by Jake Bible
Not that he didn’t want inside her own hemp trousers. General Hansen was a gorgeous woman and pretty much the same age as him. That wasn’t a luxury he’d been afforded the few times he’d stomped his mech at a border town or mountain village to find some female companionship above a local saloon. The women in those places were easily a decade or two older than him and looked it. But life on the range was lonely and listening to Gibbons drone on for hours was something he needed a break from now and again.
So, he lay there, hands still behind his head, sweat still cooling on his skin, breeze still blowing and doing the cooling, his thoughts on Hansen, when the door to his room clicked and slowly creaked open. There must have been a candle burning out in the hallway because he could make out a woman’s silhouette slink inside just before the door clicked shut. Clay didn’t move. Nothing he could do. He didn’t have his revolver. No other weapon within reach. He was good at hand-to-hand combat, but mainly because he had to be to pilot a mech.
“I know you’re awake,” Hansen said as she moved through the dark room and over to the bed.
The moon had been out early, but by that time it was just a dim memory down by the horizon, shining across the barren world on the opposite side of the ranch house. So Hansen’s words seemed to come from a shadow that was barely visible in the bedroom.
“Hard not to be awake when you’re given a choice that has to be made by breakfast,” Clay replied. “Doesn’t exactly lend itself to a restful night’s sleep.”
“You could have made the decision earlier,” Hansen said, her shadow settling on the end of his bed.
Clay could make her out a little better once she was close. Head, arms, torso. But all still just a dark blur. He listened to her breathe, watched the slight movement of where he thought her shoulders were as her lungs filled then emptied. She sounded like she’d jogged to his room, the breath ragged and quick.
“You feeling alright?” he asked.
“I am feeling excellent,” Hansen replied.
“You usually come visit your guest prisoners in their bedrooms at night?” he asked.
“No,” she replied.
He sighed and sat up, letting the thin sheet he’d had on him fall away to his waist. Out on the range, traveling in his mech, Clay usually slept fully dressed. Every once in a while he’d kick off his boots and put his feet up, but that was a rare occurrence. Space was tight in his mech’s cockpit and getting his clothes on in an emergency wasn’t the most fun thing to do.
That was why he’d stripped down to nothing when he saw the clean sheets and soft bed the room had. He didn’t know when he’d get another chance to sleep in the buff and just relax. He wasn’t in any danger, at least not until after breakfast, so he indulged in the luxury and went au natural.
Hansen’s breathing became even more ragged as he leaned across the bed to get a better look at her.
“Why are you here, General?” Clay asked. “Testing to see if I’d broken yet? Going to use some more of those lie detector skills you have to hurry my decision along?”
“No,” Hansen said. “Nothing like that. It’s just…”
Clay waited, but she didn’t continue.
“This is stupid,” Hansen said as she stood up from the bed. “And don’t call me General. You don’t work for me. Not yet, at least.”
“So what? I call you Hansen? Call you ma’am?” Clay asked. “Sir?”
“Olivia,” Hansen said. “That’s my name.”
“A little informal for my tastes,” Clay said. “You are trying to force me to be your servant. I think General is just fine.”
Hansen huffed and put her hands on her hips. Clay could make that much out. He could also make out a line of fabric that cut across her thighs. Then the line disappeared as Hansen slipped something off and it fell to the floor.
“Olivia,” Hansen said. “That is my name. Say it.”
“Yeah, not going to,” Clay replied.
He was walking a fine line. He knew she had been flirting, and obviously wanted more since she was in his bedroom and most likely wearing absolutely zero, but there was a stubborn part of him that refused to give her what she wanted. Whether what she wanted was for him to call her Olivia or to have sex with her.
Of course, that’s what his mind said. His body was completely ready to handle the latter.
“Say it,” she barked.
Hansen crawled onto the bed and was shoving Clay back into the plush pillows, her body straddling his hips before he could respond in the negative. There was no hiding the fact that his body was ready any longer. General Hansen was well aware of how he was responding to her presence. She adjusted herself so that readiness was held between them, pinned to his pelvis, resting tightly against his lower belly.
“Say it,” she growled as she leaned forward, her hands on his chest, holding him down.
“No,” he replied.
Clay’s first impression of the bed being a very comfortable place to sleep was replaced with the realization that its softness and deep cushioning also made it very hard for him to move while he had at least a hundred and twenty pounds of woman on top of him. Their combined weight sunk him right into the mattress. He could twist slightly, but really he was enveloped by comfort on three sides with a horny local despot on top of him.
A thousand wry jokes came to mind about how he could be in worse situations, but then the reality of his situation hit him full on. If he didn’t want to go through with it, if he didn’t want to have sex with her, he wasn’t sure there was a damn thing he could do to stop it. He outweighed her by well over fifty pounds, but she had all the leverage.
His mind was in a panic, but his body wasn’t. It was still rip roaring ready to go. He cursed his body because it was giving out the wrong signal to a woman that had taken him prisoner. Clay considered himself a man that believed in equality. She may have been a naked woman and on top of him, but General Hansen was still his enemy. There was no other way to refer to anyone that held him against his will and was in the process of stealing his mech.
Didn’t matter if her breasts were unbelievably firm and full, not to mention just a foot from his face. Didn’t matter that he could feel her readiness below just as much as he could feel his. She was basically pulsing like a faraway star in the night sky. Her body was humming, electric, quivering over him, but at the same time solid and strong.
Damn. She was in control. Full control. If she wanted to take him there wasn’t a damned thing he could do about it. Not a situation he ever, ever thought he’d be in. There was only one way out.
“I’ll fight,” he said. “You get your way. I’ll fight. No need to use your feminine wiles to convince me.”
“They’re called breasts, not wiles,” Hansen said as she leaned closer until her full lips were hovering just over his. Her breath was hot and coming in short gasps as their noses touched. Her tongue darted out and flicked to his lips, forcing them open before withdrawing. “When I start using my wiles, you’ll know it, trust me, Mr. MacAulay.”
“Clay,” he said involuntarily. He hadn’t wanted to say it, but it sort of slipped out. Just as something else of his slipped in. God dammit.
“Clay,” Hansen whispered as she pressed down with her hips.
Just the once. She didn’t try to ride him. She didn’t grind and buck or move even an inch. She just pressed down with her hips and held herself there. Clay looked up in the darkness, searching her dazzlingly blue eyes for some sign of what was happening. Not that he didn’t know what was happening, he was several inches past not knowing that part. He just wanted to know what was real, what was calculated, and what the hell he could do about it.
Hansen’s breathing intensified. Those dazzlingly blue eyes closed and her mouth opened as she cocked her head back. But that was all that moved. The rest of her body stayed right where it was. Almost. He could feel her throbbing around him and he could feel himself matching the pulse, an ancient rhythm. Clay supposed what was happening to
him was as ancient as anything. One person being taken against their will. Caveman stuff. Except he was fairly certain, the genders were reversed back then.
Except back in those prehistoric times, the violent act at least served to propagate the species. Not that he was justifying caveman rape. He wasn’t. He wasn’t justifying anything. He was merely struggling to frame the context of what Hansen was doing to him.
Her face fell back to his and she pressed her forehead against his, twisting her head back and forth. She started to make small noises in the back of her throat. But still her hips didn’t move. Clay was completely confused. He’d been with plenty of women and every time it had been a wild, bucking experience with lots of crying out and lots of fluids everywhere and hungry mouths and hot skin on skin and all that juicy stuff. But small noises and frozen hips were well out of his experience.
Then her mouth was on his and her tongue was inside his mouth and she was crying out. She was crying out into his mouth. He felt like he was swallowing screams, which he sort of was. She kept crying, crying, crying until her entire body jerked and she collapsed down on top of him. Her hips unfroze and she moved around for a few seconds.
Despite his fear and confusion, Clay had his own climax. He hated himself for it. Nature had betrayed him.
Clay thought Hansen had fallen asleep on top of him. Her breathing was even, calm. Her body loose and relaxed. Her skin was hot, a comforting heat that lulled Clay’s mind away from the fact he’d just been violated by a gorgeous woman. Then she rolled off of him and lay pressed against his side, her body sliding into the deep comfort of the mattress along with his.
Her fingers traced a line up and down his right thigh and he ground his teeth down as his body started to betray him again.
“I’m tired,” Clay said quietly.
“As am I,” Hansen said. “Go ahead and sleep. Nothing is stopping you.”
He reached down and pushed her hand from his thigh.
“That is,” he said. “It’s a bit distracting.”
Something in his voice made her tense and she reached over and flicked on the small lamp on his bedside table. Clay didn’t know if the ranch ran on geothermal or hemp oil, but it had electricity. Hansen turned back to him and laid on her side, her elbow bent, her head resting in her hand. He tried not to meet her gaze, but she waited until he finally turned to fully look at her.
“Don’t you dare tell me you didn’t want to,” Hansen snapped. She glanced down at his crotch and laughed. “If that was true then you are giving out very mixed signals.”
“Spirit strong, body weak,” he said. “Don’t get me wrong, General, you are unbelievably beautiful, but…”
“Olivia,” she snarled.
“Sorry,” he said and shrugged. “I don’t know what to say. I really don’t. This was my first time being raped.”
“Raped?” she nearly roared as she rolled off the bed and onto her feet.
She stood there, her body tense with anger and Clay mentally cursed his body again. She was incredibly sexy standing that way, her hands on her hips, her legs spread wide, her body flushed with climax and anger. Those dazzling eyes that were filled with fire and murder.
Filled with murder. In that split second, Clay realized she was a thought away from having him killed. He got off the bed and stood up in front of her. They were close enough for parts to touch. Hot, sweaty parts that had been touching just seconds before.
“You going to have me killed?” Clay asked.
“I could,” she growled low. “I should. You are an asshole. Did you really think me coming in here was some tactic? That I do this to all my captives?”
“So I am a captive then?” Clay asked.
“Of course you are!” she roared. There were footfalls in the hall and she looked at the door. “Go away! Touch that doorknob and I’ll have the skin flayed off you and your body thrown to the vultures!”
The footfalls retreated instantly.
Clay narrowed his eyes.
“For the record, you just raped me,” he said. “That was what happened. Deny it all you want, but you just came in here and came on me without my consent.”
She slapped him so hard his head nearly turned one hundred and eighty degrees. Before he could stop, he’d slapped her back. Her hand went to her cheek and she bared her teeth.
Then they were in each other’s arms, mouths working, bodies hot and grinding. He lifted her up and walked her back against the wall. They hit it so hard that three hung photographs fell and the glass shattered at their feet.
They joined and Hansen ground down hard. She pushed so hard that it was almost painful. Clay returned the favor by thrusting with enough force to make her cry and her body buck up a foot into the air. Her nails dug into his back as her legs wrapped tightly around his hips, stopping anymore thrusting.
Her mouth left his and she rolled her head back and laughed. He grabbed her short hair and pulled. She cried out and it was his turn to laugh.
They spun about, two bodies as one, and Clay stumbled them across the room, up against another wall. More pictures fell, more broken glass. He tried to thrust, but she held him with her incredibly muscular legs. His hand left her ass where it had been gripping hard and went to her throat. A look of intense fear flashed across her eyes for a split second, but was quickly replaced by the look of hunger that had been there for most of the night.
Clay squeezed. So did Hansen. The more he squeezed, the more she did. She was gasping for breath and he was gasping for relief as blood pumped, pumped, pumped, but went nowhere.
Her nails dug into his back again and he let go of her throat as he cried out in pain. He could feel the blood welling up from the deep gouges she’d dug in his skin.
Again he spun and carried her across the room. They crashed into a dresser and he heard wood crack and splinter as they collided with the piece of furniture. Hansen winced as the edge of the dresser pressed into the small of her back. She reached back and shoved away and Clay lost his balance. He fell backwards and the breath was knocked out of him as his back hit the floor.
She slapped him hard again. He slapped her back. They repeated that over and over. Then the wild bucking experience with lots of crying out and lots of fluids everywhere and hungry mouths and hot skin on skin and all that juicy stuff started and Clay was lost in Hansen while Hansen was lost in Clay.
They stayed there on the floor for an hour, destroying each other again and again.
Then there was only stillness and two overheated, bruised and battered, completely spent bodies intertwined and unconscious.
Ten
Breakfast was awkward.
They’d woken up tangled together, both stiff and sore from sleeping on the hardwood floor. Hansen had grabbed the small, sheer robe she’d worn into the room, and slipped it on quickly. Then she gave him a look that was a mix between an angry glare, an honest apology, and a question of what the hell had happened. She had started to speak, but closed her mouth and had left instead.
Clay had stayed there on the floor for a good thirty minutes before he’d picked himself up and poured some water into the small wash basin on the dresser. A dresser that had seen better nights. It leaned at an angle and Clay saw one of the feet had snapped off. He’d cleaned up, visited the bathroom, then risked venturing out into the house.
Zeus found him instantly and led him back outside to the veranda and the table which was laden with eggs, bacon, steak, milk, coffee, toast, pastries, and an assortment of canned fruits. Hansen was sitting there, her back to the landscape, staring at him as he slowly took his seat. He felt like he was one giant bruise. He refused to look her directly in the face.
He poured some coffee, sipped it slowly, set the cup down, then sucked it up and looked across the table at the woman that had done whatever she had done to him the night before.
He winced as he saw the dark purple bruise that was on her left cheek and how swollen her right eye was. It was nearly closed. Her bottom lip was
split and her throat was bruised.
She looked about as bad as he looked. He’d confirmed his appearance in the bathroom when he’d cleaned up before leaving his room.
Yeah. Breakfast was awkward.
“Sorry I’m wearing the same clothes as yesterday,” he said as she stared at him. “The rest of my gear is in my mech.”
“Which should be here in an hour or so,” Hansen replied. She leaned forward and rested her arms on the table. “You agreed.”
“I what?” Clay asked. “Hold on. At first, I didn’t agree to a god damn thing.”
“Not that,” Hansen said. “I’ve thought about that. I forced you. At first.” She put a finger to her bruised cheek. “I paid for what I did. I’m sorry.”
Clay took another sip of coffee. He was swimming in deep, murky waters. He honestly didn’t know what to say. The night had been a complete mess. He was more confused than ever.
“You agreed,” Hansen said again. “To fight for me in the tournament. You said it last night. I will not allow you to take it back.”
“I’m thinking there may have been some coercion,” Clay said.
“There was always coercion so don’t use what I did to you as an excuse to break your word,” Hansen said. She pointed at her face, her neck, then unbuttoned her shirt a couple of buttons to show the bruising on her chest. “You gave as good as you took. All I have to do is say one word to my people and they will string you up by your nuts and let you suffer for days.”
She reached under the table and produced a shiny chrome revolver. Solid .45 caliber. She set it by her plate and tapped it with her fingers.
“Or I could just put a bullet between your eyes right now,” she continued. “So I suggest you say you will keep your word.”
“I’ll keep my word,” Clay said. “Relax.”
Hansen studied him for several long, tense minutes then withdrew the revolver from the table and tucked it back where it had come from.
“Good,” she said.
