MissionMenage

by Cynthia Sax

  Vegas didn’t answer, finding no satisfaction in any death. They circled, studying each other. The Balazoid was light on his feet, moving like a dancer, and his weapon was an extension of his arm, a oneness that spoke of experience and rigorous training.

  Vegas waited, watching for an opportunity, his body coiled with anticipation, his mind wiped of everything except the male before him and the small fighting area surrounding them.

  The Balazoid’s eyes flashed a forewarning and he sprang forward, his sword lashing out with frightening speed, a blur of silver. Vegas caught the downward arc with his own blade, grunting with the effort. Although the warrior didn’t make a sound, his torso strained into the connection, trying to force through the block.

  They remained locked, testing each other’s strength, the Balazoid’s muscles rippling under his leather, Vegas’ entire body shaking with the strain. Moments passed, a trickle of perspiration ran along Vegas’ aching back, before the Balazoid twisted away, turning with a smooth continuous movement, breaking the stalemate.

  “You are a worthy opponent,” the Balazoid conceded, dipping his head in acknowledgement.

  Vegas bowed slightly, his gaze not leaving the warrior’s, cautiously awaiting the next strike. “As are you.”

  “I will honor you by using your female well.” The assassin’s reference to Raylee scattered all pretense of civility, anger bubbling up in Vegas. “After I sever your head from your body, I will take my release deep within her.” The Balazoid’s smug smirk punctuated his words.

  Vegas gritted his teeth, his fingers squeezing the handle of his sword, his knuckles white, every protective gene in his body shouting at him to attack, to vent his rage on the warrior threatening his woman. It took all of his Federation training to remain still.

  “She is little.” The Balazoid continued his oral offensive. “She will be snug around my big cock.”

  Vegas’ jaw ached, his anger biting into his chest like the lashing of a bullwhip. “She’d never allow you near her and you’re not strong enough to subdue her.” He launched a counterattack. “I saw her stand up to you on Ungaria. Everyone saw her defiance and your pitiful retreat, a mighty Balazoid warrior unable to control a little female.”

  The assassin’s red eyes glowed. His white lips thinned.

  “It was a good joke. I laughed and so did others.” Vegas curved his mouth in a semblance of a smile, having not found the encounter at all humorous. The damn woman had almost gotten herself killed. “They must be laughing at you throughout the galaxies.”

  “I’ll kill her.” The assassin launched himself at Vegas, his sword carving through the space between them. Vegas blocked and disengaged. He surged forward, countering with his own attack. The Balazoid arrested his downward motion. They spun and swung in a lightning-fast dance of death, sparks lighting, the clanging of metal against metal their beat.

  Vegas’ right arm grew weary and weak and he switched to his left, the Balazoid doing the same. They fought, their worlds narrowing to the two of them, both combatants aware that one error, one slow response would result in death.

  Vegas’ grunts were underlain by the Balazoid’s wheezing. Their twisting, turning bodies, one tanned, one pale, slickened with a thin shiny sheen of perspiration.

  Vegas was a generalist. He was a spy, an operative and a warrior. He didn’t have the Balazoid assassin’s killing focus and, as he tired, he made mistakes, the Balazoid nicking his arms, his hips, his legs with his sword, the tiny slices dissipating his energy.

  The warrior advanced, pushing Vegas off the well-trod path. He caught the toe of his boot on a tree root and stumbled. The Balazoid carved his blade into exposed flesh and Vegas sucked in his breath as pain seared through his upper thigh, blood gushing from the deep wound.

  Fuck. I’m dead. He reeled from the blood loss, his already exhausted body weakened from the blow. Vegas thrust his sword wildly, the assassin easily avoiding each attack. Forget your fuckin’ life. Think of Raylee. Delay the Balazoid and save her.

  Pushing back the darkness threatening to overwhelm him and drawing on all of his remaining energy, Vegas battled. Protect Raylee. Fuck. Let her live.

  * * * * *

  From her vantage point high up the hill, Raylee saw the blood squirt from Vegas’ leg and she screamed until her lungs ached. No one heard her because her mouth was covered by a big, calloused hand. She struggled while the huge, almost-naked stranger held her easily, the bastard chuckling softly, his mouth at least a foot above hers.

  There is nothing humorous, damn it, about the man I love dying. Raylee bit the insensitive ass’s palm, his skin the consistency of the toughest weathered leather.

  That stopped the laughing. Her captor growled, shaking her until her teeth rattled. “Your mate, the male you smell of, fights.” His words, the first he had spoken since catching her, rolled out of him like the rumble of a starship’s engine. “You go close. He looks at you, not rival. He dies.”

  The big, hairless ape has a point. The Balazoid would use any distraction to kill Vegas and she wouldn’t be any help to him at close range either, being small and not having much hand-to-hand combat experience.

  I don’t have to be close to assist him. Raylee shrugged her right shoulder, drawing the ass’s attention to her bow and quiver.

  “Ahhh…clever female.” Her captor’s grip on her loosened. “You stay here. Shoot weapon. Do not hit mate.”

  No shit. Raylee squirmed free. “You bastard!” She spat. “If your delay results in Vegas’ death, I’ll personally hunt you down and slay your ass.”

  If I can.

  The man was huge, bronzed by the sun, his blue-black hair woven into long, neat braids. His high, protruding forehead and flattened nose identified him as a native Lokan. His silver eyes sparkled with mirth, as though this was all a big joke to him. She wanted to slap him, but she had higher priorities.

  Raylee put the Lokan out of her mind, focusing on the battle before her. Vegas fought with the wildness of desperation and the Balazoid calmly, coldly stalked him, playing with his prey. Raylee extracted an arrow from her quiver, carefully aiming her bow. Neither combatant was aware of her presence.

  “You are fearless, little female.” The Lokan loomed over her, smelling of fresh earth and the planet he lived upon.

  “I’m not an idiot. I fear. God, I fear.” Her stomach twisted with terror. “But I love him and I’ll do anything to protect him.”

  The tentacle-headed warrior lifted his sword, preparing to swing, and Raylee released her arrow, the feathers whistling, the arrowhead making a satisfying thunk as it pierced the Balazoid’s shoulder.

  His red eyes widened with surprise, his gaze lifting to her form, and his mouth dropped open. Take that, you male chauvinistic bastard. She smirked, drawing her bow once more, preparing the kill shot. This weak woman is about to kill your pale ass.

  Vegas lunged at the assassin, his sword extended. Blades connected, metal chasing metal, faster and faster, until the weapons sailed out of their grips, the men pulling back, giving her a clear shot.

  Raylee released the arrow. Shit. My aim is off. The Balazoid caught the arrow in one gloved hand, an impossible feat, and when Vegas barreled into his torso, a dagger in each hand, the warrior slammed the arrowhead into his back, piercing his body armor.

  Raylee shrieked in horror at what she’d inadvertently done and the Balazoid smiled, falling backward onto the ground, blood bubbling from his pale lips. Vegas slumped on top of him, stabbing him again and again and again before lying still.

  Is he dead? Did my arrow kill the man I love?

  “Wait.” The Lokan caveman caught her arm. “Tell your mate the delivery—”

  “Fuck the delivery.” She thrashed, semi-delirious with panic. “He’s dying. He’s dying.”

  “From that wound?” The Lokan raised thick black eyebrows. “Unlikely.” He didn’t remove his big paw of a hand. “Tell him the delivery has been received.” Finally releasing her, he swatted he
r ass, shoving her in Vegas’ direction.

  “I’m sure he’ll be thrilled.” She tossed that choice bit of sarcasm over her shoulder while sprinting down the hill, away from the Lokan’s laughter and toward the man she loved. “Vegas,” she called out to him.

  “Raylee.” He groaned, rolling off the dead Balazoid, snapping the shaft of her arrow in two. “I’m going to truly beat your ass this time.” Vegas sat up, wonderfully alive, and the chill in her body eased. “Give me something to slow this.” He gestured to the gaping wound on his thigh.

  She looked around them, her gaze settling on the Balazoid’s weapon holster. It’d be perfect to stem the flow of blood. “Is he dead?” Even lying still, flat on his back, the assassin was intimidating.

  “Yes, he is…oh, fuck.” Vegas sprang to his feet, grass crunching under his big boots. “Run! Run!” He grabbed Sexy’s detached head by the hair.

  Shit. Not again. She ran for what seemed like the hundredth time that day, heading toward the ship, her knees aching from the trek upward. Vegas placed his hand on the small of her back, pushing her faster, his breath hot on her neck.

  They were halfway up the hill when a boom rocked the terrain and she was thrown to the ground, her gasping mouth sucking dirt, a heavy form landing on her back, flattening her, while a rush of hot, wet air blew past, leaving an unnatural stillness in its wake.

  I’m not dead. She turned her head, spitting out earth and grass. Her aching body was painfully alive. “Vegas, are you hurt?” She stared into Sexy’s blank eyes, his face covered with blood and what looked like pale Balazoid skin.

  Vegas groaned, the sound muffled by the humming in her ears. “I’ll survive.” The weight on her back lifted and she breathed deeper. Moist hands rolled her over. “You okay?” he asked. Vegas was covered with blood too, his thigh wound matted down with dirt. Thankfully, it wasn’t all his blood. The damn assassin must have blown himself up, his last act an attempt to kill them both.

  “I’ll feel better once we’re off this fucking planet.” She summoned up a smile, knowing she must look as bad as he did.

  “Agreed.” Vegas smiled back, laughter lines crinkling around his blue eyes, his black hair spiked straight up. He was handsome and disheveled and hers. She took his hand, savoring the contact as he helped her to stand.

  Chapter Eight

  “Is the seam noticeable?” Sexy peered at his naked form reflected in the mirror, touching his neck. He had been fussing over his inferior spare body, as he declared it, for hours.

  “No,” Vegas lied, the endless fretting irritating him while he waited naked on the bed for Raylee to return. His thigh no longer pained him, the wound laser-sutured, and she had extracted the arrowhead from his back, sealing that tear in his skin also. He was rested and ready. He flexed his hands, debating how hard to punish her.

  “And look at this cock.” The android stared down at his erect shaft, his lips twisted with disgust. “It doesn’t even self-lubricate.”

  Sexy’s long, hard cock was thinner than his previous member, making it perfect for delivering a rigorous and satisfying ass fucking. “The lube is in the top drawer.” Vegas clenched his butt cheeks in anticipation, as the android retrieved it.

  Sexy squeezed a glistening line of lube onto his cock, slathering the gel over his synthetic skin, making it shine. “You’ll have to stick some of that up my ass,” Vegas advised. Fuck. Sexy is right. Lack of self-lubrication is a bitch.

  The door slid open and shut. “Starting without me?” his mate teased.

  “Strip naked, Raylee,” he commanded, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. “And come here.” He patted his thighs.

  “You’re hurt.” The levity vanished from her voice, replaced with the smoky drawl of desire edged by fear. He read the recollection of his promise in her expressive face.

  “It isn’t me you should worry about, woman,” Vegas warned, growing hard as she unfastened her blue flight suit, exposing the curves of her breasts with their taut pink tips. Her garment hung off her hips for several heartbeats before falling to the floor, the fabric whispering against soft skin.

  Damn, she’s gorgeous. Vegas suppressed the wild impulse to slam her back against the wall, wrap those shapely legs around his waist and ram his rock-hard cock into her wet, hot pussy again and again until she screamed for mercy.

  “Vegas.” She must have read the savagery in his face because she hesitated, twirling one lock of her long brown hair around her finger.

  “Come here, Raylee,” he repeated. “If you make me get you, your punishment will be doubled.” He prayed she’d listen to him because lasting through one reprimand would be challenging and he couldn’t last through two.

  “I saved your life.” Her walk was slow and seductive, her curvy hips swaying. “I should be rewarded, not punished.”

  I have to protect her, train her, keep her safe. Vegas squashed his urge to forgive her.

  “You disobeyed direct orders.” He licked his lips, hungry for a taste of her nipples. “When we work together on missions, you have to follow my instructions.”

  “During these missions…” Raylee nibbled on her bottom lip. “You could die, Vegas.”

  “I could,” he agreed, her concern for him warming his heart. “I almost died today. Will my death hurt less if you left me now?” Their gazes met and held, her brown eyes luminous with raw emotion.

  “No.” She sighed her acquiescence, surrendering her body, her mind and her love to him.

  “Bend over my lap, Raylee,” Vegas ordered, eager to touch her.

  “But… But…” She wavered and he leveled a hard look on her. “Okay.” Raylee lowered her torso, her breasts skimming against his skin, leaving a trail of want and need. He pulled her fully over his thighs, her pert pale ass in the air.

  “Vegas.” Her face reddened and she squirmed, brushing her stomach against his hard cock.

  Fuck, she felt good. He gritted his teeth. “Be still.” Flattening his hand, he slapped her right ass cheek. Raylee cried out, arching her back. “Be still.” His damn stubborn woman finally quieted, holding her body stiffly with her shoulders pulled back. “Better.” Vegas rubbed the red mark, soothing the burn.

  “For your disobedience, you have earned three more strikes.” He laid one arm across her shoulders, securing her. “You will count, understand?” She didn’t respond fast enough, so he pinched the dimple above her cheek, and she yelped. “Understand?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good.” He raised his hand, waiting, waiting, waiting, as her body tensed against his, her thighs squeezed together with expectation of both pain and pleasure. She was so very perfect for him in every way a woman could be perfect and he would give her what she wanted and dreaded. He smacked her left ass cheek with more finesse than power, the sound of flesh meeting flesh ringing out in the quiet.

  “One.” Her voice wavered and her eyes watered.

  “Good girl.” Vegas ran his stinging palm over her skin, caressing her crease with his thumb, her diamond-hard nipples dragging across his thigh. He breathed in the musky scent of her arousal and a bead of pre-cum formed on his cock head. Fuck. She’d be wet and slick.

  His next slap landed on her already tender right ass cheek and she called his name, digging her fingernails into his legs, marking him as he marked her, the pain shooting straight to his cock.

  “Two.” Tears streamed down her cheeks, her bottom lip quivering.

  Her torment tore at him. Am I being too harsh? Causing her pain? He slid his hand between her thighs, along her wet pussy, bathing his fingers in her juices. No. She wants this. She wants my hands on her body. He spread her moisture over her twice-abused ass cheek, cooling the heated skin.

  “One more,” he warned her and she whimpered, a sound of need, while her body trembled, the tiny vibrations making his cock bob. Fuck. I want her so much. He lifted his hand, and she pushed her ass upward, offering her delicate skin to him. He slapped her ass cheek with the full flat of his han
d and she screamed, throwing her head back in a beautiful display of raw female passion, her orgasm ripping through her.

  “Three,” he counted for Raylee, gathering her shaking body into his arms and transferring her onto the bed. Her sensitized ass connected with the soft coverings and she inhaled sharply. Vegas covered her lips with his, plunging his tongue into her open mouth and driving his cock into her pussy.

  She sobbed against his lips, her cheeks wet with tears as he rode her, coaxing the embers of her desire back to life until it burned around him, her body rippling with increasingly intense tremors, her pussy tightening around his shaft. Her fingertips dug into his shoulders and her breasts rubbed against his chest while their tongues danced to the rhythm of his thrusts.

  His balls hugged his shaft, on the verge of detonation, and when Raylee came, a second wave of pleasure sweeping over her, Vegas was ready. He roared her name, burying himself in her, shuddering with his release.

  He softened his kisses to tender exploration, stroking the inside of her mouth gently with his tongue, his body resting on her soft curves, his cock limp and spent inside her. She petted his side, running her hands up and down his muscles, as though to soothe him, her brown-eyed gaze conveying love and desire.

  “I love you, Raylee.” He nuzzled her neck, inhaling the scent of chalk powder, engine grease and sex.

  “I love you, Vegas.” Although Raylee feared the future, the war between the Balazoids and the Federation looming, bringing with it death and pain, their love made it bearable, even beautiful. She clutched him fiercely, vowing to never let him go.

  The moment of deep connection held and held and held until it collapsed under the weight of emotion. Vegas levered his torso off her body with his arms and Raylee gazed up at him. God. I love him so much.

  “Ready for round two?” His blue eyes sparked with desire.

  “Always.” She cradled his hips between her thighs. Her ass was sore from his arousing form of punishment, but the rest of her was willing.