Escape Velocity (Off-World Series, Book 7): Sexy Science-Fiction Romance Novel

by Rebecca York

  “Yes.”

  “The one I’m wearing and . . .”

  “The gold one you started with,” Max finished.

  She went back to get the first outfit.

  Rafe rummaged in a storage compartment, produced a carry bag, and handed it to her when she returned.

  She gave him a look from under lowered lashes. “Thank you. We got off on the wrong foot. I think that is the expression.”

  “Yeah.”

  “I am sorry I attacked you.”

  “I get it.”

  Max was silent as they made their way back to the air lock. Really, he wasn’t sure what to say. He should read her the riot act for attacking Rafe, but like his friend, he did get it—probably better than Rafe. He’d spent time with Amber, and he had seen her fierce determination not to end up in the hands of a sadist. Still, there should be rules of civilized behavior. Perhaps he didn’t always adhere to what the planetary authorities considered lawful. But he had his own moral code, and that didn’t include shooting first and asking questions later when you were dealing with a friend.

  Amber had grown up under conditions that might have made her meek and submissive—ready to accept whatever fate her masters decreed. Instead she’d had trouble accepting her role. And then when she’d learned her fate, she’d fought back.

  He gave her a quick look, seeing that she was keeping her eyes cast down while they waited for the pressure to equalize in the air locks.

  Finally, when they were back in the Golden Fleece, she turned to him with a fierce look on her face, and he braced himself for whatever was coming.

  Chapter Thirteen

  She lifted her chin as she clutched the handles of the carry bag.

  “You must punish me.”

  He blinked. “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “I tried to kill your friend. I will not feel right until you punish me for that.”

  “I understand why you did it. He understands.”

  “That doesn’t excuse me—or make me feel better.”

  “I’m not going to punish you.”

  “You must.”

  “Or what?”

  “I must do it.”

  “And how would you punish yourself?”

  She raised her chin. “With a knife. I must cut myself. Perhaps across the palm of my hand.”

  He heard himself shout, “No.”

  “Then you have to do what is your right.”

  “Cut you?”

  She kept her gaze steady. “You don’t have to do it that way.”

  “Oh, good.”

  “But I must be punished, one way or another. It is the code.”

  He clenched his fists. “You’ve not on Naxion now. You don’t have to adhere to any code you learned there.”

  “You are trying to be logical, but I feel the pressure in my chest. In my throat. I won’t feel better until I have satisfied the need for atonement.”

  He muttered under his breath. “And what is it that you want me to do?”

  “I have been thinking about it. When you rescued me on the station, you saw what those men did. They chained my arms to the wall. That’s what the guards always did when we rebelled. And then they whipped us.”

  “Kahlad. That might be the way on Naxion. Not between you and me.”

  “I don’t want to keep arguing about it. The sooner you punish me, the sooner it will be over.”

  He clenched his teeth, wondering how he was going to get out of doing this. Then an idea came to him.

  “It has to be a whipping?”

  “Or cutting. What else would it be?”

  “I guess you have to let me be the judge of that.”

  “Where can you fasten me to the wall?”

  “In the cargo bay.”

  “Then we should do it. Do you have something you can use as a whip?”

  “No.”

  “A leather strap.”

  “I’d rather use my hand.”

  She tipped her head to the side. “That might be all right.”

  He made his voice hard. “This is punishment, and what I do is my choice. I’m not going to take directions from you. And I’m not going to ease your mind by answering any questions.”

  She kept her gaze steady. “You are learning how to be stern with me.”

  The last thing he wanted to learn was to be an abuser. But he knew there was no point in arguing with her.

  Instead, he said, “Right. And not another word from you until I say you can speak.”

  She answered with a tight nod.

  “Let’s go. March yourself down to the cargo bay. Hurry up.” For emphasis, he gave her a little push in the right direction.

  She started off, her head down, and he guided her toward the interior bay doors. As they walked, he considered what he might do. She wanted to be punished. Or maybe needed was a better word. But the last thing he wanted to do was hurt her. He felt caught in a trap that she’d sprung on him. But at the same time, he felt a kind of pressure building inside his own chest. He silently admitted that he had been angry with her since they’d gotten back from the space station. First, she’d told him a pack of lies. Then she could have killed Rafe if they hadn’t stopped her. She was impulsive, and that could be dangerous for her—and for anyone around her.

  He didn’t want to think too much about what he was feeling, so he tried to focus on practicalities.

  After they’d stepped into the cargo bay, he looked around.

  She had asked him to fix her to the wall. But after seeing her in that Freedom Station storage room, the image made his stomach churn. No, it would have to be something else.

  He spotted a folding table and opened it up, then laid a padded cargo mat across it.

  “Permission to speak,” she said in a low voice.

  “Go ahead.”

  “Do you want me to lie on that?” she asked.

  “No.” As he spoke, he found some of the leather straps for securing the ends of packing cords. He used hooks to attach the straps to one end of the table.

  “Those won’t hold me.”

  “I know. It will make it worse for you if you have to hang on to the loops by yourself. And if you let go, the punishment will be worse.”

  She thought about it, then nodded.

  “Try them out. I want to see you bend over and grip them,” he ordered sternly.

  He had never exercised control over another person like this. He couldn’t help feeling the power of it building inside himself.

  She gave him a quick glance and stood at one end of the horizontal surface before bending over and reaching for the leather.

  When she had grasped the loops, he felt a little jolt of sensation that he didn’t want to examine too closely.

  Hearing his voice thicken he said, “Now stand up again and face me.”

  When she had complied, he said, “Take off your clothes. Do it slowly.”

  “Yes, master.”

  He might have said he wasn’t her master, but for the time being, he was.

  He gestured toward a carry box at the side of the room. “Fold everything neatly and lay them there. Then bend over the table and grasp the straps again.

  He watched her take off her dress, folding it carefully before reaching for her underpants. He let out a little breath when he saw her hands trembling slightly. This was real for her. And it was becoming real for him as well.

  When she was naked, she crossed to the thongs and stretched to reach them, her hands clenching around the leather.

  “Spread your legs,” he said.

  “Why?”

  “Because I said to,” he snapped. “And you did not have permission to speak. For emphasis, he gave her a swat across the bottom and felt her wince.

  When she’d spread her legs, he checked her position.

  “Move back a little.”

  She scooted back, still holding the thongs, and he knew he had her where he wanted her.

  With her positioned just s
o, he permitted himself the luxury of stepping back a few paces and looking at the tempting sight of her bent across the table, her pretty ass facing him and her cunny within easy reach.

  He had wondered if he could go through this. Now he was thinking she was right. The punishment would clear the air between them. Plus, he couldn’t stop himself from reacting to the erotic possibilities of the situation. He would never have done this to a woman if she hadn’t insisted. He silently admitted it was charging him up.

  When she started to turn her head to look at him, he slapped her on the bottom. “Keep your face away from me.”

  He had swatted her butt. He did it again, feeling his palm connect with her soft flesh. He spanked her several more times, watching her skin redden and listened to her breath accelerating.

  He pinched the reddened flesh, then reached down between her cheeks, to the front side of her, finding the hidden valley between her legs.

  “What are you doing?” she gasped out.

  “What I want to do.”

  “Why?”

  “You said I could choose your punishment. I want you to suffer with the need for release.”

  She made a small sound of surprise as he circled her clit, then dipped into her vagina, sliding his finger in and out. When she turned hot and wet, he took his hand away.

  He wanted to pull off his own clothing, but he wasn’t sure what he’d do if he shed his pants. He settled for shucking his shirt and walking over to fold it on top of the clothing she’d left on the storage box.

  He’d said he wanted her to suffer with the need for sexual climax. He was doing the same damn thing to himself, making his blood rush hotly in his veins. This woman had given him control over her body. He could do what he wanted to her. And he was finding he wanted to fek her brains out. But not yet.

  When he returned to her, he moved in close, pressing his aching cock to the curve of her thigh, torturing himself before pulling away. The trouble with this game was that he didn’t know how long he could play it without exploding.

  Ideas flitted through his mind. He could make her kneel in front of him and give him a blow job. But he didn’t want to do that. He didn’t want to spoil the pleasure of feking her by taking away any of his own need.

  He bent over her, his teeth playing with her shoulder.

  “Raise your chest,” he ordered, and she complied so that he could stroke her breasts before squeezing first one nipple and then the other.

  When she made a small needy sound, he pulled his hand away and watched her flop back to the table.

  When he laid his hand on her ass again, he could feel her body quivering, feel the heat coursing through his own body. He pressed his cheek to her shoulder while he stroked the curve of her hip, the ridges of her ribs.

  Then he pulled away, giving her swats on the bottom again.

  “Does that make you hotter?” he asked in a gritty voice.

  “Yes,” she breathed.

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know.”

  He didn’t know why it was doing the same to him, either. Perhaps it was the feeling of total control over her.

  “But it won’t make you come, will it?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  He spanked her one more time, then reached between her legs again, dipping in and out of her vagina, being careful to stay away from her clit. She was quivering harder, her whole body vibrating.

  “You need to come.”

  “Yes,” she gasped.

  “But you can’t do it until I’m ready to give it to you. What are you feeling?”

  “I . . .”

  “Answer me,” he demanded, forgetting that he had ordered her to silence at the beginning of this session.

  “Like my whole body is on fire.”

  “Good.”

  “The guards never did this to us,” she whispered, a pleading note in her voice.

  He laughed. “They gave you drugs to deaden you sexually. There wouldn’t have been any point in trying to charge you up, would there?”

  When she said nothing, he demanded, “Answer me when I ask you a question.”

  “I guess that’s right. There would have been no point,” she conceded, her voice thick and high.

  He stepped away. “I need a cold drink. Don’t move. If you do, you’ll be sorry.”

  He stepped out of the bay, hurried to the galley and filled a glass with cold water, which he dumped over his head. The shock helped a little, but not much.

  Leaning against the table, he sucked in air and expelled it in a rush, wondering how much longer he could keep this up. One thing he was pretty sure of; the two of them weren’t going too far from where she was standing when he released her.

  He strode to his cabin, scooped up a wad of bedding, and carried it back down the corridor.

  From the doorway, he watched her hands clench on the leather straps. Walking with light steps, he crossed the room and threw down the bedding.

  “Have you cooled down?” he asked, making her jump as she heard the question.

  “No.”

  “Let’s see.” He reached between her legs, feeling her wet, swollen sex.

  “Are you sorry you attacked my friend?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you think you’ve been punished enough?”

  “You must decide.”

  One thing he knew, he’d been punished enough.

  He took off his pants and kicked them away before moving between her spread legs. Slowly, standing behind her, he eased his penis inside her. It took every ounce of control he possessed to hold himself still.

  She made a little whimpering sound, and it occurred to him that he could easily come like this. But he didn’t want to do it alone. He reached to press his fingers against her clit, caressing her as he began to stroke in and out of her.

  He came in an explosion of pleasure and felt her follow him while he worked her with his hand.

  They were both gasping as he leaned his hand against the table for a moment, then straightened.

  When he’d caught his breath, he said, “Let go of the straps.”

  She did as he directed.

  “Stand up and turn around.”

  She stood, her eyes downcast. He saw her lower lip was quivering.

  “Are we finished?” she asked.

  “No. I think there’s more where that came from.”

  “What?”

  “Look at me.”

  She raised her head, and he waited several beats before saying, “Lift your hands. I want to see you play with your breasts.”

  Shock flashed across her face. He knew she wanted to refuse, but she raised her hands, stroking her curves, making the tips harden.

  “Now do your nipples. Twist them. Tug on them.”

  When she complied, he asked, “How does that feel.”

  “Good,” she gasped out.

  “Are you embarrassed to do it in front of me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good.” He smiled. “Now play with your clit. Not enough to make yourself come, but enough to charge yourself up again.”

  Her face was flushed, and she was breathing in little gasps as she did his bidding.

  “Stop. Pull your hand away.”

  When she did, he said, lick your fingers.

  Again, he knew she wanted to refuse. Instead she tentatively touched her tongue to her fingers.

  “I said lick.”

  “She did.”

  “How does it taste?”

  “Like . . . desire.”

  “Ah. Desire for what?”

  “For you,” she said in a choked voice.

  His own desire leaped inside him, but he said only, “Hands at your sides.”

  She obeyed the order, swaying slightly.

  “You desire the man who punished you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  She hesitated for a moment. “Because you charged us both up.”

  “Are you truly sorry
you attacked Rafe?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Step forward.”

  She looked uncertain as she obeyed.

  When she did, he reached for her, pulling her into his arms.

  He wanted to say he was sorry that he’d punished her that way. But he knew it was better than whipping her as she’d first proposed. And he also knew that if he said he was sorry, that might negate the punishment in her eyes.

  His skin burned against hers as he backed up, taking her down to the pile of bedding he’d thrown on the bay floor.

  He laid her on her back, this time entering her in one swift stroke, his hips starting to move the moment he was inside her. She matched the frantic rhythm he set, and moments later, he cried out as climax grabbed him. She kept moving, her hips rising and falling, and he felt her inner muscles clench as she came again.

  He stayed inside her, rolling to his side and cradling her in his arms, stroking her and kissing her.

  “That wasn’t what I expected,” she whispered.

  “Me neither.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “I didn’t know it would charge me up like that,” he admitted.

  “You’ve never done anything like that before?”

  “No.”

  “I’m glad.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s something we shared together—for the first time.”

  He reached to pull some of the covers over them, cradling her against himself.

  “We’d better get something straight. I’m not your master,” he said.

  “I’ve been in captivity for so long, it’s hard to realize I don’t have a master.”

  “I know,” he answered, trying to imagine what it would be like to belong to someone—to not be free. “You did pretty well when you tricked me into rescuing you,” he murmured.

  She raised up, looking down at him. “I was desperate.”

  “I know. And you were desperate when you attacked Rafe.” He kept his gaze on her. “You have to trust me, if we’re going to work together to defeat Tudor.”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you trust me?” he asked, watching her face.

  “I want to.” She dragged in a breath and let it out. “But there has never been a man I could trust—starting with my father. He didn’t love me. He only saw me as something that might be valuable. And if I turned out right, he could sell me to the slavers. Then there were the men who kept us at the slave camp. They gave us training, but they didn’t care about any of us. They were like my father. They saw us as commodities. Only they knew they could get return on their investment by selling us.”