Insatiable (Rough Bondage & Voyeurism) (The Erotic Adventures of Heraklea Book 8) by Roxie Noir Page B

watched her, in silence. The Queen of Crete was a dominatrix who’d had her three slaves fuck Heraklea, one after the other.
      “Did she say anything else?” she asked, finally.
    “Nothing else of interest.”
    She didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed. Maybe a little of each.
    “It was easy,” she said.
    The king lifted himself out of the water, hard body dripping all over the tile floor, cock still flaccid, muscles glinting in the candlelight. He wrapped a linen around his waist.
    “Well, I’ve got important business,” he said. “Drop by when you’ve got the horses.”
    With that, he walked out of the bathhouse, leaving her alone again.

    For some reason, this time the king had given Klea an escort to go to Thrace to get the mares. It had never happened before and she didn’t know why it was happening now. Maybe he was starting to warm to her, finally. Maybe they were supposed to fuck her and tell him about it. She didn’t know either way.
    When they neared the palace, they could hear someone stomping and roaring around the inside, the earth practically shaking. The three of them stopped outside the door and stared up at it.
    One of the guards reached for the doorknob.
    “Don’t,” Klea said.
    He stared at her blankly. “The king said we were to come here.”
    “It sounds like someone is throwing someone else through a wall,” Klea said. “You really want to go in there?”
    Something inside crashed.
    “The king said we were—“
    “Fuck the king!” Klea shouted. The two guards exchanged glances, and one of them frowned very, very slightly.
    Then, before Klea could stop him, he reached for the door knocker and rapped, very loudly, three times.
    Klea cursed under her breath but hadn’t finished before the door swung open to reveal a very tall, very skinny man.
    “Can I help you?” he said. He spoke slowly, almost lazily, as though nothing could be of less concern to him than three well-armed people outside his door.
    One of the guards puffed up his chest. “We’ve come from Rhodes to capture the Mares of Diomedes and return with them to King Eurystheus.”
    Klea put her forehead in both hands, involuntarily. Why had she let these fucking imbeciles come with—
    “Of course, sir,” said the thin man, some kind of servant. “Please, follow me.”
    The guard who’d spoken up gave Klea a triumphant look and walked ahead of her, following the man into the castle.
    The place was dark and chilly, made of stone carved into the earth, and the four of them walked for what felt like forever, down blank hallways lined with rows and rows of doors, none of which were open, until the man opened one that looked just like the others and opened it onto a modest but well-appointed bedroom with two beds.
    “For the gentlemen,” he said, and gestured to the open door. “The king is indisposed right now, but I shall call on you when an audience is available.”
    The guards both nodded curtly and went inside, not bothering to thank the man.
    “Your room is upstairs, Miss,” he said. He led her up a long spiral staircase and down another long hallway, this one lit by windows cut into the rock wall. Finally the man opened a door onto a balcony, covered by a tent roof. It had two thrones and a table, nothing else. Klea walked outside, blinking, and when she turned to ask whether it was a bedroom, all she saw was the door shutting and the servant man nowhere to be seen.
    Klea pulled on the door but it was locked from the other side, now, and the lock felt quite sturdy. Of course, she thought, of course things had gotten weird right away and devolved into her being locked on some sort of outdoor balcony, waiting for god knows what, separated from the two guards she’d brought with her.
    On the upside, she thought, these sorts of weird situations usually led to a good hard fucking, and she was already okay with that.
    She took a quick circuit of the terrace—or was it a balcony?—the size of a