did you reward us?” Swat, swat swat! “You jilted me at the altar and made a mockery of the treaty between our worlds.” Swat! Swat! Swat! “My brother had to marry that little whore sister of yours to salvage the treaty, and she’s led him