He gritted his teeth and ripped his belt off. When he flung it into the pot, he wondered what the hell was going to happen.
Sweat beaded on his brow after an hour. So far it had been even. He’d had to remove his black shirt. Trista had thrown in another earring and her handcuffs. But when Fallon had to remove her blouse, he almost couldn’t breathe. She had a camisole underneath that almost made him pant like a damn dog.
Another hour passed, and he sported only his underwear. Trista was down to her leather bustier having lost her leather skirt, her panty hose, and her boots. Fallon had almost killed him when she removed her camisole and revealed a lacy bra beneath it. The boots were next and the pants.
Fallon lost the next hand.
God, she was going to have to take off that bra. How the hell was he going to keep his damn hands to himself?
Her breasts sprang out when she released the clasp, and Matt gritted his teeth. Her heated glance at him didn’t help.
Trista lost the next hand, and Matthew realized he had two women essentially naked at the table. A crowd had gathered. Color stained Fallon’s cheeks, neck and her upper chest. The cool air made her nipples hard and beaded.
He won the next hand and both women lost their underwear. “You’re both broke,” he said. “I win.”
The smile on Trista’s face warned him she was going to be naughty. “Play for favors.”
“Trista—” he said in a low tone.
“What does that mean?” Fallon asked. “Does that mean, if I win, I can make you do what I want?”
Matthew stared at her. Is that what she wanted? What would she do with him if she could have anything she wanted? “Essentially. It’s limited to sexual favors, but the menu is only limited by your imagination.”
“So, it could be anything as long as it’s sexually arousing to me?” Fallon’s gaze was sharp and clear. Nothing impaired there.
“Exactly,” Trista snapped. “Last hand.” She flicked the cards across the table, and Matthew checked his cards.
Two aces.
“Check,” he said.
“Raise,” said Fallon.
“I raise also,” said Trista. Her gaze caressed Fallon’s. “I hope you’re prepared, my dear.”
“You’re as naked as I am, Miss Tarune,” Fallon said sweetly.
But now, Matthew had to meet their raises. He tossed his pants and socks into the pot. He sat down in his underwear. Trista dealt the flop, and three cards were added to all of their hands. A queen of clubs, a six of diamonds and a five of hearts. He still had the better hand.
Still—“Check,” he said. He just wasn’t willing to push this. Trista was manipulating the cards, and he wasn’t sure why.
“Raise,” Fallon said again.
“Raise as well,” Trista said, her eyes bright.
Damn it. Matthew was going to have to be completely naked or fold. No way was he going to fold. He lowered his underwear and tried to ignore his cock when it bobbed, free from his clothing.
For a moment, he couldn’t breathe. Fallon’s gaze on his dick was the sexiest thing he’d ever seen. Her lips were parted, and her tongue darted out to lick her lips. The pupils in her eyes were dilated, and color flooded her face.
Fallon had no idea she was in imminent danger of being swept out of her chair and fucked on a poker table. Trista was no help. She reached over and stroked his cock. “Mmm very nice.”
He glared at her, and she chuckled. Then, she dealt the turn card. Another queen, the queen of hearts. He had two pair.
They all checked this time, and then Trista dealt the river card. A four of clubs.
He had this in the bag. One side of his mouth lifted when he flipped his cards over. Trista tossed her six and Jack into the pot. He leaned back in his chair and grinned at Fallon.
That smile dropped from his face when he saw her cards. Two queens.
Her two queens added to the two queens on the table beat his two pair. Holy shit. He stared at the queens mocking him. Well, if Trista had manipulated the cards, she’d certainly screwed him over.
He was at Fallon Denny’s mercy.
Fallon, naked and proud, stood. “Shall we?” she waved her hand toward the VFR corridors. “I believe you both owe me.”
Chapter Ten
Satisfaction stole through Fallon. She’d won. And she was going to enjoy herself. Especially with Matthew. She led the way, her nakedness no longer bothering her, and pressed the buttons.
Something had changed since she’d come here. Values were different on Asberek. What was wrong with her? Before she’d come here, she had a certainty of who she was and what she wanted from life. Now? She was off-kilter.
Aware Matthew Lestrano and Trista Tarune strode behind her, she had swung her hips, calling to them both. That was something she never would have done before. It was as if some wanton sex fiend had taken over her body.
That wanton sex fiend wanted something more intense, more dangerous, than anything Fallon Denny had ever desired before. The fantasy she put into the VFR wasn’t one of her usual fantasies. It was a fantasy that had fascinated her, tantalized her for years, but she never had the nerve to implement it.
Here she was, about to share it with two people she barely knew. Instead of frightening her, it created a buzz along her nerves. Her body tightened, anticipation sweeping through her. Matthew and Trista were silent observers, and that only made her sizzle even more.
The doors whooshed open, and Fallon stepped forward with a feeling of inevitability. There was no turning back now.
Yes, it was a rather ancient cliché, but Fallon had always fantasized about being captured by pirates and punished by a wickedly handsome captain. The added female pirate only made it hotter to Fallon. Would they be amused? Perhaps she shouldn’t have revealed herself this way.
“Role playing?” Trista’s deep voice asked. There wasn’t amusement in her tone, but something warmer and infinitely sexy.
“Pirates,” said Matthew. “Nice.”
Her gaze flew to meet his. She looked for sarcasm but only found desire and lust. Her nipples hardened helplessly. They were covered, however, since the roll playing required ancient Earth costuming.
She was dressed in an elaborate, emerald-colored dress that cinched at her waist and pushed her cleavage up and forward. The hem reached her bare feet. The sleeves were long with lace at the wrists.
It was Matthew’s costume that sent her pulse pounding. A loose white shirt open at the neck with long sleeves. His pants were impossibly tight and tapered mid calf. Around his waist hung a rapier more in keeping with the romantic version of pirating than the reality.
Trista’s outfit was absolutely stunning. A black bustier, tightly tied at her breasts and hugging her waist, revealed her generous breasts. Her pants, like Matthew’s, were skin tight and disappeared in a pair of black boots. At her waist was a wicked looking leather whip. Her black hair whipped in the wind, the VFR set aboard a ship on an ocean. Even the smell of the sea wafted to Fallon’s senses.
Other figures stood on the deck of the ship. On every side of the ship, a huge gray ocean tossed and rolled. This was an adventure Fallon had always wanted to experience. A vast expanse of ocean was as fascinating to her as the emptiness of space.
“She knows too much,” one of the holographic pirates stated, his voice a guttural growl.
“She’s my prisoner,” Matthew said loudly, stepping into his role.
“She broke the rules,” the pirate shouted.
The other pirates yelled in agreement and chanted their desired punishment. “Whip her! Whip her!”
Fallon shivered. Part of her was terrified, fear tripping along her veins like a frightened deer. Part of her was excited at the sight of the leather whip at Trista’s hip and the male voices calling for her punishment.
Her gaze met Matthew’s. His lips lifted in a cold smile. “So be it.”
Fallon blinked. Even though it was a fantasy, a holographic experience, Matthew looked
the part. Dangerous, violent and determined, he strode across the deck and gripped the material of her dress at her breasts. He ripped it from her like paper.
Her hands rose involuntarily to cover her body. He’d torn her dress, but left the almost transparent white shift beneath it untouched. The men shouted their approval, and Matthew jerked her around, his hands on her upper arms, facing her away from him. He pushed her toward the large mast that dominated the deck. She stumbled and tried to crawl away. Matthew yanked her back to her feet and shoved her, face first, into the wooden mast.
“Rope,” he called out. A pirate handed him a coil of thick rope, and Matthew tied her hands, then secured her to the mast by wrapping the rope around her hips, her thighs and her knees. She pulled against the ropes. They burned into her skin, but gave her no room to escape.
She should have been scared, but she wasn’t. The rope scraped her wrists and made her blood burn for more. Her head arched back, and she noted Matthew stood in front of her, the mast between them. His hand rested on the pommel of the rapier at his side. When he drew it, she noted there was no hesitation, no awkwardness.
He ran the tip of the blade along her neck, and the sting of it made her jump. With a jab, he slid the sword down the front of her dress, and ripped the shift at the neckline and tore it. One of her breast spilled out when he sliced through the stays of her undergarments. Then, he yanked the material from her back. Her shift was tattered and ragged, blowing in the gusts of wind. Her corset fell to the deck with a clatter of whale bone and metal stays. Naked, vulnerable and helpless, she focused on keeping her knees locked.
“Ten lashes,” Matthew called out.
Suddenly, a feminine hand stroked the bare skin of Fallon’s back. “It will be a pleasure to mark this beautiful skin,” Trista murmured. Her fingers twined in Fallon’s hair and turned her head to the side. When Trista’s lips brushed hers, Fallon moaned. The edge of Trista’s bustier dug into Fallon’s soft flesh, and she squirmed.
Trista broke the kiss and slid a hand down the curve of Fallon’s spine, down to the curve of her ass. Fallon shuddered when Trista trailed a finger down the crack of her butt. Then, her hand was gone.
The snap of the whip made Fallon tense. The sound was arousing, yet dangerous. She shifted, part of her wanting to escape, part of her wanting to beg for Trista to hurry.
Matthew appeared in front of her, and he held her gaze when his hands cupped her tits. His fingers rolled her nipples, not gently, but firmly. She groaned, liquid heat flooding between her legs. He touched her like he owned her, like she was his possession.
And a large part of her liked it. A lot.
The strands of the leather whip slashed across her back. Pain, desire, sensations she’d never had, flooded her system. The feel of Matthew’s fingers on her nipples and the harsh sting of the whip combined for a forbidden collection of need. The second lash sent her pain receptors scrambling, and Matthew’s mouth nipped at her neck. The third, fourth and fifth made tears leak from her eyes.
“I want you, little prisoner,” Matthew growled against her neck.
The sixth lash added with Matthew’s words sent pleasure rippling through her body. Pain and desire together made the seventh a sensual experience. The eighth and ninth made her moan, rather than cry out.
The tenth lash made her explode.
Cum ran down her leg, and she humped the pole, desperate for relief. Matthew untied the rope around her, and she sank to her knees, shaking and shuddering. Her torn garment pooled around her, and Matthew stepped in front of her. “Kiss my boot, prisoner.”
For a moment, she thought about saying no. Then, the strands of the flogger slid along her naked and sore back. A warning. Fallon knelt and pressed her lips to his boots.
With her ass in the air, she felt so vulnerable, so unprotected. And Trista added to her anxiety when her nails raked across Fallon’s ass.
“Take her to my quarters,” Matthew demanded.
Trista’s firm hand gripped Fallon’s arm and jerked her to her feet. Naked, horny and bruised, she stumbled across the deck to the wooden door underneath the upper deck. Trista tossed her inside the pirate’s lair, but she didn’t leave Fallon alone. Instead, she pushed Fallon onto the bed and tied her hands and ankles to each of the four posts.
Then, the door opened, and Matthew strode into the room. He and Trista exchanged a glance. “Excellent,” he said.
“Matthew—” she started to say, but he stopped her with a glare.
“Captain. You will call me Captain,” he demanded as he unhooked the buttons of his breeches.
“Captain, please.” She wasn’t even sure what she wanted anymore except relief from this unnamed passion that tortured her. Peace from the torment that burned in her blood.
“Call me Mistress,” Trista told her while she tossed off her boots. “I like it when you call me Mistress.”
Fallon yanked on the ropes that held her, her pussy throbbing, aching with need. “Please, Mistress,” she whispered.
“Oh, you do please me. Very much,” Trista said.
Fallon watched, fascinated, as Trista stripped naked and straddled her on the bed. “You’re a prisoner, a slave. I want you to lick me, little slave girl. Suck my cunt until I come in your mouth,” Trista demanded.
The scent of Trista’s arousal reached Fallon’s nostrils, and she moaned. Trista rose and scooted closer, bringing her sweet pussy near Fallon’s lips. Just as Trista lowered her hot channel to Fallon’s mouth, a rough tongue scraped over Fallon’s clit. Need slithered along Fallon’s nerves, and she flicked her tongue over Trista’s erect nub.
It was decadent, arousing, sinful. With the knowledge of a woman, Fallon rhythmically sucked on Trista’s clit, circling her tongue around it. Trista’s hips ground into her face, and the woman’s fingers twined in Fallon’s hair, pressing her closer.
Matthew’s mouth created wicked sensations on Fallon’s clit, and she desperately worked Trista’s pussy in response to the intensity experienced by her own. When she opened her eyes, she saw Trista’s head dropped back, her gorgeous tits hard and pebbled, her long dark hair draped down her shoulders. It sent her over the edge, and she exploded into Matthew’s waiting mouth.
Trista shuddered, and sweet cum flowed over Fallon’s tongue. She moaned in protest when Trista backed away, her dark gaze cloudy and bemused. Fallon glanced down at Matthew and saw the sheen of her cum on his shadowed face. He straddled her and thrust his cock inside her pussy, reaching the sweet spot within her.
Fallon screamed, her body convulsing, shattering. Trista’s mouth on her breast only intensified the sensations. “Please,” she begged as her head tossed back and forth.
Matthew’s dick was buried inside her, and he met her gaze. “What, Fallon? What do you want, little prisoner?”
“Let me suck her again. Please.” Where did those words come from?
If anything, Matthew’s cock filled her more, as if her words caused him to get harder. He nodded, and Trista moaned against Fallon’s breast.
Trista straddled her again, facing Matthew, so that Fallon had to strain her tongue to reach her clit. She leaned forward so that Fallon could see everything that Matthew was doing to her and to Trista. Matthew’s hands stroked the woman’s tits. He thrust inside her and bit the side of Trista’s neck. Between them, Trista was the treat of the day.
Fallon feasted on her pussy, the taste heating her blood. But it was Matthew’s cock that sent her screaming against Trista’s pussy.
Almost immediately, Trista cried out a choked cry and bathed Fallon’s tongue again with her sweet nectar. Fallon moaned and lapped up the honey. Then, Matthew streamed his release inside her, and she splintered, her whole body tight and clenched. Pleasure ripped through every part of her system and left her relaxed.
Their heavy breathing was the last thing she heard as she dropped into a deep, exhausted sleep.
*
“I think we killed her,” Trista said breathlessly.
He glanced at Trista’s satisfied face. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you let go like that.”
She sighed. “It was nice. Something about the way she needed it but resisted it sent me over the edge.”
Fallon stirred beneath them, and Matthew urged Trista to move. “We should let her sleep a little.”
Trista slid her feet to the floor and stretched. “She’s quite a treasure, Matthew, but we still don’t know her game.”
He nodded. Asleep, Fallon seemed young, vulnerable. But he couldn’t forget who she was and what she’d tried to do. “She’s not only dangerous, Trista, I think she might be in danger herself.”
Her fingers busy with the bustier and her head bent, Trista’s expression wasn’t visible. “Are you sure that’s not wishful thinking on your part?”
Was it? He had to ask that question of himself. He broke the connection between their bodies, but wondered what other connections they now had. Women came and went in Matthew’s life, but Fallon had brought out a side of him he hadn’t expected. It was a possessive, demanding side that usually only appeared when it came to his work.
“Perhaps,” he answered. “But you have to ask why Earth Central has risked her life. First, they don’t inform her of the attempt on Donny’s life. We kept it off the general news vid streams, but Earth Central received our formal protest. They knew. Why not inform their prime negotiator?”
“I don’t know. It seems like they sent her in like a lamb into the lion’s den.” Trista frowned. “What does your gut tell you?”
Matthew’s famous gut. He gazed at the woman still sprawled naked on the bed. “My gut tells me she’s completely innocent, that she came here to do a job she believes in.” He shot Trista a dark smile. “The problem is that I don’t trust myself on this one.”
“Ah,” said Trista. “Yes, I see.”
Commanded to Yield Page 7
