I'm happy to say, this manuscript is very close to having a contract on it. Soon as I know I'll be letting you know.
I did draw Tor, but sadly left the drawing out of state. That's alright, it was only a first draft. I'll be doing another one soon and promis to post it.
Remember, Gail needs editing. Read at your own risk.
First, he had to get through the pleasure-torture part. Alone in a room with her was pleasure and torture. He prayed the Goddess for the strength to respect little desert flower’s space. If he had any sense he’d avoid being alone with her at all costs. He had no sense around her, none.
Damn, he needed his head clubbed, repeatedly. Both of them. At some point he’d have to accept her distain and stop wanting what he’d never have again. Stop needing with the obsessive greed of a synth addict. A warrior could not live like this forever.
The anteroom door clicked shut. Tor braced mentally to take the next hit. As expected, she tugged her wrist out of his hold. Reluctantly he let her do it but took two steps further into the room, keeping his back to her so she wouldn’t see a trace of response when he faced her.
“Please, may we sit,” she suggested, smiling sweetly as he turned coolly enquiring eyes on her.
Tor frowned. What the fuck could her problem be? She’d smiled. Looked him directly in the eye and smiled as if she wanted to smile. This could to be exceedingly difficult if Sahara thought she needed to charm him. The difficult part would come after, when he did whatever it was she wanted and she quit being charming. He would endure in silence. Widow of a warrior placed her out of any male’s reach unless she chose him.
She could accomplish charming him with a brush of her hand down his ruff. She should know that. It’d worked for her in the past. The common practice of sitting across his lap while dining with his family and allowing him to feed her would probably get her any damn thing she wanted.
Tor headed to a couch. She would not sit with him but in case she thought it would help her cause, he’d give her the opportunity. Royal custom required she remain standing until he sat and invited her to do the same. Tor relaxed on the overstuffed couch that was really more of a reclining bed. Large furniture that was comfortable for sprawling was necessary to his people.
“Please sit, Beloved.” He purposely used the shorted version of her title. She didn’t stiffen as expected.
Graceful little desert flower floated to the other end of his lounger and perched on the edge. Tor regarded her from beneath heavy lids. The situation was more serious than he’d first suspected. Now he was reluctant to ask what she needed. There was only one thing he could think of that would bring her into his lair and onto the same piece of furniture he occupied.
The tip of his long tail casually wrapped around her slender ankle, the tuft of black fur at the end lightly caressing her foot. She still didn’t move away. Tor consciously relaxed the tightening of his gut. Touching her with his sensitive tail would have done it anyway, but this time dread threatened to stiffen his body.
What would drive her to these lengths after years of insuring he kept to a certain distance? The only thing he could think of was the one thing he could not grant her, freedom to return to her homeland. The fact that it was still a dangerously unstable planet had little to do with it. He simply could not allow her to slip away.