The Mad Lieutenant: The Lost Planet Series, Book Three

by Webster, K

  “Looking at you. I want to remember you like this always. My mate is so beautiful it makes me forget the madness.”

  Touched beyond words, I pull him down against me, a little dismayed to find he’s still only halfway out of his suit. Then, he starts where he left off, kissing me down my chest in a determined path to the valley of my thighs.

  I throw my head back against his blankets as he fits himself between my legs, his wide shoulders spreading me open for his gaze and then, for his mouth. I’d thought feeling his tongue on my nipples was devastating.

  I’d been wrong.

  His forked tongue scissors the sensitive nub of my clit, stroking and licking until it’s so sensitive I can feel my heartbeat throbbing wildly against his flesh. Sheathed fingertips probe the slick opening of my cunt, and I sob unintelligible words until he thrusts inside. His shoulders nudge me wider, his finger pressing so deep inside it’s almost painful. When he bottoms out, the fleshy part of his palm presses against my clit, sending sharp zings of pleasure along my nerve endings.

  “I like your sweetness on my tongue.” He licks his fingers for emphasis, then pushes two inside. “Wider,” he says, nudging my legs apart.

  I moan and grip his shoulders because that’s all I can do. Hold on.

  His fingers are thick and meaty, as strong as the mort himself, using only the amount of restraint he thinks I require, his fingers pounding into me. He works with a singlemindedness that’s infectious. There is only the deep thrust, then slow drag until the pads of his fingers brush against the front walls of my cunt, dragging the first feral scream from my throat as I’m suspended on the precipice of an orgasm. He fixes his tongue on my clit, sucking the throbbing bundle into his mouth as he repeats the thrust and drag. It’s the combination of the two that has me succumbing to a pleasure so acute it’s almost violent.

  When my eyes refocus, I find him dragging his pants down and off, flinging them over his shoulder and beyond. He crawls up my replete body, a satisfied gleam in his eyes. This alien likes that he knows how to please me. Likes it so much he wants more.

  And I want nothing more than to give it to him.

  Give him everything.

  I take him into my arms, relishing in the feel of his weight on top of me, my cunt aching to be filled. I draw him close with one leg and meet his kiss, tasting myself on his wicked, wicked tongue. For someone who doesn’t talk much, he sure knows how to use it.

  “I like the way you scream,” he says against my mouth.

  But I have no time for words. The brush of pleasure has ignited something more inside me. A fire without end. I grip his shoulders and wrap my other leg around his strong hips. The bulbous head of his cock slicks through my folds, ripping a gasp from my dry throat.

  “My mate wants my cock.”

  I nod, but I don’t know if he sees me. Nothing seems to make sense. There’s only the urge for completion, fulfillment. I strain to fit him inside me, but he evades me.

  I open my eyes and glare at him.

  He smiles, a true smile tinged with the same wildness I feel coursing through me. If I weren’t so needy and desperate, I would have been overjoyed.

  “Don’t smile at me, Draven. Yes, I want your cock. Please.”

  “This is what I want to hear.”

  He surges forward, filling me so completely, my retort is forgotten as my brain stutters to a stop. It should be impossible for something to feel better than his fingers and tongue working in tandem, but his cock filling me, thrusting deep and hard, is a pleasure that’s immeasurable.

  Wanting to make him lose control, to see that wildness overtake him, has me gripping him tight against me. I pull him down until I can kiss him again, taste our combined flavors and get drunk off them. I give him everything I have, sucking, licking deep, and exploring the strong expanse of his back and chest with my hands. I knead and scratch at his sweat-glossed skin, accepting each of his sounds of pleasure with my mouth.

  His thrusts snap harder but are still tempered by control, still tamed. For someone who always seems to be controlling himself, getting him let loose is near impossible. I throw everything into seducing him toward the edge. I kiss him with wild abandon, spreading my legs in explicit invitation, causing him to groan.

  “I want you. I want all of you like you have me.”

  The corded muscles in his throat stand out in relief. When he speaks, his voice vibrates with the effort to control himself. “When you take my pleasure, Molly mate, you will be unable to move for some time. I won’t hurt you.”

  I soften beneath him, wrapping him fully in my arms. “Is that what you’re worried about? I know you won’t hurt me. I trust you.” I’m not sure what he means by not being able to move, but I know he’ll be there for me, whatever happens.

  It’s as though my words unlock something inside of him. He rears back and grips the backs of my thighs in his hands, pinning my lower body to the bed by the force of his grip. His thrusts are powerful and all-consuming. Sweat beads at his forehead and rolls down his cheeks as he chases his own pleasure.

  “You first,” he grunts.

  He says something, but I don’t know what it is. Seeing him lose it is more intoxicating than the strongest orgasm. Mine roars up from the ether and consumes me. All I can focus on is the swell of the wave, building, threatening to crest and take me under.

  I grapple underneath me for something to hold onto, something to ground me because I know when it happens, it’s going to obliterate everything.

  “Molly,” he grunts and says something else, but it’s blotted out as I clench around his still furiously pumping cock.

  Pleasure bursts out of me, compounds, then explodes again, overtaking my body with tremors.

  At the sound of my orgasm, Draven shouts, rocking his hips into me several times before his body goes impossibly taut. Heat spurts inside of me, and there’s a moment of pure silence and peace before I realize what he meant about not being able to move.

  “Shh,” he whispers as he pulls out of me to gather me close in his arms. Even though he still shudders in the aftershocks from his own orgasm, he’s solely focused on comforting me as my panicked gaze meets his. “Don’t worry, I won’t let anything happen to you. The paralyzing effect of the toxica will wear off shortly.”

  There’s something to be said for basking in the moment after sharing intimacy. As the paralytic takes effect, I have no choice but to allow him to pet and soothe. His claws rake over my sensitized skin, and it’s almost as pleasurable as the act of sex itself.

  By the time I’m able to move again, there isn’t anywhere else I’d rather be than in Draven’s arms.

  10

  Draven

  The winds are mild this solar, perfect for travel. Before we left, Galen attempted to show me on his radar where he believes a herd of rogcow are congregating, but I typically trust my instincts on such hunting missions.

  My instinct tells me to head north, which is exactly where we’re going.

  Molly and I take a brisk pace as we walk. We’re both wearing zu-gear over our minnasuits and carrying heavy packs on our backs. Mine is slightly heavier, but in order to have all the supplies we’ll need, it required her to carry some of the load. Pride thrums through me to see her carry the pack with ease.

  “Are you okay, my mate?” I ask through the comms, stopping to look at her through the glass of her rebreather mask.

  Her cheeks are a ruddy red that matches the dirt dusting up around us from her exertion. “I’m perfect.” She bites on her bottom lip in a way that has my minnasuit tightening around my cock.

  Now is not the time for such activities.

  Later, I promise myself.

  She blinks with her one eye in the unusual way that I’ve come to enjoy about her. It’s a gesture that seems to agree with my unspoken thoughts.

  “We must always keep our eyes on the horizon. Anything that moves could be a threat. I’ll eliminate any and all threats as long as you make me aware of t
hem,” I say as we continue moving.

  I’m headed for the Phyxer Mountains. The mountains themselves are many metalengths into the red, hazy clouds. We’re not going to travel up them, though. We’re going through the Gunteer Channel—a narrow passageway carved long ago right through the mountain.

  Breccan would rekking have my nog on a stick if he knew I was not only planning this, but also taking my prized mate with me.

  She is strong.

  Together, we are capable.

  Not to mention, it is the only way. My instinct tells me the rogcow have herded through the channel, seeking safety from our last massive geostorm. Their normal wandering places have been ravished by the weather.

  I point ahead. “See that dark, red shadow?”

  “Looks like someone painted a bar down the side of the mountain,” she says, her voice breathless.

  My brows pinch together as I ascertain whether or not I should relieve her of her pack. We left at sunup this morning and now nearly a half solar has gone without our stopping to rest. I shouldn’t push such a rigorous pace, but Sokko’s life depends on our hastiness.

  “It’s a crevasse. A trick of the eyes. When we get closer, you’ll see,” I tell her. “It’s about two metalengths straight through. The winds are incredibly strong, though. We’ll have to tie ourselves together, so we don’t get lost in the dust.” I take her gloved hand in mine. “You’re so brave, Molly mate.”

  She rewards me with one of her bright smiles that shows all her white, useless teeth. So beautiful. We continue on. As we grow nearer to the Gunteer Channel, the thoughts become loud inside my head. I’m given glimpses of my mother, sending aching stabs into my heart. It makes me wonder about Molly’s little Willow. Only three revolutions old. I know how the little alien feels losing her mother.

  “Do you ever think of going to try to find your Willow?” I ask, my voice husky and dry.

  She tenses and shakes her nog. “I wouldn’t know where to begin, Draven.”

  “I could help you if that is your wish.” I would do anything to make her happy. Even if it means leaving my family to search for hers. “I’m sure Theron would assist as well.”

  She falls against me, and when her arms squeeze me, I realize it was intentional. A Molly hug. “You’re sweet,” she says, her head tilting up, so she can see me. “But not only am I lost on a planet I never knew existed, I’m also a wanted criminal.” Her brows furrow together. “I’ve never felt so hopeless about something. All I can do is trust she’s happy wherever she is.”

  As we travel, thoughts of my mother come back to mind.

  ***

  “W-We’ll find each other again,” Mother rasps. Her eyes are wild as black liquid oozes from the corners, leaving a dark, wet trail as they escape into her hair. “In The Eternals.”

  Her hands are bound, so she won’t claw at her skin anymore. I have to fist my hands to keep from scratching at my own flesh. Whatever Mother has, I think I have it, too.

  “Don’t leave me,” I beg, my voice a mere whisper.

  “One d-day I’ll be f-free,” she croaks, her mind once again slipping into the madness.

  “Mother,” I whimper.

  She coughs, and her entire body shudders. Spittle hits my face. They say she’s contagious. I don’t know what contagious means. All I know is she’s sick.

  “Who will feed me, Mother?”

  “They will, my heart.”

  “Who will make sure I’m not cold at night, Mother?”

  “They…will…”

  “Who will—”

  “Free me, beast,” she hisses, her fangs bared. “Free me, so I can rip them from my bones!”

  My eyes widen. “What, Mother? What’s in your bones?”

  “THEY ARE INSIDE ME!” she screams, her entire body flailing on the bed.

  Panic rises up inside of me. I pull the small magknife that belonged to my father before he went to The Eternals from my belt. My hands shake as I try to saw through the zuta-metal clamp around her wrists.

  It’s not working!

  “Mother,” I cry out. “Let me go get—”

  “No!” she shouts. “They’ll take you from me! I’ll suffer alone! No mort should ever suffer alone!”

  Liquid heat streaks down my cheeks. I hastily swipe it away and let out a sob when I realize my tears are black like hers.

  I’m scared.

  Will they bind me, too?

  “They’re coming,” she snarls. “Run, Draven! Run!”

  I give my mother one last stare before I scamper off. I’ve barely made it to the door to swipe my keycard when it rolls open. A mort several years older than me and dressed completely in zu-gear, yanks me up by the arms.

  “Let me go!” I wail. “Mother! Mother!”

  “Run, Draven!” she calls out.

  I squirm in his strong grip. When I see his eyes behind the glass, betrayal cuts me open.

  Breccan.

  He’s always so nice to me and teaches me things. How to hunt. How to scout for danger. How to read. He even looks after little Hadrian now.

  But now…

  “You’re sick,” he says, his voice tight with sadness. “We must try and—”

  Images of those things inside of me eating away at my bones suddenly blackens my thoughts. I grow feral in his grip and screech as I squirm to get away. My claws rake along his zu-gear, but don’t puncture the material.

  He shouts to someone to bring the sedative.

  The next few moments are a blur.

  Then nothing.

  Nothing.

  Nothing.

  Mother? Are we in The Eternals?

  No one answers…

  ***

  “Draven!” Molly cries out, dragging me from the past. “You’re trembling. What’s wrong?”

  My bones buzz with the reminder of the past. The way my bones felt as though things were crawling inside of them, gnawing them hollow. I know I’m free from The Rades, but that disease still haunts me. That disease took my mother.

  I look around frantically, trying to place exactly where we are. Anything to steal my attention away from that fateful night when she went to The Eternals and I went to a reform cell.

  Maybe not right away.

  But eventually.

  At first, they tried to treat me.

  But then, they simply wanted to keep me away from the others.

  Breccan, only eighteen revolutions old, held me when I was too weak. He roared with me when I needed to rage over the injustice of it all. He listened when I needed to talk. I was ten revolutions old, but during those many micro-revolutions, I aged well beyond my years. When the madness became too great to handle, I spent what felt like eons locked away in the dark. Those times still come to me in the form of terrors in the night. I can’t shake those memories away no matter how I try.

  “Tell me what’s wrong,” Molly urges.

  And with a shaky sigh, I do.

  We walk, and I talk. I tell her of my mother—before the dreadful disease took her. I tell her of watching her suffer. I tell her of my own suffering. The pain still ravages my heart, and this, too, I tell her. By the time I’ve finished, we’ve reached the mouth of the crevasse, and Molly is sobbing.

  “Don’t cry, my mate,” I rumble. “I do not wish to push my anguish into your arms.”

  She gives me a Molly mate hug. The sort of hug that seeps deep inside of me. It chases away the lingering shadows. Brightens places that have never seen light.

  “Your anguish is a part of you, Draven. Just like my anguish is a part of me. I’m not crying because you upset me. I’m crying for you, Draven. For all you’ve gone through and what you lost,” she says, her voice shaky.

  I rest my visor’s glass against hers, so I can see her lovely face. We share a moment before I pull away and hunt for my rope. After tethering us together, I clench my jaw as I worry about the travel through this channel.

  “Stay behind me, and cut anything that comes near us,” I instru
ct. “I’ll cover us from the front.”

  “We’ve got this, boo.”

  I don’t know what a boo is, but my mate likes to make up names for me. I think of them as her hug words. Like verbal squeezes to my heart. They affect me all the same. Lift me up and power me to continue on.

  With my mate, I’ll always keep moving forward.

  The shadows don’t own me anymore.

  I have my very own sun in the dark, chasing away the monsters.

  11

  Molly

  It’s like trying to walk through a tornado.

  Impossible.

  But, somehow, with Draven leading the way, anything seems possible.

  I tuck my chin down and force one foot in front of the other. My thighs tremble under the strain, and I’ve given up trying to moderate my breathing. I’m sure Draven can hear my heaving over the comms, but if he does, he doesn’t mention it.

  The red-orange dust obliterates most of the light, and what little is left is hazy-red, battering my protective visor. It amazes me how the morts have survived on this brutal planet for so long when every inch of it seems designed to wipe out life instead of help sustain it. I grasp the tether more firmly at the thought and keep pushing forward. One step at a time.

  That’s how I’ve survived so far.

  One step at a time.

  Thinking the word survive has the memory of meeting Draven for the first time springing to the forefront. I begin to hum the song again without thinking as we trek on, the journey seemingly endless. I don’t realize it for a few minutes, but Draven begins to sing along with me, his voice sure and baritone.

  Of course, it doesn’t take long before the exertion is too strenuous to keep singing, but I hum along with Draven with every step, focusing on the words, the melody, instead of the endlessness.

  “Watch your nog!” Draven shouts suddenly, then reaches back, shoving my head down between my legs. Exhausted from the strain, my legs buckle, and I fold into a crouch.

  “What is it?” I yell once I catch my breath.