The Prince’s Defiant Slave 4: The Arena (Reluctant Gay BDSM Erotic Romance)
In this sizzling new installment of the “Prince’s Defiant Slave” series, farm boy Garin gets a fourth helping of decadent gay BDSM and dangerous intrigue as the slave of the notorious Prince Alar.
All characters are 18 or older. More
In this sizzling new installment of the “Prince’s Defiant Slave” series, farm boy Garin gets a fourth helping of decadent gay BDSM and dangerous intrigue as the sex slave of the notorious Prince Alar.
Prince Alar and Garin are captured by Alar’s treacherous step-brother, who has usurped the throne, and the haughty prince is himself enslaved. The men are subjected to sexual humiliation and twisted mind games, and finally forced to fight each other in gladiatorial combat-- to the death!
Will the bond between the captive prince and his loyal slave be broken, or will their trials only serve to bring them closer together?
This sizzling 15,000-word (60 page) tale of reluctant gay BDSM contains gay oral sex, reluctant gay public sex, reluctant first time gay anal sex, hurt-comfort, palace intrigue, a defiant sex slave, and a dangerous yet sensual prince rumored to be the son of a fallen angel!
All characters are 18 or older. Read a steamy excerpt below:
Prince Alar paced around our tiny cell.
I could not see him, but I could hear him. The sound had awoken me from my restless doze on the cold stone floor.
Prince Alar seemed like a wild creature pining in captivity. His bare feet touched down lightly on the floor, again and again and again. The sound was soft, but inescapable.
“Your highness,” I said.
The pacing continued without so much as a missed step.
“Your highness!” I shouted.
“What, Garin?” He sounded annoyed.
“Will you please stop pacing?” I begged. “It’s the middle of the night.”
The pacing stopped. There was no reply. I could not even hear any breathing, and the cell was black as pitch.
“What would you have me do?” The prince’s voice came from mere inches away. I jumped; I had not heard him approach.
“Go back to sleep,” I suggested.
Cool fingers brushed against my cheek, then slowly trailed downward, across my lips.
“I cannot,” he said.
“Then do not,” I replied.
I opened my mouth and ran my tongue across Prince Alar’s fingertips, feeling the smoothness of his skin, the hard ovals of his nails.
He drew his fingers from my lips. Wet and warmed from my mouth, they trailed down my throat to outline my collarbones. I trembled, waiting in the dark.
“What are you thinking?” Prince Alar asked softly.
He was still caressing my collarbone, tracing its outline until I could perceive nothing but his touch.
“I— I am thinking of your fingers on my collarbone,” I managed to say, feeling foolish.
His laugh was more bitter than amused. “And nothing else?”
“I am wondering what you will do next.” Now that he had distracted me from sensation with his questions, it was easier for me to put thoughts to words. “What orders you might give me.”
“I envy you,” said Prince Alar unexpectedly.
I gaped, then shut my mouth with a snap, glad he had not seen. “What? Why?”
“I will show you.” He pulled off my shirt, then my breeches.
I was already rock-hard and aching. I felt a warm, moist puff of air: the prince’s breath. I gasped and clenched my fists at my side.
“Do not move,” he ordered. “Not even to thrust. Stay absolutely still.”
“Yes, your highness,” I whispered.