Starlight Rapture [Starlight Ecstasy Book 1]

by Astrid Cooper

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  eXtasy eBooks

  www.extasybooks.com

  Copyright ©2008 by Astrid Cooper

  First published in extasybooks.com, 2008

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  NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.

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  CONTENTS

  Starlight Ecstasy

  Starlight Rapture

  STARLIGHT DESIRE

  About the Author

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  Starlight Ecstasy

  Prequel to the Starlight

  series

  By

  Astrid Cooper

  The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. 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.

  Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage the electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author's rights is appreciated.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Starlight Ecstasy

  Copyright ã 2007 Astrid Cooper

  ISBN: 978-1-55487-026-4

  Cover art by Martine Jardin

  All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher.

  Published by eXtasy Books

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  No matter how far humans roamed among the stars, no matter what forms they adopted, one night was always special—Christmas Night. Some celebrated for religious reasons, others because it was the night when humans had first been contacted by the Voyagers and humanity had entered the star-faring fraternity, welcomed into a universe alive with life and possibilities. Within fifty years of first contact, Terrans had spread out across the galaxy, playing and loving among the stars, their sexual appetites and willingness to experiment saw humans become a sought-after species; they took their place among the elite of the sensualators—men and women who devoted their lives and bodies to gifting pleasure...

  Starlight Ecstasy

  Prelude to the Starlight series

  I can do this! Samantha Sinclair looked at her reflection in the bathroom holo-mirror. The black silk negligee clung to her body like a second skin, hiding nothing, highlighting everything.

  She might be wearing a seductive outfit, but she was no seductress. Just a thirty-eight year old widow whose Christmas Night was to be celebrated in the arms of a man—a very special man—whom her friends had gifted to her for the night.

  John was some gift. A flesh and blood sensualator—they didn't come cheap—literally and figuratively. Come being the operative word.

  She had asked him what his true name was, not his professional name. Laughing, he had insisted his name was John.

  They had met, as arranged, in the spaceport cocktail lounge, had a few drinks, then dinner, before retiring to her suite on the eightieth floor, overlooking the rings of Saturn.

  Sam was awkward at first, but John had quickly set her at ease. As a professional, he knew how to soothe and seduce. Over dinner, his touches had been fleeting, yet hinting of passion; his smiles teasing, until her shyness had disappeared, leaving in its place, a dull longing that had increased as the hours wore on.

  Now it was time. She swallowed hard against the tight dryness in her throat. Foreboding warred against passion. She had left him sitting in the lounge, excusing herself, using the old cliché, “To slip into something more comfortable."

  His reply had made her blush—he was going to be the one slipping into something comfortable.

  In the mirror she watched the trembling path of her fingers as she fashioned her blonde hair into its customary bob. Her green eyes, now dark with desire, and perhaps fear, stared back at her.

  Inside her gut, her muscles were tensed, coiled like a spring. But beneath was tension of another kind—she ached for a man. Celibate for three years since Tony's death, her needs and frustrations had been assuaged through other ways. Sometimes with surreal sex from the computer link, but most often through work. Bone-numbing, sex-numbing work in her art gallery.

  One morning she woke up knowing that she needed to be held. To be loved. Well, she couldn't expect love, but a good fuck would be OK. To wake up for once, not alone.

  The light knock on the bathroom door snapped her from her reverie.

  "Honey, are you ok?"

  "Um, yes, just coming."

  "Lucky you,” he responded, laughing.

  Another of his sexual innuendos. Samantha felt herself flush all the way to her heels. Squaring her shoulders, she palmed the door open and halted.

  He was leaning against the back of the metal divan, arms folded. In her absence he had removed his jacket. His grandpa collar cream shirt was rolled up to the elbows to reveal muscular bronzed arms lightly covered with golden hair. Not a man of space, his skin was sun-kissed. Which sun? Which world did he call home?

  His clothes were expensive, natural fibers—no synthetics for him. The bracelet around his left wrist was woven gold and platinum with diamonds and pearls embedded in the filigree chain.

  His raw silk trousers clung to his lean hips. She followed down the long length of his crossed legs, ending in an expanse of flesh—ankles and then a glimpse of feet before disappearing into woven brown leather shoes.

  Naked ankles. She hadn't noticed before, sitting in the dining room, then walking beside him to her room. Now in the privacy of her suite, she could not help but notice his every nuance.

  Especially his ankles, her particular turn-on. Around his left ankle was a chain similar to the one on his wrist. Her conniving friends had obviously informed John about her penchant. What might be in store for her next?

  Shivers of anticipation raced up her spine. Her nipples strained against the silk negligee. In that moment she longed for his hands to cup her aching breasts, longed for him to stretch his body over hers and fuck her, again and again. Her pussy tensed. She drew in a deep breath.

  "Do I pass muster?” he asked, sultrily.

  His lazy smile teased as his hazel eyes swept her from head to toe and back again to linger on her breasts before lifting to hold her gaze with his own.

  The butterflies in her stomach increased their frantic gyrations. Her heart thudded against her ribs and her inner muscles clenched, flooding with liquid heat. She cleared her throat.

  "John, this is ... I'm not..."

  He stood then—six feet of predatory, seductive male dominating the room. He spread his hands in a gesture to placate.

  Long fingers, strong ... her skin goosepimpled with the thought of his hands upon her, over her; his fingers in her, teasing...

  "We've got all night, Sam. I'm not going to leave until—"

  "Until I've got my money's worth?"

  He grinned. “Something like that. More champagne?"

  "No, my head's spinning already."

  "I'm gonna
make it spin even more, sweetheart."

  She lifted her chin, watching him with hooded eyes. “Is that a promise?"

  "Yep.” His indolent smile tore at her insides. Who was she kidding? He was a professional—he knew how to lure her, reel her in. “Honey, that black silk is something else, but I kinda think you'd look better without it."

  Samantha laughed. How skillfully he played his game of seduction. It was not difficult to imagine that he meant what he said.

  Her friends had selected him, theirs an appropriate choice because they knew her too well. Not a toy-boy for her re-introduction to sex, but a man perhaps a little older than she. Tall, slim, muscular and bronzed. His brown sun-streaked hair, tied back in a tail highlighted the strength of his face; the crinkles around his eyes and his easy smile softened the harsh angles.

  Over dinner she had tried to find out about his profession, but the questions were brushed aside. He would much rather hear about her, he had said. So, she had talked and he had listened ... listened attentively until she realized she had told him far too much.

  Sensualators were good at listening—it was part of the job, to find out about the client before going in for the fuck.

  John moved to stand before her. Taking her hands and turning her wrists, he lifted her hands and nibbled at her pulse points.

  "Relax, sweetheart. No need to be tense."

  She ran a tongue over dry lips, instantly aware that his eyes darkened as he followed the path of her tongue tip. His gaze flickered over her. Reaching out, he framed her face with his hands.

  "This night is for you, Sam. Only for you. Whatever you want; however you want it. Okay?"

  "Okay.” She hardly recognized her throaty whisper.

  He bent forward. The whipcord warmth of his arms enfolded her. Where his body touched her, muscles tensed. Through the clothes separating them, his cock strained against her stomach. His mouth slanted over hers. Again she breathed in his scent, an exotic combination of spice and man. His lips moved with gentle insistence against her mouth.

  At his touch, his nearness, warmth flowed heavily through her veins. His fingers traced a sensual path over the bare skin of her back, down over the curve of her hips to clasp her bottom. He raised her gently against him, and rested his pelvis against hers. Again she felt his taut arousal, now larger, hotter than before.

  As his kiss deepened the warmth in her veins turned to fire, a heated maelstrom that pooled heavily in her pussy. Her body throbbed and pulsed and cramped. She sighed against his mouth.

  He drew back to look down at her. “Still okay?"

  She nodded, not trusting herself to speak. Again his mouth possessed her. This time his kiss was harsher, demanding. With determined, assured strokes his tongue coiled with hers, mimicking a dance of thrust, retreat and thrust.

  Beneath her hands muscles bunched. Still keeping her mouth captive, she felt herself raised into his arms and carried. But instead of laying her down, he sat on the bed edge and drew her onto his lap. His kiss intensified. On the periphery of her invaded senses, Samantha was aware of the rustling caress of silk as it traveled up from her ankles, to knee, to thigh. She shivered at his slow assault. Feathersoft, his hand traveled upon her, like a whisper, a hint of a caress, a delicious itch that she couldn't scratch.

  His fingers stroked her inner thigh, just infuriatingly short of her aching need. She moved her hips, anxious for him to stroke her, but his hand slid away. As she moaned, he smiled against her lips.

  His fingers walked up her thigh to finally cup her pussy. His thumb lightly stroked against her curls. Despite herself, Sam trembled. Immediately his finger stalled.

  "You're not scared of me, are you?” he asked, drawing back so that he could study her.

  "Not exactly."

  "How ... not exactly?"

  "John, for three years I haven't been with a man. I'm out of practice. I ... never ... oooh!"

  She forgot what she was going to say as two of his fingers parted her folds, rubbing down to her clit. A fingernail grazed gently over her nub. She gasped. He continued his assault and she clung to him as her world was suddenly turned topsy-turvy by his delicious torment. Her pussy surged sticky warm.

  "Good,” he said. “Now you're relaxed. You're enjoying this.” His playful nibbles along her throat and ear lobe made her shudder as his fingers deftly brought her clit to a throbbing peak.

  She held her breath as he slid a finger down to find her entrance. He quested into her and then retreated.

  He lay back on the bed, drawing her on top of him. His hands roamed up and down her spine, lower, raising her negligee to her waist.

  Samantha halted his hands.

  "Am I going too fast for you?” he asked.

  "I know it's silly after what we've already done..."

  The lips of his sensuous mouth, now swollen from their kiss, broke into another lazy smile that made her every muscle constrict; pound.

  He gently lifted her from his body. In one fluid movement he had drawn his shirt over his head and tossed it aside. He took her hand, placed it on his chest and guided it down across the taut plain of his stomach, lower across his navel, lower to the cock that strained against the silk trousers. With his other hand he tugged down the zip. The pink head of his erection reared out towards her from a thatch of golden curls.

  Samantha swallowed hard as he fastened her fingers around his cock. Rolling her onto her back, he leaned into her, his mouth descending to hers as she held him. She hesitantly stroked.

  "Yes,” he whispered. “Yes, do that again. Please.” The last added in a hoarse, frantic whisper.

  His mouth moved lower, across her face, down her neck, playful nips along her skin, down to her left breast that he coaxed to a tight peak through the thin film of the negligee. His mouth claimed her other breast. The pressure of his feasting created an urgency that swept the length of her body. Grasping his cock, she pumped him while his hips rocked against her.

  "That's good, honey. It feels so good. Don't stop."

  Her hesitancy gave way to confidence; she stroked, squeezed and stretched him, varying the speed and angle of each movement. He groaned.

  She knew he was near to climax. Instead of allowing her to bring him to satisfaction, he pushed her hand away. She heard his long gasp of breath, held a moment before a slow, controlled release. His body shuddered as he fought to control the climax. Sensualators could deny the climax, delay it for hours, days or sometimes never—depending on the client.

  "John?"

  In response, he shook his head and kissed her deeply, completely, his tongue stroking against hers, mimicking that union she prayed would soon become reality. How she longed for him to be inside her spreading her wide, filling her.

  He lifted her onto his body—she felt the heated cock against her pussy, through the prickle of silk trousers. She fumbled with his belt. Patiently he waited as she tugged down his trousers, raising first one foot and then the other as she divested him of his pants. She drew her fingers over his ankles, studying the chain, delaying the moment.

  "You're gong to have to look at me sometime, Sam. Unless you really have an ankle fetish...?” His gentle laugh made her lift her gaze.

  Samantha glanced at him. Naked. Beautiful. His penis reached up to his navel. The realization that he wore no underwear made her heart lurch. He had arrived perhaps anticipating immediate action, to satiate her without preliminaries. Samantha's nerves spiked at the thought.

  "Now you,” he said. He tugged up her negligee, bringing it over her head. He flung the gown aside and gazed at her. “You're beautiful. Well worth the wait."

  I bet you tell that to all your clients; the lie was part of the game, included in the price. She did not care. “Can I do something?"

  "Whatever ... within reason. I'm not into kinky."

  "I wouldn't know anything about that,” she said.

  "No? Maybe we could experiment ... later?” He smiled. “On the moon of Tau Ceti—no, maybe not."
<
br />   "What do they do?"

  "I might show you, later, when you're used to me. They like to have a ménage ... they're shifters and they can extend certain parts of their anatomy so that the partner is entered in every orifice..."

  "It sounds interesting."

  He laughed. “Honey, interesting is an understatement."

  "You're not a shifter, are you?” Cloned humans who had the ability to alter molecular structure to mimic any sentient life—some became sensualtors and were in demand the length and breadth of the galaxy. But they were rare, expensive and ... insatiable.

  "No, I'm Sol-human. Born and raised on earth. Does that disappoint you?"

  "How can you disappoint anyone?” She meant it as a compliment, but for a second she thought she saw his eyes harden, narrow.

  "Harry, my half-brother is felinus."

  "Your brother is a cat-shifter?"

  "Mmn. My tastes are a hybrid of man and cat. Which would you prefer me to be, Samantha?"

  "Yourself."

  His smile was tender. “Most women would prefer the exotic."

  She shrugged. “A sensualator is exotic enough for me. I'm not most women, just Samantha. I don't think I could face a felinus ... or any shifter. From what I've heard, I'd be eaten alive."

  John laughed. “Honey, what makes you think I'm not going to eat you?"

  She lifted her gaze to his. “I ... um..."

  "Cat got your tongue?"

  "You're playing with me!"

  "Right now, you don't understand what it is to ‘tease'—but at the end of tonight, you're gonna know its meaning good and proper."

  She reached out to his face, ran her fingers across his cheek. His lips strained to capture her hand. She gasped as the liquid fire of his tongue tip swirled against the palm of her hand. Drawing off his hair-band, her fingers combed his hair, fanning it around his neck and shoulders.

  "Is that all you wanted to do?” he asked.

  "No."

  "Then tell me what you want."

  "For ... for you to ... you know."