by Renee Rose
If she was asleep, he wouldn’t bother her, but if she was awake, she might enjoy a little company. He pried the door open a centimeter then another. He cursed, remembering he’d promised her a lock by bedtime. It was too dark inside to make out her figure on the bed. A flash of movement just behind the door made him throw it wide, but not before his little warrior had buried a dagger deep into the place where shoulder met chest.
He grunted, restraining his instincts demanding he fight back.
“You stabbed me?”
Her eyes were wide, the whites shining in the light from the corridor. She stood in nothing but her loose, untied tunic—no leggings beneath, a fact that had his brain stuttering, despite his injury.
He grasped the handle of the dagger and yanked it out of his flesh, wiping his blood on his shirt. “With my own dagger, no less.”
“What were you doing sneaking into my room?” Her words held more bravado than her face, which still wore shock. She took a step back into the room, and he followed, turning on the light and shutting the door behind him.
“I wasn’t sure if you were asleep. I didn’t want to wake you if you were.”
Her eyes narrowed, but they flicked to his wound and her brows puckered.
He pulled off his tunic and undershirt, loving the way her gaze riveted, not on the bloody gash, but on the muscles of his chest.
She swallowed. “Here.” She picked up her leggings from the floor, balled them up, and reached toward his wound.
“Wait, don’t use your—”
Too late. She pressed the fabric against the gash. He shouldn’t complain if her leggings got soaked in blood—leaving her nothing to cover those long sexy legs with.
She held the cloth tight, obviously experienced enough to know it took a lot of pressure to stop bleeding. Her effort caused her to lean into him, her breasts brushing against his ribs.
He covered her hand with his.
Her breath lifted and lowered her chest in short bursts. She licked her lips—veck—those lips. “I’m sorry. Should you get medical attention?”
He shrugged. “It’s a flesh wound. Zandians heal quickly.”
Another lick. She was vecking killing him with that little pink tongue of hers. “Well, should I—do you want me to clean it and stitch it up? Stop the bleeding?”
He couldn’t stop the feral grin spreading across his face. Veck, yes, he wanted her little hands touching him. With a rough voice, he managed to mutter, “Yes.”
She must have mistaken his raging libido for blood loss because she said, “Is there a med-kit? Are you all right to stand? Maybe you should sit. I’ll go for help.”
He shook himself. “You’re not vecking going anywhere like that. I’ll get it.” Before she could protest, he shoved the door back open, exited, and shut it tight behind him, still holding her leggings to his bleeding wound.
He managed to get to the medical treatment room and back without running into any other beings, thank the stars. He sure as hell didn’t want to have to explain a knife wound to any of his men or superiors. It would make him look weak and put Cambry in danger of answering to someone else for her actions. Plus, he’d have to explain why he’d given her a dagger in the first place.
He knocked this time, muttering, “It’s me,” before he opened the door.
Cambry had the audacity to grin. “Afraid I’d stab you a second time?” She had the dagger back in its holster on her hip.
Dearest Zandian star, her smile dazzled. He loved seeing her like that—rebellious, confident. With one hip cocked, her lean muscular legs jutted out beneath the short tunic. Her nipples steepled the fabric, and he doubted she wore any kind of underclothing. Vecking stars, did she even have on panties? His heart rate ramped up as desire flamed hotter. “I wouldn’t let it happen a second time, little female. But I won’t creep up on you again.”
Was it strange he was proud of her for stabbing him? He was glad his little female could defend herself. He’d glimpsed the warrior in her from the start, and he vecking loved it.
He grabbed the chair and pulled it toward him with a scrape then plopped down and removed the blood-soaked fabric. Already, the wound had clotted.
Even so, she sucked in her breath as she came closer to inspect it. “You aimed too high,” he observed. “Or were you expecting a Zandian?”
She focused on the wound as she doused it with disinfectant then reached for the needle and spidersilk thread. “I aimed for a human. I meant to stab downward from the nape.”
He didn’t like the moment of hesitation before she answered, as if she held something back. He tensed. “One in particular?”
“No.” She answered too quickly.
“That one who slept next to you last night.”
She had to move closer to get the right angle on the wound, and after trying from both his side and standing between his knees, she ended up straddling one of his thighs.
Her delectable scent filled his nostrils. Though she managed not to touch him, her heat radiated through his pants, scorching every place he felt it. He clenched his fists at his sides to keep from grabbing her ass and hoisting it right over his rock-hard cock.
“Yes, that one. Or another. I don’t trust any being here.”
Though he’d already observed her general mistrust, he took exception. She was locked alone in a room with him, wasn’t she?
Her pale slender fingers deft with the needle, she didn’t flinch at poking his flesh and pulling the thread through, doing what had to be done. Her immunity to his pain turned him on, though, by nature, he preferred to be the one who inflicted pain. She tied off the knot and leaned in to bite off the thread, giving him the perfect view of her pert little breasts, bare, as he’d suspected, beneath the tunic. When she pulled back, she caught him looking and her eyes narrowed.
“Enjoying yourself?” Her hands went to the swell of her hips.
Veck, does she have panties on?
“Believe me, baby, you’d know if I was enjoying myself.” His lids drooped to half-mast. “I’d have you pinned down with those sexy thighs spread wide, and you’d be the recipient of all my joy.”
~.~
Cambry drew in a sharp breath, her pussy clenching at the warrior’s crass words. She ought to be afraid of him, but she wasn’t. Instinctively, she knew he didn’t mean her harm. If he hadn’t forced her yet, he probably wouldn’t, especially after what she’d done to him.
“Does that mean you forgive me for stabbing you?” Her voice sounded foreign to her own ears—husky. Full of sex. She dismounted from his thigh and attempted to move away, but his hands, which she’d watched strain at his sides with tortured restraint while she’d straddled him, settled on her hips and drew her back between his legs.
“Not quite.”
Her body—unused to touch—jerked, knees trembled.
His eyes burning with dark intent, he rotated her sideways. “Hands on the wall.” He gave her upper body a shove, forcing her compliance before she could decide if she wanted to obey. Her hands flew out to catch herself, and she stood, tipped at the waist, her ass a perfect target for Lundric’s right hand. She had no doubt what he intended.
“Don’t move those hands from the wall. If you do, I will whip your ass until you scream. Got it?”
She ought to be angry at the thought of receiving abuse from yet another oppressive master, but only flutters of excitement filled her belly.
Lundric’s huge palm crashed down on her upturned ass, and she listed to the side. “You are wearing panties.”
Does he sound gleeful?
He pulled her back into place. “You hold this position for me, baby. This is punishment, and I’m going to make sure you learn something from it.”
Again the strange flutters. What did he expect her to—ack. She held her breath when his hand crashed down again, then stayed on her ass, rubbing away the sting.
He shoved her tunic up and pulled the back of her panties down until they just bared her ass. �
�Vecking stars, that’s pretty.” He sounded almost reverent. To her shock, he grasped the front of her panties and yanked them up, pulling and tightening the fabric until it applied pressure to her clit.
She couldn’t restrain the gasp of surprise and pleasure rocketing through her. Tipping her hips forward, she leaned into it, hungry for more.
She also made the perfect target for his palm, which smacked her tingling cheek once more. She tucked her tail to dodge the next spank, and he followed through, pulling up on her panties even more, sending a wave of dizzy pleasure through her.
She panted, waiting on her tiptoes, fingers splayed wide against the wall, desperate for more.
“That’s where I want you.” He spoke more to himself than to her and began spanking her with hard, swift strokes. She danced under the onslaught, leaning into her panties, which pleasured her with every twist and turn as his hand punished, making her ass burn with the intensity.
“Stop, please,” she whimpered, but he didn’t stop. Instead, he began to jerk her panties up in short bursts, fast and hard, never pausing in his assault on her ass.
She crested the peak and fell over the other side in an eruption of pleasure, her pussy clenching on nothing but a pair of panties, head swimming with visions of Lundric’s bare torso, those enormous muscles in all their power.
He spanked and panty-jerked her right through her climax but stopped the moment she collapsed her head against the wall, one of her hands sliding down as she sagged. He surged to his feet, caging her against the wall, his big hand covering the one that had slipped, his body pressed against hers. She registered his cock at her back with an aftershock of pussy-clenching. His lips found her ear, breath came hot against her neck. “What did I tell you about moving these hands?”
Her ass throbbed in response, already hot and tingling from the hand spanking. She sure as stars hoped he wasn’t serious about whipping her.
“Please, Lundric.” She wanted to kick herself for begging like a helpless female.
He bit her ear, hands coasting down her sides to squeeze her throbbing ass. “Now I forgive you,” he murmured, pulling up her panties. He continued to massage and squeeze her bottom over the panties, and she helplessly pushed it into his hands, loving the way he made her feel, even if it confused the hell out of her.
“Captain Lundric?” The disembodied voice sounded from somewhere on her floor.
Lundric cursed and jumped back, stooping to search the pile of his tunic and undershirt for his comms unit. “What is it?” he snapped.
“There’s a disturbance in cell 8—a fight amongst refugees.”
“I’ll be right there.” He turned to her. She’d already taken the interruption as an opportunity to yank her head back to reality. To steel herself against whatever this bizarre interaction had been.
But the apology on his face sank her. Like he owed her something more. When he hadn’t even taken pleasure. Had only given it—along with punishment.
Confusion swirled with post-orgasmic languor and lack of sleep. She watched, blankly, as he pulled his clothes back on over his beautiful chest. She wondered how he’d explain the blood on his clothes. Picking up her bloodied leggings, he said, “I’ll wash these tonight so they’re dry by morning. Push the chair against the door. It won’t keep it from opening, but it will serve as an extra barrier in the dark until I install a latch. I’ll drop your leggings on the chair when they’re done.”
She nodded.
“I’ll keep watch over your room, baby. You can rest.” Without warning, his arm reached out and snaked around her waist, and he yanked her body against his. His cock still stood rigid, and she experienced a stab of guilt he hadn’t found release. Not that she’d been ready to offer it to him. “Thank you,” he murmured.
She pulled away, and he let her go. “For what?”
A roguish grin split his face. “For stabbing me. How else would I get my hands on that tight little ass of yours?”
Dearest Mother Earth, he’d made her blush. Nothing made her blush.
He grasped her nape and pulled her head forward to drop a kiss on her hair. Then he winked and left, pulling the door shut tight behind him.
She waited, listening for the sound of his boots as he walked away, but there was only silence.
He was waiting for her. “The chair?”
“This chair isn’t going to be a barrier to anyone getting in,” she grumbled, but a goofy smile stretched her lips as she dragged it into position. He cared about her safety.
“Thank you.” Stars, she loved his deep, gruff voice.
Her clit throbbed in time with her ass as she walked the two steps to her cot. She sank down onto it with a sigh of pleasure. She hadn’t slept on anything even semi-cushioned in a hundred planet rotations. Not since she’d killed the guards and been caught escaping the factory housing.
She hooked her thumbs in her panties and slid them off, bringing her knees up to her chest to get them over her feet. Her hands slid over her heated ass, exploring the sensation.
She’d been beaten as a child by the Ocretion factory foremen, and when she was grown, they’d used shock-sticks for punishment. Nothing compared to this sensation of heat and tingling and pain, more exciting than unpleasant because of the context. Her fingers found her pussy, and she shivered with pleasure at her own touch. Her folds were swollen and slick, and a little raw, but in the best possible way. She worked her sex and pictured her giant Zandian warrior—how he had to duck to fit through the doorway, his beautiful muscled chest and arms, the way his lids had drooped with desire for her, the sense of tightly leashed lust. What else could he do to her body?
I’d have you pinned down with those sexy thighs spread wide…
Her hips snapped up with another climax, her internal walls contracting once more on nothing. For the first time in at least four years, she wanted to have sex. Wanted to know what that powerful body felt like over hers, under hers, behind hers.
She slowly lowered her hips back to the cot, stroking all the aftershocks out of her pussy. She’d probably regret all of it tomorrow, but, for now, it felt like in a lifetime of oppression, one small thing had gone right. She had a cot, her own closet, and two orgasms. It wasn’t freedom. It wasn’t finding Tal, but it was a start.
3
Cambry took a front row seat for the first training session. Or she would have if there were seats to be had. While the Zandians had sent supplies and battleships, they still didn’t have chairs, or beds or changes of clothing, so they’d all sat on the floor of the large hall where she’d slept—or actually hadn’t slept—the first night.
Rok, the young Zandian warrior who appeared to be in charge, had sorted them into groups based on their interests. Some would learn to fly the battleships, others would practice navigation and communication skills to serve as co-pilots, and most of them would learn hand-to-hand combat. Those too sick or wounded had been taken to a sick bay where beings interested in learning medical care and assisting with battle wounds would nurse them.
She’d volunteered for pilot training. It didn’t take a genius to figure out the only way off the uninhabitable planet they’d crashed into was in an airship, so she intended to learn how to fly one. First chance she got, she’d fly herself straight out of the galaxy. No way she was waiting around to fight a war on Zandia she had no stake in.
Rok stood in front with his crew of non-Zandians. An unkempt old Venusian, two Stornigians, and a huge being of a species she didn’t recognize.
Rok’s human girlfriend came in and dropped to the floor near Cambry. “Hi, I’m Lily,” she said, holding out her hand in the ancient human gesture of greeting.
If she weren’t hoping to ingratiate herself with the trainers enough to get into an airship, she would have rebuffed the girl’s overtures. This was the female who’d been singing the song of human freedom on Zandia, trying to get them all to believe in some kind of “promised land.”
She reluctantly put forth her hand. “
Cambry.” She supposed she shouldn’t begrudge Lily her misplaced faith in the Zandians. And maybe, for Lily, the promised land would be true. After all, she had captivated her Zandian warrior so well, he’d been willing to take down this entire death pod to save her.
Now Rok and his warriors were stuck with the two hundred other beings who had come with Lily. Of course, they couldn’t just set them free. If word got back to the Ocretions they didn’t all perish, Lily and Rok would have a price on their heads. So, they’d decided to make soldiers out of them for their own purposes.
Most of the beings there were just content to have had their death sentences cleared. Nothing much changed for them. They’d traded one master for another; Work and obedience were still required of them with the penalty death if they didn’t give it.
But Cambry had decided back at the factory, when her brother was taken from her, it was time to get herself free. She had a rare opportunity to learn a skill that would facilitate her goal.
Rok whistled and brought the room to attention. There were about one hundred beings there, and all their attention went to the large warrior. His gaze traveled over the group, resting on Lily, where Cambry had the feeling he’d wanted to focus all along. His face went soft, as if she had the power to bring him to bliss simply with her presence in the room.
Cambry stole a glance at Lily, who appeared equally riveted, cheeks turning a soft shade of pink. “How’d you meet?” she found herself asking.
Lily smiled, not dragging her focus from her male. “I stole his ship.”
Cambry choked on a laugh, her opinion of the young woman rising. “Is that so?”
“Yeah.” Their eyes were still locked. “But then he caught me and kept me prisoner.” She said it like it was the sexiest, most romantic thing in the galaxy, and after what happened with Lundric last night, she almost understood.
