by Joanna Wylde
Logan sighed, closing his eyes. His son was alive. He was out there, waiting for his father to rescue him. Logan’s grip on the railing grew tight, anger welling up within him as he made a silent promise.
When he did find whoever held his son captive, not even the Goddess would be able to stay his hand. He or she would die slowly and terribly for their part in this revolt. He vowed it on his Linnea’s cold and lonely grave.
About Joanna Wylde
Joanna Wylde is a freelance writer and a voracious reader.
Joanna welcomes comments from readers. You can find her website and email addresses on her author bio page at www.ellorascave.com.
Tell Us What You Think
We appreciate hearing reader opinions about our books. You can email the author directly or you can email us at [email protected] (when contacting Customer Service, be sure to state the book title and author).
Also by Joanna Wylde
Aquamarine Prince
Be Careful What You Wish For
Catherine’s Awakening
Dancing with Dionysus
No Regrets
Saurellian Federation: Dragon’s Mistress
Saurellian Federation: Garnets or Bust
Saurellian Federation: Gladiator’s Prize
Saurellian Federation: Jerred’s Price
Saurellian Federat: Price of Pleasure
Saurellian Federation: Serendipity
Saurellian Federation: Survival’s Price
Print books by Joanna Wylde
Aquamarine Allure anthology
Glamorous Garnet anthology
Saurellian Federation: Jerred’s Price
Saurellian Federation: The Price of Freedom
Saurellian Federation: Price of Pleasure
Saurellian Federation: Saurellian Survivors
Ellora’s Cave Publishing
www.ellorascave.com
Price of Freedom
ISBN 9781843600220
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Price of Freedom Copyright © 2003 Joanna Wylde
Edited by Martha Punches
Cover design by Syneca
Cover photography by Andreas Gradin, diversepixwl/Shutterstock.com
Electronic book publication March 2003
The terms Romantica® and Quickies® are registered trademarks of Ellora’s Cave Publishing.
With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the publisher, Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.® 1056 Home Avenue, Akron OH 44310-3502.
Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded or distributed via the Internet or any other means, electronic or print, without the publisher’s permission. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000. (http://www.fbi.gov/ipr/). Please purchase only authorized electronic or print editions and do not participate in or encourage the electronic piracy of copyrighted material. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.
This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the authors’ imagination and used fictitiously.
The publisher and author(s) acknowledge the trademark status and trademark ownership of all trademarks, service marks and word marks mentioned in this book.
The publisher does not have any control over, and does not assume any responsibility for, author or third-party websites or their content.
Discover for yourself why readers can’t get enough of the multiple award-winning publisher Ellora’s Cave. Be sure to visit EC on the web at www.ellorascave.com to find erotic reading experiences that will leave you breathless. You can also find our books at all the major e-tailers (Barnes & Noble, Amazon Kindle, Sony, Kobo, Google, Apple iBookstore, All Romance eBooks, and others).
www.ellorascave.com
An Ellora’s Cave Romantica Publication
www.ellorascave.com
Survival’s Price
ISBN 9781843608271
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Survival’s PRiceCopyright © 2004 Joanna Wylde
Edited by Martha Punches
Cover design by Syneca
Electronic book publication March 2004
The terms Romantica® and Quickies® are registered trademarks of Ellora’s Cave Publishing.
With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the publisher, Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.® 1056 Home Avenue, Akron OH 44310-3502.
Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded or distributed via the Internet or any other means, electronic or print, without the publisher’s permission. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000. (http://www.fbi.gov/ipr/). Please purchase only authorized electronic or print editions and do not participate in or encourage the electronic piracy of copyrighted material. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.
This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.
The publisher and author(s) acknowledge the trademark status and trademark ownership of all trademarks, service marks and word marks mentioned in this book.
The publisher does not have any control over, and does not assume any responsibility for, author or third-party websites or their content
Survival’s Price
Joanna Wylde
Chapter One
Daverna Transit Station
Year 5342, Saurellian Calendar
Damian needed to get laid.
His cock was hard as a rock, and he wanted to sink it into warm flesh.
He took a long slug of his drink, scanning the room for prey. It was an easy enough place to find women—hell, he’d been here a thousand times for the same reason. He surveyed the stage, judging each dancer carefully. It was a tacky place, the kind of bar where men went for one reason and one reason only. Sex. Cheap sex. The women dancing on the stage weren’t looking for commitment, and they certainly weren’t interested in relationships. They wanted cash. Fortunately, he had credits to spare.
His men had already found companions, but he held off for the moment. For some reason none of the girls looked all that good. They all seemed worn, as if they’d been dancing too long. He might not be fool enough to expect his companion for the night to truly enjoy his company, but he wanted one who at least took the time to pretend.
He took another drink, then stood and sauntered across the room. He sat down at the edge of the stage, hoping proximity would pique his interest. The woman before him gyrated listlessly, and he tossed her a credit chit, hoping it might make her come alive. It didn’t. She scooped it up without smiling. The music changed, and she stood, bowing briefly to the crowd before walking off stage. He sighed, wondering if he’d end up alone tonight after all. Bedding down someone like her would be more like masturbating than having sex. He’d jacked off too much for one lifetime already. A new woman sauntered out.
She caught his attention instantly.
She was tall, with long dark hair and dusky skin. She wore a spacer’s coverall, although he’d never seen a spacer wear one that tight. Her lips were rounded and pouty, and her breasts swelled like two plump fruits just waiting to be squeezed. His cock leapt in response.
He wasn’t alone in his interest. Every man in the room perked up, and she smiled seductively at all of them as s
he stuck one long, slender finger into her mouth and sucked on it, apparently judging the crowd. Her face held a speculative look. He wanted to know what was happening in her head, he thought suddenly. She seemed so much more alive than the women around her.
She walked forward, swaying with the music, rubbing one hand up and down the front of her coverall while still sucking delicately on the other. She was still fully clothed, but there was something so incredibly sensuous, so dirty about the way she touched herself that her motions held more eroticism than anything he’d seen on the stage.
Her hips swiveled sensuously as she strutted down the runway. Here and there poles pierced the floor, rising up to the ceiling, and occasionally she stopped rubbing herself long enough to grab one, swinging her body around it as she moved. His breath caught in his throat as she came to a stop near him, backing herself into the nearest pole and rubbing against it with her ass as she slowly slid down to the floor. She crawled forward on her hands and knees until she faced him directly. She pushed herself up on her hands, thrusting her breasts toward him, then licked her lips, allowing her heated gaze to trail across his face and down his body.
He swallowed, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. His pants were suddenly far too tight for this.
She blew him a kiss, then sprang back up to her feet and swung around the pole.
As she did so, she reached up and pulled apart the fasteners corralling her breasts in the coverall. They swelled forward, barely contained by a red bustier. She turned away from him, grasping the pole with both hands and rubbing up and down it. She leaned back so far that her hair dangled against the floor. Her breasts pulled down out of the bustier, and for a moment he glimpsed her areola peeking out. She pumped up and down against the pole, her eyes closing in what appeared to be truly satisfying, personal pleasure. The music pumped in time, and he felt himself growing warm. He’d never seen anything so hot in his life.
After a moment she swirled back up, her face flushed, her breathing hard. He could have sworn there was a darkening patch between her legs. She hovered on the edge of orgasm; it was obvious to everyone watching. Rather than looking embarrassed, she seemed to revel in her sensuality. He realized with a start that she wasn’t there to titillate them, her audience existed to heighten her own experience.
She swaggered back up the stage, her back to the crowd, then turned her head to look flirtatiously at the men surrounding her. With a shrug, she let the coverall fall down across her shoulders, leaving her upper arms, shoulders and back exposed. She rolled her shoulders, and then pulled one arm free from the dangling coverall.
Raising it above her head, she turned back to face the audience, her body stretching and thrusting her breasts out of the bustier once more. The thing was just a bit too small for her. She shrugged her other shoulder free, allowing the coverall to dangle down around her waist, the opening exposing just a tiny taste of her lower belly. Her hips, full and lush, seemed just rounded enough to hold the garment up.
His breath caught; he couldn’t wait for the moment when she’d shimmy it down, revealing what he knew must be a spectacular ass and endless, muscular legs.
Unwilling to lean forward like so many of the men around him, he propped one boot up on the stage, reclining back in his chair. She owned the room, there could be no doubt, and a part of him rebelled against that. He didn’t want to be owned, not by anyone.
He wanted to own her.
She swaggered back down toward him, as if reading the unconscious challenge in his stance. Halfway there she dropped to her knees again, dragging the drab coverall behind her. How could such an ugly garment be so sensuous? The closer she came to him, the tighter his breathing grew. A sudden desire to leap up on stage, to rip off her coverall and plow his cock into her, hit him. Instead he took another long draft of his drink, forcing himself to breath slowly in and out.
She smiled at him, a secret, mocking kind of smile. The smile of a woman who knew her own power, and who could see right through his pathetic attempts to control himself. He tried to look away but he couldn’t. She was too intense, too real to ignore.
She came closer and closer, credits raining down on her as she slithered past the mesmerized men. Sometimes she would stop and look at them, moving close so they could see her breasts. She wore twice as much clothing as any other woman in the room, but every eye was glued to her. There could be no question who was in charge.
Finally she reached him, and he knew deep inside, that he had been her target all along. She stood slowly, turned away from him and slithered out of the coverall. Red thong panties matched the red bustier holding her stunning breasts. She stepped out of the pants, deliberately spread her legs and leaned forward, laying her hands flat on the stage before her, exposing everything to him. A stunning cunt matched her ass, perfect in and of itself. The thin swath of fabric hid her just enough to make him desperate to pull it off. He almost reached up, but managed to catch himself at the last moment. He wanted her all right, felt almost desperate to have her, but he knew that to get her he had to stand out from the crowd. That meant holding back, even if it killed him.
She smiled back at him between her legs, as if reading his thoughts.
Then she stood, took a step forward and grasped the nearest pole firmly. She pulled herself up on it, the muscles in her arms bunching as she lifted herself with an ease that bespoke her strength. Her legs came up, and then her body fell back, held aloft by one leg wrapped around the pole. Her thigh muscles bunched, and somehow she managed to slowly spin around, displaying her magnificent body to the entire room. Once again, her breasts fell out of the bustier, treating them to another glimpse of her dark red nipples. The man next to Damian moaned aloud, and it took every bit of strength in Damian’s body not to backhand him. Music welled up around them with a slow, throbbing beat.
She pulled herself back up, letting her feet drop to the floor, and then rubbed her clit against the pole. That delicate flush rose in her face once more. She turned to look at him, and for a moment they were alone together in the room, locked in a tunnel only they could detect. He knew she wanted him, knew she imagined his cock as she rubbed up and down the pole.
The flush in her face grew brighter, then her eyes closed, cutting him out. It was all about her now—she’d left him behind. The music continued to play, but she was oblivious, completely focused on the pole between her legs. This was different than any other performance he’d seen in a strip club. For one thing, she wasn’t making any moves to remove the rest of her clothing. She ground herself against the pole, throwing her head back and moaning in time to the music. Her face tightened, and she panted noticeably. She strained, pushing, driving herself against the pole. She wasn’t performing for anyone, that was clear enough. That the men around her were enjoying the show were immaterial.
This was all about her.
Her face grew tighter, the red flush growing bright. Her face twisted and then she screamed, her cry breaking the spell that had fallen over them.
He felt an answering surge within himself, and he bit his lip, closing his eyes tightly. For one horrible moment he thought he might come in his pants; just the thought was unbearable.
He regained control of himself, shifting again and wishing desperately that his leathers weren’t so tight. The pressure was almost unbearable.
He opened his eyes to discover her collapsed on the floor, panting, breasts heaving. She lay there for what seemed an eternity, gasping for breath and flushed with ecstasy. At first it seemed spontaneous, but slowly he realized that even her heaving breaths were coming in time with the music. She drifted across the stage, somehow using the pulsing motions of her body to move herself toward him in time with the music. Then she rolled to her stomach and her eyes met his. Once again, that tunnel opened up between them. They could have been alone for all the notice they gave the pulsing crowd.
He leaned forward, unable to control himself, and she gave him a feline smile.
She glided across t
he floor toward him, each motion taking an eternity. He sat mesmerized, hoping desperately that she wouldn’t turn away, that this wasn’t just one more part of her routine. He wasn’t sure he could bear that. He knew it wasn’t when she reached the edge of the stage and stopped to look directly at him. Her head bobbed like that of a snake. She had certainly charmed him. He felt a trickle of sweat bead up on his forehead, and raised one hand to wipe it away. At that moment he would have given her anything, anything at all, just for ten minutes of her time.
She leaned forward, giving him a close-up view of her magnificent breasts, but he hardly noticed. All he could think about was her face, her eyes—deep pools of sparkling green that he wanted to crawl into. Closer and closer she came, teetering on the edge of the stage, her face all but touching his. Her tongue flicked out, as if scenting him, and then she licked him slowly across one cheek.
The man sitting next to him moaned again.
Then she drew back, her face very serious.
“You’re mine for tonight,” she said, her low voice cutting through the music for his ears only. He nodded, realizing he was the luckiest man in the room.
She had chosen him as her toy, and he was grateful for the honor.
* * * * *
Cybele studied his face as she backed away, turning the slightly salty taste of him over in her mouth.
