The Blarmling Dilemma (Hearts in Orbit Book 1)

by S. C. Mitchell

  The delight and fire in his eyes erased her fears as he pulled down the zipper to reveal the lacy, black brassiere underneath. She shrugged out of the sleeves while he pulled the zipper down to her crotch, then she toed off her boots.

  “You’re so beautiful.” His voice rasped.

  He clutched both sides of the jumpsuit and pulled it down and off as she raised her butt to accommodate him. On his knees between her legs, he struggled out of his flight jacket and shirt. The tight, expansive chest and rippling abdominals instantly captured her attention. Her fingers itched to touch him—explore every tawny inch.

  She’d seen him naked before, lying unconscious and relaxed on the floor and the cot in the cell, but now, towering over her, he looked drop-dead incredible. Lean muscle flexed under tanned, smooth skin. Dark eyes, blazing with passion, scanned her body with a scorching gaze. She clenched in need.

  As he unbuckled his belt, two pairs of purple eyes rose over the horizon of the bedside. Who knew Oolo and Lart were voyeurs?

  Clicks and whistles were exchanged as Rigel stopped, gave a throaty chuckle, and shook his head. “No, little friends, you can’t be in here. Humans prefer their privacy.”

  He backed off the bed and ushered the two Blarmlings out the door. All the while they chattered. Rigel continued to chuckle and shake his head. “I know that, but really . . . just stay out here.”

  He closed the door and turned, still grinning and shaking his head. It was infectious, and Phoebe found herself giggling along with him. “What did they say?”

  The moment ruined, at least temporarily, he sat on the edge of the bed. Phoebe crawled over to sit by him.

  “First, you have to understand. Mating is very casual in Blarmling culture. Whenever the feeling strikes, they just go at it. For them it’s like breathing or eating—just another natural function. They were curious about how humans mated, so they came in to watch.”

  Phoebe remembered viewing the recording of Oolo and Lart mating. Was their curiosity any different than the humans had been? “Well, I guess we did watch them mate . . .”

  “They wondered which one of us would be carrying the babies first.” Rigel was looking intently at her, as if anticipating her response.

  “First?”

  His eyes danced. A smile flicked the corners of his mouth. “Blarmlings share the carrying of the unborn. The female, or what we would call the female, conceives and carries their young for about two months then transfers them to the male who carries them to term and gives birth.”

  “By the way, Oolo is quite pregnant. Lart is expecting to receive at least four younglings when the exchange happens, though that might just be a bit of Blarmling bravado. He does have quite a macho streak.”

  “The exchange?”

  Rigel nodded, his eyes alight with humor. “Halfway through the gestation the females transfer the young to the males, who then carry the litter to term.”

  “So their males give birth?” She watched Rigel cringe.

  He bent down, scanning the floor. “Which reminds me . . .” He scooped up a strip of foil packets about six centimeters square each. “Am I going to need these?”

  The prophylactic was ancient in design, but still in use on the backwater planets. Two decades ago the Tyvar procedure had become so standard in young women, that unwanted pregnancy was almost unheard of in the central worlds. Phoebe had gone in for her Tyvar at age eight. Someday, when she was ready to have children, she’d have the reversal.

  She’d never actually seen a condom, and considered making Rigel use it just for the experience, but recanted. She wanted whatever this was between them to be built on truth and trust. “No, you won’t need that, unless you don’t trust me.”

  He tossed the condom back on the floor. “Oh, I trust you.” That glint was back in his eye.

  He lunged for her, wrapping his arms around her and pushing her down on the bed with him on top. She kicked out, using leverage to roll toward the center of the bed and ended up on top of him.

  “Well, aren’t you full of surprises?” He smiled up at her. She silenced him with a kiss.

  Chapter 8

  Phoebe’s passion flared anew. She ran hungry fingers across Rigel’s broad chest and down his rippling abs. He reached up, cupping the back of her head and pulling her mouth toward his. Passion and need infused his kiss. His intent lips devoured hers, his tongue quested deep. His fingers raked through her thick curls, then fisted, pulling her head closer to deepen the passionate exchange.

  His erection pressed boldly against the juncture of her thighs, throbbing through the thin layers of clothing between them. Only the lack of air caused their lips to part. Gasping, she wanted only to dive back in for more of him.

  Rigel took advantage of the break to run a finger along the lacy top of her bra, searing a trail of heat along the crest of her breasts. “Incredible.” His breathy response was as much plea as complement. His eyes blazed as he slipped a finger under the lacey edge and dragged it down over her aching nipple. Sparks flew to her core igniting a molten flow.

  Releasing the front magnalatch, she opened the bra, spilling her breasts into his waiting hands. Gently kneading, Rigel pulled one ripe bud toward his eager mouth. He flicked his tongue across her erect nipple, eliciting tingles that shot through her, before drawing the peak into his mouth.

  Rigel’s moan, deep in his throat, vibrated through her chest like the psychic purr of a Cambarion Marrcat. He shifted underneath her, his erection appeared ready to override the magnetic closure circuitry on the front of his pants.

  Phoebe rose up slowly, careful not to pull her breast from Rigel’s mouth. His fingers on her other breast were rolling the nipple in an agonizingly wonderful way. She closed her eyes and scrunched her face as the excruciating glory of his touch cascaded down her torso. Still, her fumbling fingers were able to find the micoswitch on the waistband of his slacks to free Rigel’s cock.

  “Mmmmm,” Rigel groaned his thanks. Long and thick, the organ protruded from his fly. Phoebe shifted to the side to allow herself access. Her breath caught as she tentatively ran her hand along the rigid member.

  She’d known he was big, but erect he was even larger.

  Muskiness, with spicy overtones, filled her senses. She tightened her grasp, testing the soft rigidity.

  “Ohh,” Rigel groaned again, releasing her breast.

  He pushed with his left foot, rolling them across the mattress once again to end up on top of her. “My turn.” The gleam in his eye was positively rakish.

  Rigel took control, kicking off his boots and pants. Then he eased the lacy panties down Phoebe’s legs. His hands stroked her inner thighs as he moved back up her body. Phoebe spread her legs. She was dripping in anticipation.

  His touch was firm, yet gentle. Fingers gliding over her flesh left a trail of heat and erotic intrigue. Closing in, then pulling back. Teasing.

  “Oh God, touch me.” Phoebe banged her head against the mattress. With a vicious grin, Rigel slid a finger along her damp folds, finding and tweaking her clit, before plunging deep inside. His long, skilled fingers probed her depths, eliciting squeals and moans as he discovered her most intimate areas of arousal.

  Just a little to the left. And suddenly he was there, taking her over the threshold of sanity and into orgasmic ecstasy.

  How could he know just where . . .?

  In the background she heard the soft chittering through the bedroom door.

  “No fair,” she gasped as a passionate bolt shot through her. “You’re using the Blarmlings.”

  Even though they weren’t in the room, they were in her head, reading her thoughts. In the small corner of her mind that remained sane, she found she didn’t mind. No man had ever read her so well.

  “Are you complaining?” He pressed, finding just that rig
ht technique to take her over the edge. Waves of pleasure washed over her.

  “Gods, no!” She struggled to contain her rapid breaths, her body quaking through the strongest orgasm she’d ever experienced.

  He pulled his fingers from her channel and the head of his cock nudged her folds. He was so large, but she was slick and ready. As he slid into her, his lips descended to her breast and began to earnestly suck and lick her nipple.

  He filled her so completely—felt so good inside her. As he pulled back, she felt each ridge of his cock dragging along the walls of her channel. She bit her lip as the sensations washed over her and passionate fires blazed anew.

  She cried out when he pushed in again, the titillation of his tongue on her nipple added sparks to the rising tide of her passion. Rigel increased his pace and her body shook in response. She struggled to contain the volcanic eruption that threatened to explode inside her.

  It was too soon, coming on the heels of her last orgasm. She’d never survive another . . .

  Rigel’s eyes went unfocused, and he gritted his teeth, grunting with each push. Sweat beaded on his brow.

  Then Phoebe was lost once again in the throes of passion, fisting her hands in the bed covers and trying to hold back a surge that rose to new heights within her.

  But the deluge could not be held back. The dam of her self-control fractured and broke, sending wave after wave of orgasmic passion flooding through her core. The world around her fogged, and hurricane winds whistled through her ears. Somewhere in the distance she heard Rigel’s roar, and felt the pulsing and jetting deep inside, as he emptied himself into her.

  Slowly, the quaking subsided and she found her breath again. He was on top of her, not heavy but comforting, like a warm blanket of tawny skin. He cradled her and placed a damp kiss on her cheek.

  He was gasping for breath. “Wow.”

  That pretty much summed it up.

  He rolled off her, onto his side, his fingers twirling a strand of her hair. Sated and spent, Phoebe rolled into her side in front of him and idly played with the hairs on his chest. In the back of her mind, she wondered what in the galaxy a man this wonderful could have done, to be sent off to the prison worlds.

  “So, what did you do?” The words were out before she considered their possible impact. She hadn’t meant to put her thoughts into words. The orgasmic afterglow had muddled her thinking. She bit her lower lip, embarrassed.

  “I think I just made love to you.” He chuckled and ran his hand down her back. “Why, what did you think I did?”

  Then she felt the question register. He stiffened and his mouth tightened. The hand casually playing in her hair stopped. A wall rose between them, as his eyes darkened. She knew she shouldn’t have asked, yet now she was more curious than ever.

  “I’m sorry . . . if you don’t want to talk about it . . .”

  Why had she brought it up? She’d destroyed the moment.

  She felt like such an idiot.

  It was the toughest question he’d ever had to field, not because the answer was hard, but because no one ever believed the truth. If he was from the Theiler system, he was a criminal. End of story. He had to have done something, probably something heinous. Many spacers bragged about how bad they’d been, wearing their crimes like a badge of honor . . . dishonor.

  Usually he just came out and told the truth and let the chips fall. It’s not like he cared what others thought. But this time it mattered. This time she mattered.

  “I didn’t do anything. I was born on Theiler 5.”

  A frozen knot clenched his stomach as he awaited her response.

  Liar. Yeah right! Fine, be that way. He’d endured them all—let the words slide off his carefully placed armor. But Phoebe was different. Even though he barely knew her, he’d let her inside. Her words could pierce his heart and lay bare his soul. The loneliness of his time in space made him vulnerable.

  “Oh.” Her surprise seemed genuine. She lowered her gaze. “I’m sorry I jumped to conclusions.” Her voice was soft, earnest. It wasn’t a jibe. She meant it.

  No one had ever reacted like that. His chest loosened and he was able to expel the breath he’d been holding.

  “Mom was a pretty well-known cat burglar in her day, from what I understand.” It was a terrible way to describe a woman he loved and owed so much to. “She bought her way off Theiler 6 with her body, and ended up with me.”

  Phoebe’s eyes were big and full of questions, but she seemed to be holding back. Rigel smiled. “You can ask.”

  She still lay comfortably in his arms, her fingers twirling his chest hairs. “So you grew up on Theiler 5?”

  Rigel wasn’t sure why he felt so comfortable with her . . . why things seemed so right. There was something very cathartic about being able to talk so freely with someone. “Mom got promoted to Theiler 4 when I was two years old. I don’t even remember 5.”

  “You didn’t have your father with you, growing up?” He saw the sadness in her eyes. He smiled and shook his head.

  A father was just one of the things, on a very long list, he’d done without while growing up. “You learned to do without a lot of things growing up on a prison world.”

  Chapter 9

  Cygnus-7 drifted in the blackness of space, a bright red, molten sphere. Too hot to even form a crust, the planet was little more than a turmoil of liquid rock. Completely uninhabitable, it did remain a unique and convenient light source for the Alpha Cygnus Space Platform.

  The platform was originally a research outpost, but as populated space expanded around it, Alpha Cygnus deteriorated into an abandoned piece of space junk in a decaying orbit. The entire station was on a collision course with the boiling surface of Cygnus-7, when the Bespotion War broke out, and it was re-commissioned into a military base.

  New anti-grav thrusters stabilized the platform in a slightly lower orbit. Constant maintenance and vigilance kept systems running smoothly even though the base switched hands three times during the five-year altercation.

  Now, fourteen years after the war’s end, the platform was all but abandoned once again. A colony of space miners, prostitutes, and backwater lowlifes populated what was left behind, riding its final years down to the planet’s molten embrace.

  It was the last place in the galaxy anyone would ever want to go, but it was the closest destination with a starport and the repair facilities Rigel needed to fix his ship. He was familiar with the station; he’d stopped there before. The repair bay usually had all the parts needed to fix a P-86 in stock, and mechanics that knew how to install them.

  There were a lot of space-jockeys and bounty hunters who knew their ships inside and out, and how to fix just about everything on them. Rigel wasn’t one of them. Growing up on the Theiler worlds hadn’t given him much opportunity to learn mechanics, or physics, or electronics. He’d learned how to fight . . . how to survive. He’d had to, or he wouldn’t have made it off the prison worlds. Few children ever reached adulthood in the Theiler System. There was nothing nurturing about the community.

  Once free, it hadn’t taken him long to learn how to fly a starship, but the mechanics of the craft still baffled him. He stood amazed and watched Phoebe disassemble and reassemble components he didn’t even know his ship had.

  “So, what’s her name?” Phoebe asked climbing out from under one of the equipment bays. In her hand a mass of wires and a complicated looking . . . thing.

  “What’s whose name?” Did she think he had a girlfriend or wife? Fat chance of that.

  “Your ship.”

  Relief flooded him. He still felt guilty about the way his passion had taken over. Even with her consent, there was something wrong about making love to a woman who was technically still his prisoner.

  Rigel shook his head, happy for the distraction. “I haven’t name
d my ship.”

  The P-86 was just a tool, an item. If he named it, it would become personal . . . have importance. It would be one more thing that could be taken from him. Rigel didn’t have attachments . . . to anything.

  Phoebe cocked her head and wrinkled her forehead, raising one eyebrow. “Everyone names their ship. Mine’s The Sheltered Princess.”

  Rigel couldn’t help but laugh. “Is that what you are? A sheltered princess?”

  Phoebe’s eyes clouded. Rigel knew he’d touched a nerve. “I’m the oldest child. My family has power and position in the central planets. My parents, especially my dad, are very protective of me. At times I felt trapped in an ivory tower, waiting for my hero to rescue me.”

  “That old fairy tale?” Rigel didn’t have time for fantasies. “You seem pretty capable of rescuing yourself. Why rely on someone else?”

  Phoebe shrugged. “We all need help from someone else at times. Look at the Blarmlings. They couldn’t have escaped on their own. And they’d be dead right now if I hadn’t done something.”

  Oolo trilled and padded over to hug Phoebe’s leg. Lart followed, his large purple eyes never leaving Rigel’s. The Blarmlings were completely protective of their savior, and Rigel realized they were now looking to him to join them.

  The ship was in bad shape, and he doubted he had near enough credits to make the old P-86 space worthy again. The warp core alone would be more than his meager funds could afford, and Phoebe didn’t dare access her accounts. Rigel still harbored some regret at the loss of the fifty thousand credits Phoebe’s bounty would have brought him, and the Blarmlings knew it.