There isn’t a man on Earth—or in the rest of the Universe, for that matter—that the High Priestess of the Saint Valentine Pleasure Academy can’t tame. Or at least that’s what Sophia Rousseau thinks, and for good reason. She’s been training pleasure servants of both sexes for years, but males in particular have been surprisingly easy to bend to her will.
So when Alpha-carrier Dante Lotton hides from the Terran authorities by slipping into her pleasure garden and watches her make a sensual offering to her Patron Saint, Sophia quickly realizes what kind of genes run through his blood. After all, it takes one to know one. And mate one. Besides, at six foot five and built like a solid brick wall, Dante certainly looks nothing like the petite, pretty, custom-created slaves, no matter that he’s to participate in the auction. He does look like…exactly what she needs.
But Sophia isn’t the only one who wants Dante…
When a Captain for Earth’s Central Command makes the winning bid for Dante’s services, Sophia knows her time is running out. Now all she has to do is convince Dante to delay finding a way off the planet and back to his ship long enough to be her “Flame”—the only man who can mate with the High Priestess without a contract. But there’s more at stake than pleasure for Sophia, and the secrets she keeps are certain to doom them both…
Because as great as they are together, one man is determined to keep them apart.
Publisher’s Note: This book contains explicit sexual content, graphic language, and situations that some readers may find objectionable: Bondage, dubious consent, exhibitionism, male/male sex, ménage, whipping/flogging.
Read an Excerpt
It shouldn’t be this hard to find a man.
The thought flittered through Sophia Rousseau’s mind as the thick girth of the dildo stretched her inner walls. A poor substitute for the real thing, the ivory godemiche was said to be fashioned by the first Pleasure Academy High Priestess using the dimensions of the real penis of Saint Valentine himself.
Whether the legend was true or not, Sophia didn’t know. Millions of godemiches had been created since then, though the one she currently thrust deep into her pussy was the original item, fashioned over two centuries ago and likely worth millions of tokens to a collector of sexual paraphernalia. Luckily, no one knew the real thing still existed. The Academy priestesses had announced that the godemiche was destroyed in a massive fire that was responsible for annihilating a temple and its Pleasure Academy more than eighty years earlier.
The object was a now a true relic, limited only to the High Priestess’ use. She pulled it out gently then slammed it back inside her channel, wishing she could strengthen the connection with her Patron Saint. The godemiche helped, but the answers she sought were as elusive as the orgasm she desperately tried to produce.
She’d have given anything for a moment of clarity. The Academy’s eager clients were already assembled for the showing, waiting on her to give her blessing over the unions about to take place. Yet here she was, chasing a fleeting tremor of ecstasy as it slipped through her fingers.
She couldn’t focus. Last night’s Festival had proven more demanding than she’d expected. Carnal images still flashed across the back of her eyelids every time she blinked, bringing with them an overload of sensual impressions. Still, the perceptions were fleeting and distant, like watching randomly changing erotic stills on a vid-screen. Arousing, yes, but orgasmic? Not hardly.
She needed something more than she could give herself with a godemiche and her own hand. No matter how attuned to her own body, Sophia couldn’t come on command.
Not even for her Saint.
Frustration invaded her system, skimming over already frayed nerves. She thrust the fingers of her left hand farther back, easing her ass cheeks apart, bending low enough to the ground so her nipples brushed the tips of the dewy grass.
Her fingers slid in the damp crack, drawing some of her cream over the puckered hole, teasing the forbidden region with the tip of her thumb. Excitement traveled a swift path through her body, culminating in the heat rising between her legs. She opened herself wider, grinding her clit against the inside of her wrist, plunging the dildo harder, deeper, faster.
The statue of Saint Valentine gazed down upon her, his features benevolent, his full lips quirked in a sexy smile. She knew what he wanted from her…what she wanted from herself. And yet she hadn’t been able to give it to him.
She’d failed him in every possible way. Not only had she been unable to find a suitable off-world traveler at the erotic festival for the Lighting of the Flame ceremony due to occur in seven days’ time, but now she couldn’t even offer her patron what she owed him. Her allegiance. Her body.
Sweat ran down in rivulets over the curve of her throat to drip into the valley between her breasts. It traveled lower, pooling in her navel and sliding lower still, until it dripped and matted her already damp pubic mound.
An uneven groan echoed through the clearing as Sophia pumped the godemiche harder, releasing a waft of musky scent redolent with the aroma of her cream. She stilled, momentarily thrown off balance.
The groan hadn’t come from her throat.
Blood roared in her ears and the sweat trickling down her skin turned to ice. Tendrils of fear crawled up her spine. She was exposed. Watched. Hunted.
Saints, where had that last thought come from? No one at the Academy would be foolish enough to step foot in the High Priestess’ private sanctuary. The patrons knew the rules as well as the pleasure servants and the other priestesses, and none would dare risk the consequences of spying on the High Priestess in the midst of her offering.
Deliberately, she turned her head and gazed over her shoulder, her breath catching in her throat. A tanned, muscular arm wrapped around the side of a large tree trunk. From her vantage point, she had a perfect glimpse of the left side of a man’s body, sculpted to perfection. She gasped, taking in the planes and valleys of his perfectly proportioned form, her gaze lingering on his ridged torso, broad hips, and lean waist.
A dark blond thatch of pubic hair peeked out from behind the trunk, though the man’s cock was entirely hidden from view. Awareness crept in with a potent rush, boosting her throbbing arousal from a mere thrill to raging hunger in the span of a shuddering breath.
Then he moved, and his face came into view, knocking the rest of the air from Sophia’s oxygen-deprived lungs. Long eyelashes fringed golden, slitted eyes that peered at her from beneath a tumble of honeyed curls. His mouth had begun to shift, giving her a brief glimpse of full lips as they elongated, turning into a full muzzle before her eyes. He tightened his grip on the trunk and her gaze darted to his, the black claws scoring the wood, leaving deep gashes in the tree.
They stared at each other as Sophia’s mind struggled to make sense of what she was seeing. She’d spent enough time around Alphas to recognize one when he invaded her sanctuary, but she’d never encountered another panthera leo before now.
The full impact of that realization made her stagger. Her pussy pulsed around the godemiche, tightening around it, pulsing with heat. The animal inside her responded to the stranger’s presence with a heady, intoxicating wave of pure lust. Her nipples beaded tightly. Her clit throbbed and her own impulse to shift zinged through her veins, daring her to push past her fear and do what she hadn’t been able to in years.
Electricity zinged between them with the force of a corporeal entity, binding them, keeping her rooted to the spot. And then he took a step forward, baring all of his masculine splendor in one graceful move that carried him away from the tree.
Reason crashed through her mind at the exact moment her gaze landed on his solid cock, thrusting proudly against his belly. His shift was incomplete. The powerful sex organ shimmered, thickened, and lengthened before her eyes, a drop of precum dripping unimpeded from the bulbous tip onto the dewy grass.
Myriad questions dashed through her mind, but she couldn’t give voice to any of them. He was advancing, closing in on her. Soon, he’d be upon her, able to trap her with his muscular body and pin her against the statue of her patron Saint, where he’d thrust—
“Oh, mon patron. What have you brought me?”
Before either the stranger or the stoic Saint could answer, Sophia staggered to her feet, pulling the godemiche from her folds in the process. She lunged sideways and grazed the edges of her discarded robe with the tips of her fingers, lifting it as she broke into a sprint toward safety.