by Sahara Kelly
He had his work cut out for him.
Chapter Six
So what the rass was he waiting for?
Boralle tamped down her impatience, and watched him, wondering what was going through his mind. His eyes were impossibly green as they roved over her face, and the feel of his fingers playing with her hair was quite soothing.
“Are you more comfortable with ma touch, lass?” he asked quietly, moving his other hand to her cheek and just lightly grazing it.
“I’m…I’m getting used to it,” she admitted. She smiled slightly at the soft burr of his voice and the odd little expressions he used.
Hah. In all honesty she was beginning to crave his touch. His warmth, his strength, the tenderness that peeked out at odd moments as if it were a part of him that he wasn’t even aware of.
Even his scent was becoming familiar to her, a mixture of man and musk and heat that coiled deep within her belly and started an answering fire.
She was astonished that her body would react so strongly to the presence of another human. She wasn’t even sure if the TUNG could arouse her quite like this.
Tentatively she reached out her hand, stopping short of his face.
He smiled and leaned in, letting her palm rest against his cheek.
So smooth yet a little prickly. Unlike her fellow crewmembers, Rory had a beard that was obviously active, growing and needing to be shorn. She wondered if he’d be interested in using the defuzzing unit, which removed body hair permanently. She spared a thought for the fluff of red curls that she’d seen around his cock.
Did men remove those too? She knew she did, and that her body was bare of any excess hair at all. Would he care?
Unconnected thoughts tumbled through the shambles of her mind as she lost herself in Rory’s eyes.
He pressed her palm to his face and brought his head down, sliding his gaze to her lips.
She felt her own eyes close as he neared her, and the warmth of his breath on her mouth sent a tingle through her body and turned on some inner faucet. She was astounded to realize that she was beginning to grow damp between her thighs and he hadn’t even touched her.
Her breasts felt swollen and tender, and when his chest just brushed them, she gasped, not realizing that such a touch could send licks of fire down her body to her clit.
He took shameless advantage of her indrawn breath, and chased it with his mouth and tongue.
Angling his head, he plunged deep into her moistness, swirling his tongue over and around hers, and encouraging her to move in the dance with him.
She moaned deep in her throat, caught up in the amazing sensation of lips pressed against lips. Of the taste of a man and his desire, and of the explosions of pleasure that his movements were causing.
Her hands slid up his arms to his shoulders and she twined herself around him, trying to get nearer and closer to that teasing tongue and experience all that there was to this kiss.
She’d seen such things before, and even brushed her lips against another’s cheek in greeting a time or two, but nothing had ever prepared her for this.
He understood, pulling her body tight to his and wrapping her in his strong arms.
She allowed her hands to play in his hair and gasped for breath as he pulled back and scattered soft kisses over her cheeks and chin, returning with passion to seize her mouth once more.
She found herself plastered against him from breast to shin, moving, writhing, twisting against his hardness.
A portion of her brain recognized the hard length pressed against her groin as his arousal, and she opened her legs in an involuntary movement, unconsciously yearning to get him where he could do the most good.
His hand dropped from her face to her body, and he stroked her breast as he plunged his tongue deep into her mouth.
He swallowed her cry of surprise and found her nipple, teasing and fondling it to a hard and sensitive peak before allowing her another breath.
“We’ve too many clothes on, ma heartling,” he muttered, swiping his tongue around her ear and making her shudder.
“Here…” She struggled to show him a faint line running along the front of her suit.
She touched the top of it with her finger and the fabric parted, slowly peeling back and revealing her soft white flesh to his eyes.
She thought she’d die of pleasure when he touched her naked skin as the cloth spread apart, following the opening down between her breasts, over her navel to the top of her mound.
Within moments he’d found the lines that freed her legs, and seconds later she was all but naked next to him.
“Ah, you’ve a sweet bare pussy, lass,” he said, stroking the soft folds that lay between her legs. They shone now with the moisture his touch had released.
“It’s considered routine…procedure to remove all body hair…prior to a tour of duty in…space.”
The formal phrase lost much of its impact since Rory was still stroking her, delving between her silky ruffles and finding her most sensitive spots. Her breath came quickly as his hand sought and found her clit.
“Rory,” she whispered, eyes wide.
His touch was setting fire to a variety of different places, not the least of which was her brain as it tried bravely to withstand the sensual assault.
But his light strokes on her flesh were having an effect, and Boralle found her thought processes stuttering to a halt as the information overload swamped any logical or rational ideas and left her moaning with pleasure.
His mouth dipped and found her breast.
She gasped as he touched her nipple with his tongue. Just a soft lick was enough to send waves of shivering delight up and down her body.
He did it again and she was unable to control the sound that burst from her throat.
Rory smiled.
Fingers still gently circling her now-swollen clit, he opened his mouth wide and swooped onto her breast, sucking it up into his warmth like a vacuum limpet from Coris Major. She’d seen vids of those creatures, opening their great maws and linking to each other as they mated.
It couldn’t have felt much better for the vacuum limpets than it did for Boralle North.
She shuddered, muscles ceasing to respond to her at all, but now totally under Rory’s command. Each flick, each brush of his fingertips brought another sensation of exquisite joy and taught her that there were so many sensitive areas on her body she’d never known about.
For example, her inner thighs.
As Rory’s hand brushed the skin there, she felt his touch like a rasp, almost painful but yet so wonderful.
And always he returned to her naked mound, teasing, loving, flicking with the lightest of touches. She knew that her body was welcoming his sensual invasion because a cool draft around her hot flesh indicated the presence of moisture.
It was at this point that the TUNG would customarily introduce the penile probe, and without thinking, Boralle spread her thighs wide.
“Oh, sweetheart, not yet,” chuckled Rory, voice low and caressing. “You’re with a McAllen now, not a machine.”
“Rory,” she began, only to have her words slip away from her as he used two fingers to spread her labia wide. “Rory…” she repeated, only this time it was a muted cry.
Her hips started to move, and his body leaned further onto hers, holding her still beneath his weight.
His chest hair brushed her sensitive nipples and added to her shivers, just as his lips closed again on hers.
His tongue thrust deep into her mouth as two fingers thrust deep into her cunt.
He drank her cries, swirled them, swallowed them, and let his fingers respond, teasing, withdrawing, and always keeping pressure around her clit.
The twin sensations of his tongue and his fingers were wreaking havoc on Boralle. She moaned, groaned, writhed beneath him, soaked his hand with her juices and her cunt felt like it could swallow him whole.
Her mind flooded with light and color and Rory’s kisses, and as if he sensed her con
fusion and need, Rory slowed the movements of his hand and returned to her clit.
Her swollen, agonized, about-to-explode, clit.
Never breaking contact with her mouth, he slid one more finger inside her, stretching her, filling her, and yet still leaving her wanting.
His thumb pressed upwards, sharply, suddenly, tipping her over an invisible ledge and launching her into orbit.
She cried out into his mouth, and felt him take her breath away. Literally.
Her body jerked as it orgasmed frantically around his hand.
The spasms rocked Boralle from head to toe, and she tore her mouth from his to grab a breath. Her gut was clenching along with her cunt, and the lightest of touches from his thumb on her clit was enough to send another wave of orgasmic pleasure through her system.
“Ah, lass, you’re so beautiful when you come,” breathed a voice next to her ear.
He eased his hand away from her and rested it on her thigh, as if waiting for her to regain enough conscious thought to open her eyes.
She was afraid to, but knew that she had to look at him. To see what was shining from those deep green pools that sent such incredibly sensual signals to some unknown receptor in her spinal column.
Slowly, she raised her eyelids.
He was close, almost too close for her to focus on. Green lakes swam in front of her vision and she blinked.
He pulled back a little and brought his hand to his face.
“You, Boralle. This is you. How your body should love. How your body should taste…”
She watched, wide-eyed, as he delicately licked her juices from his fingers.
He took one finger and lightly ran it over her lower lip. “Taste yourself, lass. Taste the honey that comes from our loving.”
She touched her tongue experimentally to the liquid on her lip, all the while held captive by his gaze. It was sweet, tangy and unique, and suddenly Boralle wondered how Rory would taste. She blushed, wondering if such a thing was possible. She’d certainly never heard of it before.
But then again, this was turning into a day filled with unexpected pleasures.
Perhaps touching and tasting Rory might be one of them.
God, she hoped so.
* * * * *
Rory’s body was humming songs the likes of which would have driven his native bagpipes into a completely twisted pile of mashed-up intestines, incapable of producing more than a small squeak.
The fact that some of his clansmen had described Rory’s attempts at playing as almost exactly that conveniently slipped his mind.
The woman who had convulsed beneath his hands looked at him with awe and reverence in her sky blue eyes.
If it hadn’t been huge already, his cock would have swelled to gargantuan proportions. As it was, his mind pondered the issue of whether he’d be able to stand with a caber that size lodged between his legs.
And yet he knew it was not quite time to lose himself in Boralle. She’d had her first true orgasm—awake, alert, and brought to her peak by the touch of another human being. Her breasts were just beginning to relax and her skin to dampen slightly with her sweat.
He grinned. She’d be soaked by the time they were finished if he had his way.
He loved to see women like this. To watch the consciousness seep back into their brain cells, to marvel as that “what-the-hell-hit-me” look was replaced by the “my-God-I-feel-wonderful” look. Of course, the fact that it was followed by the “holy-cow-Rory-did-you-do-that?” look didn’t hurt, either.
And there, right on schedule, was that look.
Boralle was staring at him, her eyes stunned, her lips moving slightly as she fought to find words.
Rory’s lips curved upwards into a smile of pure masculine pride. “Are you well, then, lass?”
“I…I…we…”
Satisfied that his woman had been reduced to stuttering by the skilled touch of his hands, the Laird McAllen allowed himself a mental pat on the back. He’d completed stage one of his plan—Boralle was now ready for him.
But the surroundings were awful.
If he was going to bring her the true knowledge of how it could be for a man and a woman, it wasn’t going to be in the dingy gray interior of a starship. He thought furiously for a moment or two until a chime distracted his thoughts.
“Attention all personnel. We are now in a holding orbit around Frallien IV. Our request for permission to ferry our personnel to the games has been taken under advisement and our entry data has been accepted for review. Members of legal team epsilon dash zeta should assemble in conference room 12.”
The message repeated itself twice, making Boralle’s eyes return to their normal alert state.
Rory sighed.
“We anticipate that a period of at least twenty-four sidereal hours will elapse prior to our acceptance by the Fralliens. Please use this time wisely to refresh your datapads on all facets of law pertaining to the Fralliens, their energy sources, and also whatever is available on Magus Prime. We are informed that a Magus Prime heavy cruiser will be arriving shortly. We should have current data accessible at that time. Thank you. Announcement terminated.”
“Magus Prime? You mentioned them earlier?” Rory’s eyebrow rose as he placed the question.
Boralle snuggled against him, lazily running her hand up and down his heavily-muscled arm. “The Magans are the biggest threat to peace in this system,” she replied. “My guess is that within a few hours of their arrival, we’ll have ‘current’ data because spy drones will be busy as soon as the ship moves within range.” She sighed.
“Seems that no one in the universe ever learned to trust, doesn’t it?” said Rory quietly.
“That it does, Laird McAllen. That it does. I wish there was a place where such things weren’t everyday occurrences. Someplace…someplace…clean.”
Rory narrowed his eyes as the answer flashed through his brain. “Will you come on a wee journey with me, Boralle?” he asked, linking their hands together.
“A journey? Now? How? Where? I don’t understand…”
He laid a finger gently on her soft lips. “So many questions, and so few that I can answer to your satisfaction.” He replaced his fingers with his lips and just brushed a kiss across her mouth.
She sighed with pleasure.
Rory smiled. “I have a few secrets, my sweet. Let me use them, and trust me to take us somewhere…somewhere I think you’ll like.”
“Trust,” she mused. “Funny. I’ve known you for such a short time, and yet—and yet I do trust you. You are an honorable man, aren’t you?”
Her blue eyes bored into his brain, seeking his secrets, searching his soul. He did his best to open his mind and his heart to her, and let her see the measure of the man she was cuddled against.
“I try ma best, sweetheart. To stand by my word once given, to honor my ancestors, to tell the truth and to do right by others.”
“And your women?” The question tumbled out of Boralle’s mouth and she looked surprised, almost as if she had not intended to say it out loud.
“My women? Never leave my bed unsatisfied, or unhappy. I never promise more than I can give, and I never take what’s not offered freely and with pleasure.” He stroked his hand down her cheek and nudged her chin up to meet the touch of her lips once more. “But I’ll admit one thing, Boralle North.”
She tipped her head and for the first time moved toward him, returning the gentle kiss with one of her own.
His cock leaped and his heart moved in an odd way. He spoke the words before he thought. “With you, it’s…it’s different.”
It had slipped out on a breath. The truth, the puzzling fact that with Boralle the rules had changed. He wasn’t quite sure how or why, and he pulled his lower lip between his teeth as he prayed she wouldn’t ask him.
“How?”
Well dammit. She was a lass. Of course she was going to ask. Rory mentally slapped himself on the forehead. “I don’t know the answer to that one, yet. It just
…it just is.” Rambling like an old woman, he was. And a lovesick one at that.
But there was something different about being with Boralle. It had nothing to do with the fact that he was in a strange part of the galaxy, or that the woman next to him had been born millennia after he should have died on the battlefield.
It had to do with the feel of her skin to his senses, the smell of her body to his heart and the touch of her lips to his soul.
He felt as if he could stroke her hair for hours and still find new sensations flooding him. He wanted to bury his face between her legs and spend a year or so learning each and every molecule that made up her womanhood. And then he’d bury his tongue inside her and taste every inch he could reach. And he had a long tongue.
He wanted to spread her cheeks and find her tight little rose, caress it and watch her eyes grow wide as she found new pleasures beneath his hands.
And mostly he wanted his cock in her cunt. For about three lifetimes or so. He wanted to explode within her, on her, around her, to cover her with his seed. And damn, he had to explain the whole blue fog thing to her as well.
Yes, Boralle North was something special. Something different. She deserved the best he had to give, and a wee voice was telling him that it might require more than he’d ever given a woman before.
But for a start, he could give her a little holiday. A glimpse at a world she’d probably never have imagined, living as she did in this gray and dark ship.
He’d take her home—to Scotland.
Chapter Seven
Boralle watched in fascination as the mighty Scottish warrior ran his hands over the delicate circuitry of the holo-vid control panel. She was naked, but unconcerned, since being naked around Rory McAllen somehow felt natural and right.
“What are you doing?” She couldn’t help the question.
“Hold on a second, love,” he answered absently.
She wondered if he had any idea what that word meant to her. No one had ever called her “love” before. She’d been raised, along with three hundred “siblings,” in Martian Colony Four’s group nursery. Since Mars had been terraformed, it had become a major child-rearing center, with its off-world dynamics and abundance of humanoid reproductive genetics. Parenting was now restricted to donating cellular matter.
