Highest Bidder: 1 (Mercy)

by Lexxie Couper

  And, by the gods and all things undeniable, he desired her. Shit, did he desire her. Need her. Like fire needs oxygen.

  Dragging his hand from her wrists, he cupped her other breast, kneading its heavy swell in perfect rhythm with his rocking hips and tweaking fingers. Naya whimpered, eyelids closed, lips parted. He shifted his weight and plunged his tongue past those full lips, kissing her deeply for a savage moment before returning his mouth to her breasts.

  Naya arched her back, her fingers tangling in his hair with frenzied force. “Gods, oh gods,” she panted, writhing beneath him. “Oh, that feels…that feels…”

  Blissful heat bloomed deep in Dreylan’s gut at her inarticulate gasps. Her sexual awakening was an aphrodisiac. Intoxicating and powerful. He rolled one nipple between his teeth, suckled on it, teased its distended point with his tongue before moving to the other.

  Just when he felt Naya’s body begin to quiver, he pulled away, lifting his head to stare down at her flushed face. “Tell me what you’re feeling.”

  She shook her head, dragging in one rapid breath after another. “I can’t…I don’t know how…” She licked her lips and opened her eyes, gazing up at him through thick, dark lashes. “Please.” A deep blush painted her cheeks. “Don’t stop.”

  He rasped his thumbs over each nipple, loving the way her body instantly reacted to his touch, coiling and tightening. Anticipating. Readying. “Tell me.”

  “Heat,” she moaned. “Heat and tension. Like a knot of fire is growing in my…” She faltered, her teeth catching her bottom lip, her eyes closing.

  Dreylan circled her nipples again, slower this time, peppering a line of nipping kisses down the gentle curve of her neck before studying her face once more. “Tell me where, Naya. Where is your fire?”

  She whimpered, the leg wrapped around his hip pulling him harder to her spread sex. “Here,” she whispered on an almost inaudible breath.

  “Where?” Dreylan asked, teasing, moving his hips slightly. She shook her head. “Where, Naya? Tell me where that knot is—and I’ll release it. Tell me where your fire is and I’ll feed it with my tongue and teeth and lips until it’s an inferno.”

  “Here,” she whispered again. “Here. In my…m-my cunt.”

  Dreylan growled. Both at the word, and at the aching want filling the word with power. He hauled himself from her body, planted his palms high on her inner thighs and, without preamble, shoved her legs apart and plunged his tongue into her sodden pussy.

  Cream covered his lips, filled his mouth as Naya immediately erupted in a shuddering orgasm. She screamed, bucking against his mouth, her juices gushing from her slit.

  Dreylan lapped greedily, curling his fingers into her quivering thighs as he relentlessly tongued Naya’s folds and clit. She cried out, hips driving upward, hands grabbing fistfuls of bedding as another shudder racked her body. And another and another. “Gods. Gods! Oh, by the fucking gods!”

  She collapsed to the mattress, limp and gasping for breath. Dreylan lifted his head from her sex and slid up her body, placing soft kisses on her belly, her breasts, her neck as he did so. He reached her jaw, nibbling a languid line to her lips. “I want you to taste how sweet your fire is,” he murmured. “Before I make you come again.”

  She shifted beneath him, her gaze shining with amazement. “Again?” she croaked, threading trembling fingers through his hair. “Will I survive?”

  Dreylan chuckled. “Most definitely.”

  Naya’s lips stretched into a slow smile, a smile Dreylan could only describe as shy. “Will you let me taste you first?”

  The question, uttered so innocently and yet at the same time, so provocatively, made Dreylan’s throat squeeze tight. He stared at her for a long silent moment, his cock so engorged, so stiff, he could barely move without being flooded with exquisite pain. He couldn’t answer her with words. They failed him. Instead, he brushed his lips over hers, gently tracing the tip of his tongue over their soft shape. As their breaths mingled, Naya’s tongue touched his, tentatively, and then with increasing hunger, licking her own juices from his mouth.

  Her groan, low and throaty, vibrated through Dreylan. He broke the kiss, knowing if he didn’t he would rip his clothes from his body and sink his cock into her sex. He couldn’t do that. Not yet. Not until she—

  The thought stopped him in his tracks.

  Not yet?

  Not yet?

  Not at all. She wasn’t his to fuck. She was New Earth’s emissary, the planet’s only hope of revival. His job was to invade her dreams, learn what the slavers had done to her and deliver her to Pretorik Ipari.

  A chill curled around Dreylan’s chest and he looked at Naya, trying to ignore the heady passion smoldering in her eyes. Once again, Ipari’s explanation didn’t gel. For the first time since seeing her up on the main auction dais on Level 7, for the first time since being assaulted by the mysterious dream memory, Dreylan really thought about his assignment.

  How was a virgin supposed to save a planet?

  The coldness seeping into him spread. He pulled away from Naya, jaw clenched, tension claiming his muscles. “How are you to save Earth, Naya Kistari?” he asked, ignoring the overwhelming hunger to press her back to the mattress and taste her all over again.

  Naya stared up at him, smooth cheeks flushed pink, breaths still ragged and shallow. A frown pulled at her straight eyebrows and she moved slightly, as though to reach for him, before shaking her head. “I do not understand?”

  Dreylan ground his teeth. Shit, he wanted to kiss away that frown. “How can a virgin riephia save New Earth?” He pushed himself from the bed, forcing distance between them. “Why you?”

  Naya blinked, an unreadable light flaring in her eyes as she sat up. She crossed her arms over her breasts and lifted her chin. She looked defiant. Defiant and completely vulnerable. “Marriage,” she said.

  Just that single word. But it cut Dreylan like no blade he knew. His chest tightened. “Marriage?”

  Naya nodded. “Marriage will save New Earth. I am my people’s only hope. Premier Ipari wants the perfect wife. A wife who will be everything he wants and nothing he doesn’t. A wife who will become exactly what he wishes her to be—a trophy men in all worlds will covet.

  “I am to be Premier Ipari’s wife, and on consummation of our marriage, New Earth will become a member of the Galactic Union and forever be protected by its might.”

  Chapter Four

  Dreylan stormed through the crowd, mindless of the startled—and in some cases, fearful—expressions. He wanted…what?

  Fuck, what did he want? He growled silently, clenching his fists and jaw.

  He wanted to kill that conniving, narcissistic bastard, Pretorik Ipari.

  He wanted to know why he was experiencing dream-invasion memories about a Terran he’d never met until today.

  He wanted to lose himself in her eyes and bury his cock into her hot, tight…

  Shit. He wanted a drink. He needed to cool off.

  He moved through Level 7, heading for the port’s least raucous bar, The Steam. Some decent Ozio would slake his thirst, if not his lust for the intoxicating Terran he’d left bound to the bed in his rented room. An image of Naya flashed through his head, stretched out on his sleeping station, her sublime body naked, an inescapable band of white io-energy imprisoning her on the bed by her right wrist, enraged indignation flaring in her glare.

  Dreylan shook his head, trying to erase the alluring memory. A dull ache throbbed just below his right eye and a begrudging chuckle escaped him. Naya had not wanted to be cuffed to the bed. He’d felt her punch before he saw it.

  He reached up and touched his sore cheekbone. She knew how to fight. He’d recognized the ancient New Earth style, a mysterious combination of animal movement and meditation. Unusual but deadly. Who’d taught her? The monks who’d raised her?

  Another image flickered through his mind, quick and disturbing. A group of castrated men watching Naya’s lithe body move in fluid actio
n, their stares locked on her long legs, on her subtly muscled arms, on her breasts…

  Oh for fuck’s sake, Tarq. Stop it.

  He dug his nails into his palms and pushed deeper into Mercy’s more seedy section. Ozio. He needed Ozio.

  “Excuse me? I’m reporter Itia Va, for the Mercy Watcher. Can I ask you a few questions?”

  Dreylan stopped, scowling at the reporter barring his way. She looked petite but athletic, full of barely contained energy. And feisty. Very feisty. Exactly the kind of woman he would have once fucked to relieve his tension. Now…

  Another uninvited image of Naya popped into his head. He scowled. Shit, he needed a drink.

  “I’m not from here,” he growled, giving the woman a flat look. “There’s nothing I can tell you.”

  She straightened, the smartcam on her shoulder pointed straight at him. “Oh, I know where you’re from, Peace-Keeper Tarq. Sorry, ex-Peace-Keeper Tarq.” Her brilliant blue eyes flashed with pointed triumph and Dreylan ground his teeth. “And you can tell me plenty. For starters, since when have you been a supporter of the illegal slave trade?”

  “I’m not.”

  “And yet, you bought a slave today.”

  She stared at him, chin tilted, shoulders square, the damn smartcam on her shoulder swiveling back and forth from her to him to her again, like some kind of live serpent.

  He stared at her. Hard. Silent.

  Uncertainty shimmered in her eyes—here was a woman clearly used to getting what she wanted. Her feet shuffled once, twice, before, with a reluctance Dreylan suspected was painful, she stepped aside.

  A distant part of Dreylan admired her. Backing down wasn’t something that came easily to Itia Va, that much was obvious. With a slight nod of acknowledgement, he continued walking through the crowd, ignoring the curious looks.

  He needed Ozio.

  The Steam was packed to the ceiling with customers when he entered the bar. Zondarian, Devauntians, a few Myxmaks, the odd Terran—if the species existed, it was here, drinking, laughing, fucking.

  Nodding to The Steam’s owner, Rajelle, a loud and formidable humanoid who knew many secrets and how to keep them, Dreylan crossed the crowded bar and dropped into a dark booth. It had been many solar cycles since he’d been to Mercy but the spaceport hadn’t changed. Looking around, a sense of familiar comfort licked at his agitation. It seemed The Steam hadn’t changed either. With the exception of a towering man scanning the bar’s patrons like Death contemplating his next collection, the bar was the same. Even the drunken Felinia—a curious cat-like species found only in these parts of deep space—singing karaoke was the same striped one from his last visit. Rajelle really knew how to create a safe haven in a turbulent universe.

  The Steam wouldn’t be everyone’s idea of the perfect drinking hole, especially those who couldn’t abide bad singing, but it fit him just right.

  Rajelle wormed her way to his booth, a squat glass in her hand. She placed it on the table and gave him a lopsided smile. “It’s not Ozio, but it’ll burn that pissed-off look from your pretty face.”

  Dreylan frowned at the glass. “Trouble with your suppliers? And what pissed-off look?”

  Rajelle laughed, a loud bark of mirth. “The GU are being a tad annoying at the moment, and I’ve annoyed Echo brother number six too many times. The sykin’s not helping me with my stock at all.”

  “Who’s the muscle?” Dreylan asked, flicking a look at the man by the bar. Something about him itched at his consciousness.

  Rajelle studied the man for a moment before turning back to Dreylan. “New bouncer. Corvan Jareth. Doesn’t say much. Good at his job. Very good.” She nodded at Dreylan’s drink. “Swallow it in one gulp, peace-keeper. Bunderberg Black Label Rum. New Earth. It’ll do you good.”

  She threaded her way back to the bar, shoving at anyone getting too rowdy or rough. Dreylan watched her go. No Ozio, but he couldn’t hold it against Rajelle. He lifted the rum, readying his system for the New Earth liquor. Instead, a delicate wisp of Naya’s musky scent filled his breath and he gripped his glass tighter, ignoring the sudden surge of hot blood to his cock. Shit.

  A wave of anger rolled through him. At his lack of control. At Pretorik Ipari.

  Ipari flaunted his power with condescending narcissism. He didn’t care what stood in his way. He’d campaigned for the position of GU Premier with brutal selfishness. He’d pursued Aimyl with the same arrogant disregard.

  Dreylan closed his eyes for a moment, picturing his wife. Their marriage had been long over when she’d left him for the premier. It wasn’t just the unexplained erotic dreams he’d been having that ended their relationship, dreams—he now knew—of Naya Kistari. Even at their most feverish, he’d still loved his wife. No, their relationship died because he could never be what Aimyl wanted. Aimyl hungered for the opulent lifestyle a mere peace-keeper couldn’t provide. The Commander of the Peace-Keeper force, however, made more credits per lunar cycle than Dreylan ever hoped to make, and that’s what Pretorik Ipari had been when Dreylan and Aimyl first met him.

  Dreylan had never reacted well to pompous idiots in positions of authority, and in his opinion, Commander Ipari was one of the biggest pompous idiots he’d ever met. Two weeks into his station under Ipari’s direct command, Dreylan had made the mistake of correcting him during a public briefing. Commander Ipari had punished Dreylan by demoting him to the lowest rank a peace-keeper could hold. He’d also begun his seduction of an ever-willing Aimyl, eventually convincing her to leave Dreylan with promises of being the future premier’s wife.

  She’d died the very day she’d left Dreylan for the conceited bastard. Died aboard a shuttle in a Mentuan slave raid gone horribly wrong, along with everyone else on the Star-class craft. How the Mentuans had made it so deeply into GU space still remained a mystery. One Dreylan had begun to investigate before being discharged from the force by the newly appointed GU Premier, Pretorik Ipari, on the ludicrous grounds that Dreylan was mentally unstable.

  Fresh anger washed through Dreylan and he lifted his glass, downing the amber beverage in a single mouthful. The rum burned his throat, liquid fire sliding into his gut. Dreylan welcomed it. He hadn’t felt such unhinged emotion since laying Aimyl to rest.

  The thought of his wife’s betrayal sent another surge of brutal rage through him. Rage and contempt. Ipari had sent him on this mission in a twisted power play, a self-important, egotistical attempt to show he still had control over Dreylan’s life, no matter how much Dreylan tried to distance himself from the prick. It was what Ipari fed on the most—power and manipulation. Dreylan had always presented a challenge to Ipari’s ego and pride. While most cowered to the man, Dreylan had viewed him with indifference, seeing through his bluster and posturing. Ipari despised the fact he couldn’t intimidate Dreylan, and had set about proving he had the power to control ever facet of Dreylan’s existence. Seducing Aimyl had little to do with sex and desire and everything to do with domination and supremacy. Sending him on this mission now, after all this time, was just another way of turning the screws, of proving Dreylan was still under his thumb.

  Dreylan had never hated him more.

  Ipari had to know Dreylan would learn who Naya was, what she was to become. Had to know Dreylan would burn with fury and contempt over the despicable use of the woman purely for power and status. Ipari apparently thought Dreylan would swallow his rage and carry out the job like the subservient dogsbody Ipari wished him to be.

  Dreylan gripped his empty glass, an image of Naya burning in his head—bound to his bed, waiting for him, naked and simmering with awakened pleasure. Pleasure he’d created in her. Desire and hunger licked through his body, as dark as his contempt, and a slow, empty smile pulled at his mouth.

  Ipari thought he knew everything. Thought he pulled Dreylan’s string, like a gloating puppermaster.

  Pretorik Ipari thought wrong.

  The premier had taken Dreylan’s wife. His life. Dreylan would take Ipari’s.

 
Straightening from the booth, he crossed the bar’s crowded floor, callous vengeance heating his blood, his body already stirring with carnal anticipation.

  He strode back to his unit, uncaring of the stares and whispers he left in his wake. The door to his rental hissed open, the sound followed immediately by Naya’s hiss of anger as he entered the unit and crossed to the bed.

  She glared up at him, lips parted, nipples erect.

  The sight of her fixed to the bed by the band of io-energy around her right wrist, her long, firm thighs splayed, her body naked, ripe for the taking, made his pulse quicken. He let his smile slowly stretch wider. “Hello, riephia.”

  An unreadable expression flashed through her eyes. She stared at him, silent. Vulnerable.

  Something akin to horrified self-disgust threaded through Dreylan’s icy resolve. He paused, hands curling into fists, struggling to center his control.

  And then Naya moved on the bed, and her soft, delicate scent assaulted his senses. Immediately the exquisite memory of her taste flooded through him.

  Control disappeared, lost to consuming lust. For her. For retribution.

  He grabbed her ankles and shoved her legs apart. Naya gasped, but Dreylan didn’t pause. He couldn’t. Not with her scent in his very system, pulled in with every breath. Not with his body heated by a lust he couldn’t comprehend. Not with his heart infected with a rage he couldn’t restrain.

  He gazed at her exposed sex, blood roaring in his ears. Her pussy lips glistened with moisture, still slick with cream from her earlier orgasm.

  Dreylan’s nostrils flared at the sight. Chest tight, balls tighter, he climbed onto the bunk, using his knees to spread Naya’s legs farther apart. The sound of her breath catching in her throat made his pulse quicken. She shifted on the bed, lifting her hips from the mattress a little. Enough to tell him what she wanted.

  He claimed her sex with his mouth, driving his tongue past her dewy folds to lap at her juices. She tasted divine. He flicked at her clit, the tiny nub of flesh hot and swollen. She cried out, ramming her sex harder to his mouth. Base pleasure ripped through him at her untutored response. His cock grew thicker, his pulse faster. He dug his fingers into her hips, plunging his tongue deeper into her sex. The sound of her moans and whimpers fed his lust as powerfully as her cream in his mouth.