Roark (Women Of Earth Book 1)

by Jacqueline Rhoades

  “I followed your instructions to the letter. I have no patience for slow and since you are here in my arms, there was obviously no need for it.” He set her on her feet in a room that was a good deal tidier than the last time she was in it.

  “Pretty full of yourself aren’t you, First? What would you have done if I’d said no to dinner?”

  “Need you ask?” He looked a little surprised that she had. “I am a First Commander, skilled in battle plans and maneuvers. I would have altered my tactics and won my war a different way.”

  “And I’ll bet you already had Plan B in place,” she teased as she walked by him to peek through the curtains at the window. He wasn’t the only one who could swagger. The height of her heels made it easy to add a little sway to her hips.

  “This was Plan B,” he laughed. “I should have executed Plan A when I thought of it, but the opportunity passed. I should have known better. Hesitation is the first step on the road to defeat.” He said this last as if he was quoting something. “Had I not hesitated, this war would have been over before it began.”

  Mira turned to him, eyebrows raised. “Don’t leave me hanging here, First. What was this grand Plan A?”

  “I should have kissed you while you still had mud on your face,” he said smugly. “You would have melted in my arms and I could have carried you here.”

  Mira wouldn’t admit aloud that what he said was probably true. She raised her fist and shook it, laughing. “Or you could have ended up with a bloody nose.”

  Roark made a wry face and shrugged as if that wouldn’t matter. “Another blood marking to show the world that though wounded, I remain undefeated in my quest.” He sat on the edge of the bed and held out his hand to her. “Come, let me see what fortunes of war I have won.”

  She came to him and he spread his legs apart so she could stand between them. Mira trembled slightly when his hand slid behind her neck to undo the tiny golden buttons that held the halter of her dress in place. Roark lowered the two pieces of silky cloth slowly, whether to torment her or to prolong his own suspense she wasn’t sure.

  Tilting her head back, Mira closed her eyes as the two strips of cloth fell to her waist. She hissed with pleasure as his mouth found her breast. His tongue danced around the taut nipple before drawing it into his mouth. He cupped the fullness of it with his two hands and drank her in. The sound he made traveled through her body and moisture pooled between her legs. Her fingers slid through his hair and she held him to her.

  He became more aggressive when he turned his attentions to her other breast. After bringing the nipple to a tight peak, he caught it between his teeth and tugged, using it to bring her body closer to him. Holding her in place with his teeth locked on her nipple, Roark slid his hands down over her ribs and around her waist to the fastening of her skirt.

  He had no trouble with the hooks and eyes, but the zipper seemed to baffle him. He ran his finger down its length to where it ended halfway down the crease of her ass. The pressure of his finger had a tantalizing effect and she squirmed beneath it.

  Roark released her breast and chuckled against it. His finger travelled up the zipper and found the tab and slowly lowered it. The dress slid along her legs to pool at her feet. He held her hand as she stepped from it, then used the hand to lead her backward a few steps. The look in his eyes burned her skin as it traveled downward along the length of pearls that now pointed to the black panties with the tiny row of red bows that ran down the sides. They were the only pretty pair she owned.

  He motioned with his finger for her to turn and she obeyed, moving in a slow circle with her hands raised over her head. She showed no hesitation. Her hands and feet might be rougher than she would like, but the same hard work that had roughened them had also toned her muscles, and worn away all traces of excess fat. She was in good shape and proud of it. When she completed her circle and faced him again, he smiled.

  “Very pretty, but you’re still overdressed.”

  He beckoned her closer and when she obeyed, he hooked his thumbs into the sides of the panties and lowered them, too. These he followed to the floor and when his face reached her mound, his tongue darted out to touch her where her slit began, before gently lifting each foot to carefully slide the panties over her shoes. Her body quivered with anticipation and Roark chuckled knowingly. The warm breath of his laughter tickled the damp spot his tongue had left behind.

  “Now,” he said sitting back up into his original position, “Now you are perfect.”

  And at the heated look in his eyes, Mira felt perfect.

  He brought her hands to his shoulders and then ran his hands over her breasts, his roughened thumbs toying with the nipples. Mira leaned into the pressure as he traced the line of pearls. She wriggled under his tickling fingers as they danced around her navel and traveled around her waist and over the firm mounds of her ass. She gasped when those fingers slid between her legs.

  “Spread for me, Miramiku” Roark ordered, she mindlessly obeyed.

  Already wet and wanting, Mira caught her breath at his first touch. His fingers worked their magic and all the while he spoke to her.

  “Ah, sweet gods, you like that, don’t you?” he said as his finger rubbed along the side of her needy clit.

  She thought it was an observation, not a question, until he demanded an answer.

  “Tell me, Miramiku.”

  Her head was thrown back, her mouth open. She had to lick her lips before she answered, “Yes, yes. I do.”

  His finger moved and put pressure over the top of the tender head. She winced and shifted her hips in search of the previous point of pleasure. The movement was slight, but he noticed.

  “Do not hide your pleasures from me, Miramiku. Tell me.”

  “Not there,” she whispered, beginning to pant, and a moment later, “Oh, god, yes. There. There!”

  Her body began to burn with the need to come. Her heart pounded and her breath came fast. Roark’s fingers plunged inside her, curling forward with each thrust, unerringly finding the spot she never believed existed. The base of his palm pounded against her clit, yet she felt no discomfort, only the heat and pounding rhythm of his hand and the growing tension in her core. Her back arched. Her hips thrust against his fingers. She felt the rolling tide begin and she clutched at his shoulders to keep from falling when the wave struck shore.

  Her body stiffened when it hit. Her inner muscles clamped down on the fingers still inside her. She moaned as the long lost sensations of bliss found their way home. Roark’s hands caught her as her knees gave away. He turned and brought her to rest on the bed where he lay beside her, stroking the hair from her forehead and cooing softly in her ear.

  “You are beautiful and you are mine.”

  When the sea of her soul was calm again, he left her only long enough to strip away his clothes. His body was as magnificent as she knew it would be. Perfectly defined muscle bulged beneath the skin of his thighs and calves. The blood markings curved in bold slashes and swirls along the length of one side, extending halfway down his thigh. Roark knew she watched him through languid, half closed eyes and he stood in proud display as she looked her fill. His body radiated power.

  With gentle pressure at her thighs, he told her what he wanted and she opened for him. She felt his length and girth stretch and fill her and exalted in his groan of pleasure when he was fully seated. A considerate lover, he gave her body time to adjust before he began to move.

  Wanting the feel of him moving inside her, Mira wrapped her stocking clad legs around him and dug her high heeled shoes into his backside.

  Hands braced firmly to either side of her shoulders, elbows locked, and back arched, Roark’s thrusts were slow and deep. His green eyes watched her face, cautiously judging her reaction. She smiled up at him.

  “Stop worrying, Roark. I’m ready, willing, and able to give whatever you need to take.” She ran her hands up and over his chest. “Come on, spaceman, show this Earthling what you’ve got.”

>   His green eyes blazed with speculation and then darkened with lust. His smile heated her insides and her body clenched around him. “That sounded like a dare,” he rumbled.

  Unlocking his elbows, he lowered himself down from his sensual pushup, arching his back to bring them face to face. His mouth took hers, plundering it with ruthless determination until she whimpered with want and need.

  The sound set his body in motion. One at a time, he grasped her hands and pressed them into the pillow above her head. He showed her what he had. Over and over, he took her body in positions and places she’d never dreamed of. In between those bouts of lovemaking, he held her and stroked her hair and called her beautiful.

  “You’re beautiful, too,” she whispered once when he returned from the bath where he’d deposited the wet towel he’d used to wipe away the juices from their lovemaking.

  He threw back his head and laughed at that. “You women of Earth are a strange lot. No other female in the galaxy would call me pretty.”

  “No, not pretty, not smooth tongued either. Beautiful in the way mountains are beautiful, oceans are beautiful, storms are beautiful. There’s a beauty in power and strength, in movement. That’s not the same as pretty.” She smiled. “I’d use the word majesty, but your opinion of yourself is large enough.”

  “But accurate,” Roark qualified, and then nodded in satisfaction. “It is a good word, majesty. I like it. It is used in reference to kings, isn’t it? Am I your king, Miramiku? Am I free to command you?”

  “Only in the kingdom of your bed.” To prove it she slid to her knees before him and took his growing erection into her mouth.

  He groaned with pleasure and then laughed again. “My kingdom has already grown to encompass the bedroom floor. What territory should we conquer next? The kitchen? The balcony? How far will you follow me?”

  Mira withdrew her mouth, but still held him in her hand as she sat back on her heels. “To the ends of the galaxy, your majesty, as long as you remember that your kingdom contains only one subject.”

  “With you as that subject, Miramiku, one is more than enough. You have my word.”

  He took what he wanted, but he took her with him. Each orgasm was more satisfying than the last until finally, she was begging for mercy.

  “Please, please Roark, no more,” she pleaded, her breath pumping in and out in short, quick pants. “It’s been a long time. I’m not used to this and I need sleep.”

  “You were the one who issued the dare,” he laughed smugly.

  He peeled her from the back of the sofa where she was draped like a rag doll and wrapped her in the soft blanket he’d dragged in from the bed. Leaning back on the high curved arm, he settled her next to him. “Tomorrow is another day.”

  “I’ll barely be able to walk tomorrow,” she muttered as she snuggled deeper into his arms.

  His laughter rumbled in his chest. “Ah, but with each step you take, you will think of me, Mirasha.”

  She certainly would. He’d given her a lot to think about. His body was so warm and his strong arms held her close. Sated and exhausted, her eyes closed and she drifted off to sleep on one last thought.

  If Roark was Prince Charming, then Mira Donazetto was one lucky girl. She was still wearing her glass slippers long past the striking of midnight.

  Chapter 13

  “Mirasha.” Roark whispered the pet name as the woman padded sleepily into the kitchen. He set his mug of cavik aside and opened his arms.

  Shuffling because of the bed sheet that was awkwardly wrapped around her, she came directly to him, though she didn’t raise her eyes. Her forehead thudded against the center of his chest.

  “Mirasha,” she echoed the pet name on a soft sigh. “I thought I dreamed it. How did I end up in the bed? And alone,” she added grumpily.

  He ran his hand over her messy mass of curls. “I grew uncomfortable on the couch and you sleep like the dead.”

  She lifted her face to him. “If I slept like the dead, it was because you killed me,” she grumbled.

  Her lips, still full and reddened from lovemaking, pouted. Roark lifted her chin a little higher and stole a kiss. He laughed at her glaring response.

  “Are you always this grouchy in the morning?” he laughed.

  Mira didn’t laugh back. Instead, she moved in closer to him and rested her cheek against his bare chest. “I’m not grouchy, this isn’t morning, and don’t you Godan ever sleep?” One hand slid around his waist while she pointed to the windows at the end of the room with the other. “It’s still dark out.”

  “You’re grouchy, and it’s an hour until dawn,” he argued back. He toasted her with his mug and took a sip. “Will coffee cure that?”

  Mira pulled the hand with the mug he’d been drinking from close to her nose and sniffed the brown liquid. “That,” she said, “is not coffee.” She wrinkled her nose and shivered in distaste. “If that’s the stuff you Godans drink in the morning, I’m going to have a few words with Mohawk about his sense of smell. He said coffee smelled like burnt pig piss. I think he sniffed the wrong mug.”

  Her twitching nose reminded Roark of one of the zinnies that sometimes found their way aboard ships that docked from Pylon 2. The clever little creatures were technically vermin, but because of their soft fur and affectionate nature, crewmen sometimes kept them as pets. He laughed.

  “What’s so funny?” Her forehead wrinkled, her eyes narrowed, and her lips formed a narrow line of discontent.

  “You are. Even when you try to make horrible faces, you’re cute.”

  He set her away from him and turned to the black plastic device on the counter. He pressed the button and hoped the Cook’s crewman had read the directions correctly. The machine gurgled and dark liquid spurted into the mug placed to capture it.

  “I’m not cute. I’ve never been cute. I never will be cute. Wynne’s the cute one. I’m the practical one. She’s pie-in-the-sky. I’m down-to-earth.” She didn’t sound resentful of the labels.

  “So you’re the smart one.”

  “Oh, no. Wynne’s the smart one. I’m the clever one.”

  “I supposed it’s the same in all families. Each member has a role to play and a label to go with it. My brother, Bozador, was called clever, too, but that was only a polite term for what he really was; ruthless.” He glanced back at her and chuckled. “You’re not ruthless, are you? Maybe your family meant grouchy when they called you clever.” He shrugged and went on.

  “Bozador took his warrior heritage and applied it in the marketplace. He would cut the financial throat out of anyone he perceived as the enemy. As boys, Udreus often stood between us, his older and younger brother, when we fought. He’s known as the family peacemaker. In truth, Udreus was afraid of both of us and wouldn’t take a side. He’s now a rising star in Diplomatic Services and his negotiating skills are becoming legend. Cowardice has worked in his favor and he no longer has to fear his brothers, only the Etiquette Squad.”

  Roark heard her snicker of laughter and went on to where his family revelations were leading. “And your brother, what of him? How does he fit into this family of yours? What role does he play? What label does he carry?”

  “We’re not sure what his role is yet. Wynne would disagree, but I’ve narrowed it down to a choice of three.” Mira counted them off by raising her fingers. “His job is to give me grey hair before my time, drive me crazy, or drive me to an early grave. If he keeps going, it could be all three.”

  Roark laughed because he understood. “It is the way of boys. My mother often says she would have been wiser to weave leather into whips instead of wool into soft blankets for us.”

  “My mother, and then my sister and I spoiled him and now we have to live with our mistake. Unfortunately, he’s not so small anymore.”

  “Then your brother is no longer a child?”

  “He is, but he thinks he’s a man and there aren’t that many men left to show him what that means. Davey is a good boy at heart.” Roark could feel th
e weight of her concern in her sigh. “I’ve been a failure in that department.”

  “Why is it your failure?” he was about to ask, but at the feel of her soft hands on the bare skin of his back, his question died.

  Mira peeked around him to watch the gurgling machine.

  “That’s coffee.” She leaned against his back and hugged him. “I think I love you.” He felt her freeze after the words were spoken and then she stepped away. “I mean...”

  “So coffee is the key to your pleasure. I wish I’d known that sooner. I could have saved the time I wasted finding chocolate and flowers.” Roark turned, holding the mug high so she wouldn’t be burned. He offered it to her with a little bow.

  One sip and she was smiling over the rim of the mug. “Your time wasn’t wasted.”

  Roark leaned in for a quick kiss. “If coffee is essential to restore your good mood, how does your family tolerate you in the morning without it?”

  “I get up an hour before everyone else,” she finally laughed after another closed eyed sip. “I usually make myself a cup of the concoction Wynne calls tea. It isn’t tea, and it sure as heck isn’t coffee, but it helps. And usually,” she added accusingly, “I don’t have horny Godan commanders pestering me all night.”

  “I’m very happy to hear it, though you didn’t seem too pestered by it.”

  Mira rolled her eyes. “I know, and look what it got me. I may never walk normally again.”

  A series of shrill beeps issued from the com-screen on his desk. The pattern of the beeps told Roark it was his Prime reporting in. Harm knew better than to disturb him unless it was important.

  “I have to answer that,” he said, apologizing with his tone.

  “Go. You’re the First Commander. I get it.”

  Roark hooked the small receiver over his ear and depressed the square at the bottom of the com-screen that was meant for sound only. Harm was on the front lines and the picture displayed would be different from a normal vid call. He didn’t want Mira to see or hear any of the bloody chaos surrounding Harm.