Sighing as she set about getting the room at least livable, Cricket pondered who would’ve fired her from her project -- if anyone. What to believe? Her hands seemed to move of their own accord as they yanked scratchy ivory linen over the foam mattress. Idly, she fluffed up the pillow and removed her limited belongings from her backpack. A sonic toothbrush, civilian clothing, and another pair of boots. Back at the plasma screen, she clicked through the room décor files and settled on a waterfront theme. At once, holographic splashes of ocean, beach and sun covered the quarters, turning it into a seaside landscape complete with seagull calls and the strong smell of salt on the air piped in by hidden olfactory streams.
The mundane tasks failed to stem the rising thirst warming the triangle between her legs. She shoved the ever growing throbbing to the side, but ignoring the rousing sensations grew more difficult as the boring work dwindled. Giving in to her swelling hunger, Cricket made her way to the media center again. With each step, her desire threatened to explode into full-bodied lust, unlike anything she’d felt since her early twenties.
What in the name of Mars is wrong with me? He isn’t even that handsome. But still that wretched scar beneath his eye and the stony visage of seriousness fail to mar his appeal.
Sure, said a voice from within. That tingling in your breasts and the dampness in your panties shouts something to the contrary.
“Shut up,” she whispered aloud, throat dry at the raw honesty in those words.
Her inner voice wouldn’t be silenced so easily. Acting in concert, her mind conjured reflections of Sergeant Snow, his brisk walk, the hint of musk and spice around his lean body, and the burning vigor which energized her when in close proximity to him. And the fire begged to be quenched. Cricket punched up simulation and holographic programs. The program presented her with a list of stress relievers, most of them exercise based. But there were some of a more erotic nature.
“Hologram program. Good enough to feed my need,” she said.
She slid her finger across the cobalt strip and the console below the screen ejected softly out of its shelving. Gently, she guided a sleek jelly-like substance out of its protective sleeve. Shaped in thick phallic form, the jelly substance hardened in the warm air. She scrolled through the various entertainment programs. In seconds she’d found the many adult play themes.
She held the jelly substance with a deepening sadness. Surprisingly silent, her inner sexuality didn’t offer up an opinion about her choice. Hologram programs could transform her diminutive quarters into wherever and whatever she could imagine. Moreover, when coupled with a sim program, it could create whomever she desired. A simulated version of the roguish Sergeant Snow would lack the electrical fire the real man commanded.
The funny thing was, she wanted the reality breathing fast and hot against her ear as he fed his length deep inside her. Moreover, she craved that electrical fire crackling across her, setting all points of her body at attention.
I’ve just met him. He -- he’s a complete stranger. This is ridiculous.
“I, I can’t…” With hands trembling, she guided the azure glob back into its sleeve.
The loss of the Ganor project, my purpose, has thrown me into an emotional meltdown. I -- I must rest, get some sleep. Tomorrow, I’ll approach it with a clear mind. I’ll even get Commander Taylor to tell me what the hell’s going on with Bob and everyone else on the project. Something’s not right.
Hugging herself, Cricket closed her eyes and swallowed the tears attempting to overpower her best defenses. Panic threatened to snatch her into its embrace. She couldn’t lose control.
She opened her eyes and gripped the bed’s coarse coverings. Feeling the walls closing in and hearing the bed beckon to her to come and fall in, to satisfy her cravings for the sergeant, Cricket gritted her teeth, pushing back the urge to scream in frustration.
I -- I just require some air.
Cricket marched right out of her quarters and into the spacecraft’s chilly corridor.
Chapter 3
“Report!” Commander Taylor barked, the vein alongside his temple pulsating. “Life support? Security? Damage report, Snow!”
They’d managed to escape Io’s attack, but how lucky were they? Darryl’s pulse hadn’t slowed since they’d cleared the outpost’s blasters. He scanned the data scrolling across the screen and then reported, “Life support at eighty-eight percent. Shields holding at ninety-three percent, and…” He blinked repeatedly to clear the blurring as the numbers zipped by. “…and it appears we’ve escaped with minor damage, sir,” he finished at last, giving a quick glance over to his commander.
Yes, they’d managed to outmaneuver the outpost’s weaponry, but only because The Inquiry was fast and nimble. He doubted the civilian director of Io knew they had come for her. The outtie sneaking out Dr. Moore had definitely helped them get into the air. By the time the director discovered what had happened, he could barely contain himself. Had they been onboard The Discovery, Darryl knew there’d be more destruction both for the outpost and the ship. As it was, this spacecraft was hardly a battleship. Io was research and development, so they both lacked certain crucial arsenals to truly damage the other.
Suppressing a shiver, he grimaced in the low light of his security console. Oddly aware of the rainbow splashes of light against his face, Darryl rubbed his scar, feeling the mangled lump of twisted flesh against his fingertips. Yeah, we were lucky. Lucky, thanks to Lars. He could fly the pants off an elephant.
“Define minor,” snapped Junior Commander Lee, his eyes mere slits against his olive skin and pockmarked face. His tone was switched to bastard. No doubt upset Taylor had sent Darryl to retrieve the scientist and not him. JC Lee reeked of old sweat. Even from his stationary stance by the turbo lift, his odor infiltrated the entire bridge. “Sergeant Snow.”
Each time Lee said Darryl’s rank, he made it sound dirty and insignificant. Fine. Whatever. If you get your rocks off thinking you’ve belittled me, go for it. But we all know who’s the real man on the ’shoe, and Lee, it isn’t you.
“Doctor Krongkon reports only minor injuries, Junior Commander Lee. Specifically, Private Brock and Private Sams suffered small cuts from flying shards of glass cast by a fallen vase. It wasn’t from the attack, but from another soldier’s clumsiness. So, no one was badly injured. As for the shields, engineering has already repaired much of the damage. I repeat, sir, minor damages.”
Swollen silence landed on the bridge. Everyone heard Lee’s snide tone and Darryl’s reply, which wasn’t much better. Skimming the edge of insubordination, Darryl stood rigidly at attention. He kept his eyes locked on Lee as his upper lip crumbled into a frown, so furious Darryl thought his face would explode.
Smug bastard. Serves him right.
“Sergeant Snow, you’ve been on duty for over fifteen hours. Why not go catch some stars?” Commander Taylor suggested with an undercurrent of steel.
The tense pressure on the ’shoe cracked with a whoosh from the other soldiers.
Commander Taylor’s expression warned him that he didn’t approve of Darryl’s antics with Lee. Darryl caught his unmoving eyes and stony visage. He’d pushed the commander too far. Darryl opened his mouth to explain but closed it with one final glance at Commander Taylor’s face. His order wasn’t negotiable.
“Yes, sir,” he said at last and logged off his security clearance.
Lee puffed up, full of confidence, strolled over to the commander’s chair and stood beside the senior commander, as if on the left hand of a god. He nodded when Darryl passed as if confirming he deserved to be kicked off and sent packing.
I could be reprimanded for acting like a brat. Why do I keep letting Lee get to me?
Grumpy but refusing to acknowledge it, Darryl stepped into the spacecraft’s lift and jabbed the illuminated button for his floor, not waiting for the A.I. to inquire. No one entered the container with him. The turbo lift went so swiftly it didn’t seem to be moving at all. He blew out a stream of a
ir, hoping to relax his tense body. He closed his eyes and rotated his neck to relieve the tight bunch of tension at its base.
Before he knew it, he was growling and yelling. His fury bounced off the reinforced, soundproof walls. Each angry burst rebounded, slamming home the foolishness of the practice. Shouting at objects without ears wouldn’t solve his problem. Nor cease the annoying awakening smoldering inside him. He realized though, as his eyes opened and the A.I. announced his floor, that some of his angst didn’t come from the job, but rather from the attractive scientist in visitor quarters A3201. It spread, engulfing more and more of his consciousness. And he despised it.
Using his anger to douse the flames, he’d hoped to render the fire she conjured in him to ash. It only served to encourage his already raging fantasy. He could still smell her scent of sweet lavender and the bitter odor of IGO-issued soap. Hair like a thousand black cords, binding him to her bidding, slicing through his resistance with her saucy allure, Dr. Moore erected more than his imagination. The doctor couldn’t get off his spacecraft soon enough.
The sooner I can put distance between me and her, the sooner I’ll be able to breathe, get back to normal and stop behaving like a horny teenager. I could…
He stopped abruptly. What would he be doing if not thinking about the doctor?
The emptiness spoke volumes.
Work. If she wasn’t here I’d still be posted at security. And in his downtime? Work extra hours since someone is almost always ill.
He shook his head and started again for his quarters. Sleep. Yes, if he got some sleep, he’d be better. Refreshed. As he passed another turbo lift, he caught a familiar scent. One that’d been haunting his memory too much in the last couple of hours.
With his throat closing in surprise, he turned around, twisting to catch a glimpse of her. He drew a greedy breath at the sight of her strolling from the parted doors, still sporting those hip hugging jeans. His hands itched to glide over her voluptuous curves and his cock awoke at the mere sight of her.
She caught him looking at her and hesitated before heading in his direction. Hair loose, lips wet and slightly parted, and breasts bouncing, she set his hormones to sizzling fire.
Damn, she’s gorgeous. He wiped his hands on his pants and focused on being professional. Setting a decade of IGO training to work, he summoned his cool and cleared his throat.
He waved, and felt the tug of an awkward smile on his face. Mars, I’m blushing. Come on! She’s a woman. Nothing more. A female like dozens of others.
She trotted to catch up to him.
Coughing out the lump of lust in his throat, he turned fully around to face her. The direct impact stole his breath. Fallen one, two, three, four… He counted the IGO anthem’s opening in his head.
“Oh! Oh, hello, Sergeant Snow,” she said, cinnamon eyes wide and drinking in her surroundings with a ravaging intensity. No matter how long ago her IGO immersion training had occurred, she’d still engage those observation skills for they were habitual. The rawness she exuded hooked him. Most people on board had lost that hunger and raw curiosity for life.
“Are you getting around all right? Need anything?” he asked politely. Want me to suck those lovely breasts?
Her closeness to him hadn’t gone unnoticed. She’d drifted to him as if he’d locked a tractor beam to her, from which neither of them would be allowed to be free. She seemed unable or unwilling to keep going past him and on down the hallway.
“I’m fine,” she breathed, smiling. “Thank you.”
A monsoon of heady quiet mushroomed between them. She fidgeted, and despite the harrowing events of the last few hours, she glowed in absolute wonderfulness. He longed to touch her, to feel the hope buoying inside her, and to caress once more that feminine warmth he’d missed for years. It’d been so long since he’d been in the presence of anyone who radiated such strength.
Even he couldn’t stop the return smile blossoming across his face. What are you doing to me, Dr. Moore?
“You want to grab a coffee?” he asked, hands locked in front of him, eyes on the somber gray rubber-based flooring. That’s it. Prolong the torment.
The kind smile disappeared from Dr. Moore’s smooth oval face. It reminded Darryl of the chill after the sun had set. He wanted her radiance to shine once more.
“I -- I’m pretty exhausted,” she said with a lazy shrug. Her shoulders drooped and she rubbed her neck as if massaging the stress and tension from her body. He was more than willing to help her with that.
She folded her arms over those delicious breasts and the slow burn in Darryl’s pants tempered down as if she’d poured a bucket of ice water into it. Desire smoldered nonetheless, still kindling a cozy warmth that could erupt into a full-bodied flame.
“Okay,” he said. Though it felt nothing of the sort, he tried hard not to be disappointed. “Perhaps a bit of rest will do you good. Evening, Dr. Moore.”
With his heart hammering against his ribcage in defeat, he pivoted on his heel and turned to go. Great. That went smooth. Now I’m stuck with a hard-on coupled with embarrassment. I don’t want this inconvenience anyway. Women.
He heard her sigh from behind him.
Swell, Snow. She’s relieved to be away from you. How could you think someone as smart and as beautiful as her would be interested in a busted up soldier?
“Sergeant Snow?” she called, a breath above a whisper.
He froze, unsure he’d heard her. The tempo of his heart increased. Discreetly, he wiped his damp hands onto his pants. Hard, hot, and horny, boy, did he make a great package.
Had she called him? With a glance over his shoulder, he decided she had. “Yes?”
“Yes, I -- I’m too wired for sleep, so…”
There. In the open was an invitation -- and an opportunity.
He turned away and blew out his breath. Nervous. He hadn’t felt this way since -- since the ambush that had given him the scar. Almost instinctively, he ran his finger across it. I can do this. It’s only coffee. I’m not marrying her.
Spinning, he faced her and his demons once more. He found her hovering, waiting for him to say something to her very innocent suggestion. “There’s a small commons area on the lower level, above the cargo bay. You can burn off some steam. There are games, simulated modes, holo-ventures, and other sources of entertainment. The cafeteria has tasty burritos.”
She nodded, the hint of a smile ghosting around her plump lips.
Heat rushed through him. Her grin infected him, like cocoa on a wintry day back on Earth Prime’s arctic region. His home had been in the heart of the Canadian Yukon.
“Okay.”
“Follow me, Dr. Moore,” he said formally, aware of her proximity to him and his own lust rising with each step she took.
They headed to the turbo lift. Beside him, she radiated a calm sense of peace. Tranquility that he couldn’t quite place. He knew nothing about her and he realized he wanted to know more. Mysterious and intriguing, Dr. Moore was more than the lustrous surface beauty. The woman was sharp, and engaging her in conversation might prove pleasurable.
He wanted to peel each article of clothing off, slowly, decisively, and drop kisses like petals onto her soft lush skin, feel her laugh, soft and lyrical against his chest. Feel her moist warmth clamp over his aching shaft.
That’s one way to expel her tension. He’d have to see about helping Dr. Moore with that.
Chapter 4
What am I doing? Cricket inquired internally. I don’t even know him! I never went for coffee with anyone on the post and I saw them every day for five years. One strong smile and I’m quaking in my boots. I’ve got to get it together.
The sleek doors closed, sealing her to the decision. Enveloped by a blast of cold air, Cricket stood in its center. She could feel his eyes make brisk swipes over her person. She returned his gaze, allowing her eyes to drift over him. His dull gray IGO uniform skimmed hardened thighs, pulling tight over the sizable lump in his crotch and on around to tho
se delicious buttocks. A sigh slipped from her lips before she could stop herself.
“You say something?” he asked. He shifted and put his eyes on her. Blank. No, no, that wasn’t quite right. His expression was hiding his thoughts.
What is the good sergeant looking for? What’s he thinking behind that handsome face?
She knew what he saw -- a scientist tossed off a project for Newton knew what. A failure, a problem -- an inconvenience.
Yes, that’s what he sees. Or worse -- a spy. He’s head of security.
“Nothing,” she said.
He peered at her as if he didn’t believe her. His eyes narrowed. Almost instinctively, he rubbed a jagged, raised scar high on his cheekbone, beneath his eye. Stiffening as he caught himself, he turned his eyes back to the doors.
Mars, he’s so sexy. But if he saw her as solely a hysterical female…
“Listen, I’m sorry…” she began, breaking the quiet at last. “This whole thing…”
But the gaze which met hers wasn’t one of fierce scrutiny. So much savage, unrestrained fire rushed out of those hazel eyes, it stole the words from her lips.
Hmmm, there’s something there. But what? Whatever it is, the sergeant is quite passionate about it. Aren’t you, sergeant?
But in an instant it was gone.
Sergeant Snow stepped back until he touched the opposite wall. His eyes were once again flat and watchful. Idly, he rubbed the scar under his eye. “Sorry? For what?” he asked, coughing out a hoarseness in his voice.
Perhaps I imagined it. Or his mind was on his wife. She shrugged. It sounded silly now to apologize for the crappy assignment he’d been given. She wasn’t in charge of the mess unfolding around her. “Nothing,” she snapped, confusion making her annoyed.
An eyebrow rose at her tone but the zipped-up soldier didn’t inquire further. He put his eyes on the doors as if begging to get out, willing it to open.
IGO: Sudden Snow Page 3
