Yours to Uncover: ES Siren 1

by Mel Teshco

  But his enthusiasm for Solitaire must have been bottled and stored in a cellar somewhere back on Earth. Or perhaps he’d hoped to stay behind this time instead of returning to the new world? Either way, Rita thought it was a shame he hadn’t graced one of the other ships heading to Solitaire so he could have numbed another crew’s mind instead.

  Besides, it had been almost three years since their tutor had lived among the Unity population. Many things would have changed in the interim, so much of what they learned from him was no doubt already obsolete.

  Rita’s training as a soldier had conditioned her to always be prepared, but just this once she wondered if it wouldn’t be better to learn everything they needed to know once they arrived. At least everything would be new and fresh, instead of this anesthetized and dried-up version, told through the eyes of a dreary intellectual.

  “Any questions so far?” the professor barked.

  A thin civilian woman in a faded denim dress and a topknot of raggedy auburn hair shifted uncomfortably in her seat next to Rita. “Physics would have been more bearable,” she said under her breath.

  The professor adjusted his horn-rimmed glasses and peered in the direction of the muttering. “Speak up,” he said in a raspy, haughty voice.

  Rita repressed a wry grin as the civilian woman cleared her throat and looked around, as if expecting someone else to talk for her. Rita sighed, then asked, “Would you mind repeating your last statement about the colony’s water supply?”

  She ignored the daggered, exasperated looks from the three crew members, three soldiers, six civvies and four prisoners in the classroom, all of whom appeared as zombiefied as she felt. Rita stifled a giggle, focusing on the professor as he launched once more into his spiel about the specialized salt water treatment system needed to create fresh drinking water, which filtered out the algae that made people violently ill—or worse.

  A knock sounded on the door and a soldier stepped into the classroom. The professor exhaled heavily and snapped, “Yes?”

  “Lieutenant Zane requires Chief Songworth immediately.”

  Rita kept her face carefully blank even as she slowly died inside. What the fuck? Did Zane plan this so that everyone imagined they were still together? She swiped her suddenly-sweaty palms across the thighs of her faded denim jeans before glancing at the smirks on her classmates’ faces, especially sickened by the bold gazes of the prisoners. Dear god. They all thought she’d been summoned to ease Zane’s lust.

  Her breath caught in her throat. What if they were right?

  The professor arched a thick, bushy grey eyebrow. “Don’t let us keep you from your duties, Songworth.”

  A round of snickers broke out as she pushed to feet and gathered up her portacomp. She held her chin high as she answered haughtily, “I suspect I won’t miss out on too much here, thank you, Professor.”

  More guffaws followed her out the door, but she wasn’t particularly interested in the others’ opinions anymore. Her mind was filled with dread.

  A strand of hair had come free of her braid, and she tucked it behind her ear. What did Zane want? They were no longer a couple—surely he could find another willing victim on the ship to fulfill his needs?

  The soldier was one she wasn’t acquainted with. He wordlessly escorted her along a dozen or so corridors and down one level to the lieutenant’s office. He and Rita exchanged a snappy salute then he left her to it. With a brief knock and a steadying breath, she entered Zane’s office.

  The lieutenant looked up from behind his desk, his face ruddy and eyes glinting. “Close the door behind you, Songworth.”

  She did as he asked, trepidation filling her from the toes up as the door snapped shut. “What’s this all about?”

  He leaned back in his seat, his hands laced behind his head and his watchful stare more than a little lewd. “I know we’re no longer together. But I hate that our split was so … harsh. I’d hoped we might at least part amicably.”

  Her eyes narrowed. What was the catch? This man never did anything that didn’t benefit himself first and others last.

  He picked up a flute of ruby colored wine from his desk and gestured for her to take the one next to it. She shook her head. “No, thank you. I have more classes—”

  “I insist,” he said cordially, though steel momentarily overrode the lust in his gaze. “I’m missing a big fight to see you now.”

  She resisted rolling her eyes at his sacrifice. She would have preferred a dozen civics lectures over this one encounter with her arrogant ex-lover. “Water will be fine, thanks.”

  His face went tight. “You’d rather drink that recycled muck over the wine I offer?” He leaned forward, raising his glass. “This stuff is liquid gold. Aged red wine from an era when produce actually tasted clean and sweet. Any other woman would be grateful for just a taste.”

  She shrugged. “I’m not any other woman.”

  His nostrils flared as though he was drawing in quiet, steady breaths. “No, you’re not,” he agreed. “And perhaps that’s the attraction.” He smiled. “Now … do I have to order you to enjoy a drink with me?”

  Bloody hell, this man didn’t let up, wouldn’t take no for an answer. It reinforced once again why she should never have been with him. “If it’s an order, Sir, then how can I refuse?”

  “How indeed?” he murmured, his eyes glittering as she took a sip.

  She forcibly swallowed. When Earth had gone to shit, wine hadn’t come close to being on her wish list. Fresh fruit and vegetables, along with clean drinking water, had been her only requirements. She handed back the half-full flute and said wryly, “It seems to be of your usual high standard.”

  He smirked. “A taste you’ve never really acquired.” He got to his feet, and she found her legs strangely weak, unable to take the backward step required to move away from the madness and lust that Zane seemed barely able to restrain. His head cocked to one side, his smile leering. “But I’m certain you’ll come to love the wine as much as I do.”

  What the hell … what did he mean by that?

  He reached out and cupped her chin. Rita froze even as her breathing deepened and sudden, despicable need zinged through her veins, like a spark erupting into wildfire. But although her whole system seemed to have been jump-started—her synapses crackling with energy, her breasts full and heavy, her pussy damp and aching—her muscles were sluggish and hard to command.

  Her body wanted him to douse that fire even as her horrified mind screamed no! She suddenly saw Tristan’s face superimposed over the lieutenant’s and she clutched the back of the nearest chair with a moan, her lashes fluttering and her face feverishly hot.

  Zane’s sour breath fanned her face as he bent to scrutinize her. “Is something wrong?”

  “I’m … I’m not sure.”

  What the hell was the matter with her? Either the wine was the most potent drop she’d ever had or she was coming down with some serious illness. It was bad enough that she’d chosen this sadistic monster as her protector, but to suddenly feel anything other than revulsion toward him was utter madness.

  The door behind her opened. She turned as Zane gestured for the pair of soldiers to bring their prisoner inside. Oh dear god. Her throat dried and her eyes jerked up and met Tristan’s. She barely managed to withhold another moan as desire seared through her body and centered at her wet core.

  Body and mind instantly became drunk with lust.

  She squeezed her eyes shut as the truth abruptly hit her. She wasn’t drunk with lust … she’d been drugged. She’d heard rumors about sexmeth, but had never once thought the damn lieutenant would be culpable!

  Why not? Drugging a woman is probably the least of his crimes.

  The lieutenant didn’t seem to notice her enlightenment. Instead, he nodded his approval at the soldiers as they set up an easel, brushes, palette, paints and various other bits and pieces in the corner of the room before saluting respectfully and withdrawing.

  Rita scarcely noticed t
hem leave. Everything within her centered on Tristan. She was panting, so damn needy she was one second away from forcing her recalcitrant muscles into action and thrusting a hand down her jeans to slake the burning ache between her thighs.

  She licked her lips and Tristan’s gaze narrowed, sharp and assessing. She closed her eyes for a moment, but it didn’t suppress his masculine scent. Dear lord, if testosterone was edible, she hungered for it like never before. Tristan had to be dripping in the stuff. She wanted to lick it off every part of his hard body, suck it from his dick until he exploded in her mouth and she was overflowing with his goodness.

  Zane turned his glittering stare to the prisoner. “1588, I’m so glad you could join us. I was only thinking a short while ago what a pity it would have been for you to have boarded one of the other two vessels heading to Unity.”

  Tristan didn’t reply. His face gave nothing away as his brilliant stare took in the scene before him.

  Zane continued on regardless. “A great pity indeed. I mean, who else would come close to being good enough to paint my keepsake?”

  Tristan’s eyes narrowed. “Keepsake?”

  Zane nodded. “Yes. Since my beautiful colleague here broke up with me, I’ve decided I need at least one memento to remind me of the treacherous little bitch.” He smirked. “To remind me that no matter what she says or does, she’ll always be mine … until I say otherwise.”

  No words could push past the physical need filling her from the inside out. She hardly even cared that the lieutenant had drugged her, that he thought he owned her and could do what he wanted with her. She didn’t give a rat’s ass that he was only capable of falling in love with his own reflection, that his only real interests were power, followed closely by corruption, greed and malice.

  Splendid boyfriend material.

  Whereas Tristan … she wanted him so badly it was almost painful.

  Tristan cast her a long look. Though she couldn’t decipher anything in his stare, she sensed his support. It fed the fire within and her breath snagged as memories of their lovemaking hit her front and center, intensifying the inner burn.

  Any second now she was going to self-ignite, become one of the few reported cases of spontaneous human combustion.

  She wasn’t aware Zane had moved until he was suddenly behind her and palming her breasts. Her whole body shuddered, and she was suspended somewhere between horror and pure, unadulterated pleasure.

  “You like that, don’t you little whore?” Zane growled thickly.

  Whatever strength she normally possessed had vacated her body, her muscles like wet noodles and her defenses pathetic. Even talking was beyond her. It was as if all her energy centered on the need to fuck and she was drowning in a whirlpool of conflicting sensations.

  Although the lieutenant’s touch repulsed her, her nipples beaded against his palms and moisture pooled between her thighs in readiness for his invasion.

  Don’t let him touch you! The voice was a warning bell going off in her head. Her body wouldn’t listen. Though she couldn’t find the strength to speak, her throat emitted little gasping mewls as Zane undid the buttons on her shirt, one after the other, until her top gaped open to reveal her lacy bra.

  “At least the little slut has good taste in underwear,” Zane drawled, viciousness and lust merging in his voice. He looked up. “Wouldn’t you agree, 1588?”

  Rita swallowed hard. Although it was the lieutenant who had his rough hands on her, she imagined it was Tristan touching her; Tristan making her want to squirm.

  Tristan’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t comment. Zane chuckled, a sound that grated in her ears even as it turned her on. He swept a hand toward the easel. “Never mind. All I want from you, 1588, is to paint us while we fuck.”

  Vile animalistic urges coursed through her even as Tristan’s hands clenched and a muscle ticked in his jaw. Tristan’s reaction was even more noticeable when Zane roughly dragged off her shirt.

  Oh, god. There was no way to tell Tristan to back off. She didn’t want him punished for trying to protect her. What if the lieutenant locked down Tristan’s magna-cuffs? The electric pulses would fully incapacitate him, not to mention hurt like hell.

  No. The only way to stop Tristan from being a hero was to make him think the worst. She’d force her mind, not just her body, to surrender to Zane.

  “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you, my little tramp?” the lieutenant growled. He nuzzled her earlobe and pushed his hands inside her bra, thumbs and forefingers pinching her nipples.

  A gasp escaped her throat at the pleasure-pain. She wasn’t drunk—she had all her faculties—but it was as if her body was no longer her own. Being with Zane wasn’t what she wanted, not even close. Yet she was turned on in ways she didn’t even want to think about. It was just a pity her mind refused to follow suit.

  Zane abruptly nipped her earlobe then bit one side of her throat. Her whole body quivered with a combination of disgust and hot need.

  The lieutenant’s chuckle was hoarse. “When I’m finished with you, maybe I’ll get some of my men to ease your ache?”

  She couldn’t respond and Zane clearly didn’t give a shit. Instead he looked up at Tristan and grated, “Well, what are you waiting for? Get painting. There’s a token in it for you if you manage to capture the mood.”

  Tristan’s jaw locked, but he began to slap paint on canvas. Rita heard her bra unsnap and felt cool air hit her bared breasts. Tristan looked up, his eyes darkening, his lips pinched and his posture stiff.

  Zane cupped her breasts with rough hands, his voice husky yet jeering. “You want some of this?” he asked Tristan, shunting Rita’s breasts together. “I’m guessing it’s been a while since you last fucked a beautiful woman—any woman.”

  Rita might have found his question amusing if it wasn’t for the conflict between her head and her body. This was a mind fuck of the highest order.

  The lieutenant continued on, undaunted by Tristan’s silence. “How does it feel to see someone so goddamn fuckable and have no choice but to watch another man do the deed?”

  Zane pushed the button of her jeans undone then unzipped her fly. And all the while she stood frozen in both need and abject horror. He slid a hand into her panties, his fingers pushing roughly between her folds. “Mm. You’re so fucking wet for me.” He looked up at the artist, lifting his hand, which glistened with her juices, and sliding his damp finger across her nipple. “I think she’s getting off on you watching us.”

  Rita whimpered. Yes, in some sick, sadistic way she wanted desperately for Zane to fuck her while Tristan looked on, but she wanted a whole lot more for the lieutenant to disappear and allow Tristan to play her with his magic.

  Tristan’s brushstrokes stilled as he held the other man’s stare. “I don’t think she wants to be with you at all. Not willingly.”

  Rita’s breath rushed out, her limp muscles abruptly bracing for the worst. But if Zane was pissed off by the prisoner’s honesty, he didn’t show it. In her peripheral vision she saw his lips curl into some semblance of a smile before he looked down and grated in her ear, “I’ll tell you what, little slut. Prove to 1588 that you don’t want me. Shake your head and I’ll stop right now. Or nod and I’ll fill your sweet little cunt with my meat until you’re screaming out my name.”

  Thick silence filled the air. Her pussy throbbed, nipples jutting out in a wanton display of need.

  “Well?” Zane snapped, his own control clearly at breaking point.

  Her whole body trembled with the effort to block the unadulterated need to fuck. It was like a beast pacing inside a cage, wanting nothing but its freedom. Her mind and body were locked in battle.

  “I’ll take your silence as a yes,” the lieutenant rasped. Tristan’s eyes flared, his over-bright stare holding hers as Zane’s malicious chuckle filled the room. “Just as I thought. Once a slut, always a—”

  An alarm screeched. Zane froze, then stepped back with a savage curse. He straightened his uniform befor
e jerking open the door to confer with his soldiers.

  Sensation inched its way back into Rita’s limbs, her muscles unfreezing one by one. When she managed to unlock her neck to view the open door, heady relief filled her. The drug was wearing off! Thank god she hadn’t drunk the whole glass. She might still have a chance to escape.

  Snatches of conversation filtered into the room.

  “… crowd broke through the barrier again.”

  “… almost a riot …”

  “Too many gambled on the wrong man.”

  “… lost their tokens.”

  “A civvy got trampled.”

  “Fuck!” The lieutenant drew back into the room, one hand on the door and the other swiping over his face. “This was my last chance to prove this wouldn’t happen again. I’ll have no choice now but to move the fights elsewhere.”

  Zane dismissed the soldiers with a jerky salute. “Do whatever needs to be done to get this under control. I’ll be there shortly.” He turned to Tristan. “Keep painting until you’re done. I’m sure you have enough burned into your memory by now.” His stare locked onto Rita. “You’ve got five minutes to get yourself together, get dressed and get back to your cabin. You’re in no condition to do anything but fuck. Guess we’ll finish what we started another time.”

  Rita nodded and bent carefully to pick up her bra. Though she was still feverish and tingly all over, at least she could move. Still, she’d never felt so uncoordinated and slow, her muscles refusing to fully cooperate.

  Zane’s hot, putrid stare stayed on her for several seconds before the door slammed behind him on a curse. Rita paused for a long moment, her hands stilling in the act of putting on her bra. Then she turned to face Tristan, the piece of lace that covered her breasts falling to the floor.

  Like a magnet to iron, her whole body thrummed for Tristan, for his possession.

  His jaw clenched and he whispered, “We can’t do this.”

  She licked her bottom lip, words finally forming. “I can’t not fuck you. I need you. Right. Now.”