Grabbing his clothes, she balled them up and tossed them at him. He caught them, but he made no attempt to put them on. Instead, he led the way to the brig. Since she didn't want to give them the idea that she hadn't actually meant it, or that she'd changed her mind, she grabbed her own clothes up under one arm and followed him.
There was no solitary confinement. She contented herself with locking him in the interrogation room. She was trying to stuff herself into her uniform and had just thrust her legs into it when she heard him call her name. Startled, she jerked upright, her head whipping in the direction of the sound. She saw him on the surveillance camera then. He was looking up at the camera, as if looking straight at her, almost absently massaging his cock and tight balls.
“I know it totally pisses you off, baby, but you were wet for me. I could feel the heat from your pussy on my cock when I was nudging that sweet little bud between your thighs."
Breanna felt her mouth go dry, her throat tighten, as if all the moisture in her body had focused on lubricating her cunt for his cock. Her finger poised over the off button and remained there as she watched him begin to stroke himself with calculated movements.
Groaning in pleasure, he closed his eyes.
Her skin prickled with heat as the sound traveled along her nerve endings and made the muscles in her sex tighten in response.
“I could smell the sweet scent of your juices,” he murmured huskily. “I had to stop before I came on your belly. I wanted to shove my cock inside your tight little pussy so badly I can still taste it, still taste your scent on my tongue."
Her nipples began to throb like an aching tooth. Blood flooded her labia, pulsing almost painfully with every beat of her heart. She massaged her breasts in an instinctive need to ease the pain, but discovered it only increased her discomfort.
“Touch yourself, baby. Feel those creamy juices wetting your pussy. Your body wants mine, whatever you think you want. When I close my eyes, I can feel your pussy closing around my cock like a tight fist. It makes me want to pump my cock into you so deep and so hard you scream for more."
Almost like a sleepwalker, she found her hand between her thighs. She was wet for him. She could feel her cunt clenching and unclenching, as if she was massaging his cock inside of her. A shaft of exquisite pleasure went through her as she dragged her fingers across her clit. She rubbed it, gasping as another bolt of pleasure followed the first. Dragging in a shaky breath, she stroked herself as she watched him, feeding off the pleasure she saw in his face. Her body jerked as she saw him stiffen, saw his cock jerking in convulsive pleasure. She cried out as her own body convulsed in release.
“Was it good for you, baby?"
Breanna's eyes snapped open. Caleb was staring straight at the camera once more, as if he could see her as well as she could see him. Punching the off button, she thrust her arms in to her jumpsuit, grabbed her towel and headed back to the showers.
She knew she wasn't striding away in anger and disgust, however. She was fleeing.
* * * *
Breanna had managed to avoid Caleb for all of two days without, she hoped, the appearance of doing so, but she'd known the ship was too small to give her much time to brace herself for the next ‘dance'.
Without even looking in his direction, she knew the moment he entered the gym and paused to watch her, lounging against the wall in a casual stance, his arms folded over his chest.
They were alone in the gym.
He was starting to make a habit of catching her alone.
She didn't like it, and she didn't believe for a moment that it was purely coincidence.
She glanced down at the monitor on the front of the treadmill and saw her heart rate had just jumped up by several beats per minute. “You're forming a bad habit, Sylvaine."
Caleb found a glib response didn't leap readily to mind. In fact, his mind was pretty well occupied with the gentle bounce of her breasts with every step she took. He could hear her gasping slightly from exertion. Her skin was flushed, damp with a faint sheen of moisture. Her clothes clung. Her hair was hanging in damp tendrils around her face.
She would look like that, he thought, when she had been thoroughly fucked.
His cock, ever hopeful, stood stiffly at attention the moment the thought formed in his mind. He wondered if she'd enjoyed the show he put on for her the other night. If her behavior was anything to go by, she'd stayed to see the entire performance.
It was possible, of course, that she'd been avoiding him because of the little set to in the steam room, but he rather thought it was more than that. He hoped it was more than that. He didn't like to think he'd gotten himself all worked up over her and she hadn't had enough interest to stay and watch.
The release he'd given himself thinking about her, imagining her watching and touching herself, hadn't actually given him that much relief. He'd been horny as hell ever since he'd teased her and left her without allowing himself so much as a taste of those ripe little buds that had been drilling holes in his chest the whole time he'd been kissing her throat.
Masturbating had only seemed to make the situation worse, not better. He hadn't been able to think of much besides crawling inside of her since he'd stepped into the steam room and stared down at her splayed thighs and the pouting pink nether lips between them.
“What?” he said finally in response to her cool remark. “Is the gym off limits to grunts when there's an officer on deck?"
She stopped the machine and picked up the towel she'd lain across the support bars in front, dabbing at her face. “Did you want something, Sylvaine?"
He wanted something all right. He was tempted to describe it to her in graphic detail, but he didn't particularly want to spend another night in solitary ... unless she was locked in the room with him ... maybe tied spread eagle for him like a dessert tray, so that he could work his tongue over her slowly and taste every inch of her flesh until she was panting and begging him to thrust his cock inside her. “No ma'am,” he said, allowing a slight smile to curl his lips. “Just came to work out."
He could see it irritated the hell out of her, which pleased him no end. Ice maiden, my ass, he thought to himself as he turned his back on her and set the weights on the weight bench. There was a volcano under all that ice and he planned to be the miner that set it off.
* * * *
By the end of their first week out, Caleb had Breanna's schedule down to the minute. Fortunately, she was so rigidly military she did everything by the clock without even realizing it. It made it easy for him to casually appear where ever she was without seeming calculated. He made it a point to vary the routine. Sometimes he'd arrive before her. Sometimes he'd wait until just before she left, and then sometimes he just happened to arrive right in the middle of something interesting. At times, she was alone, and others not. The objective was to keep her guessing, and to keep her constantly off guard.
The mission was to see just how quickly he could launch operation fuck-her-blind. He hoped he could accomplish his mission before he reached a state of internal combustion, because, although he wasn't entirely sure it was working on her, it was sure as hell working on him.
On the schedule today was a foray in the showers. Breanna didn't seem to have any real inhibitions about bathing with the rest of the crew, but she seemed to prefer having the showers to herself. Two days a week, she bathed with everyone else. The rest of the week, she bathed alone.
He'd considered arriving before her, but realized that would give her the chance to retreat—not that she would. She was determined to convince him that she was indifferent to him and knew she couldn't do that if she retreated. But she could opt to take the shower furthest from him, and that just wasn't going to do it for him.
He waited, therefore, timing her until he was certain she'd had time lather her hair, then strode casually into the room and stepped beneath the shower beside her. She had her face turned up to the shower head.
The water running over her body enthralle
d him, momentarily distracting him completely from his game plan. When she finally blinked the water out of her eyes, he was still absently lathering his genitals—massaging them actually because, from the moment his gaze had locked with the gleaming cascade caressing her body, blood engorged his cock and his balls tightened as if someone had a strangle hold on them. They hurt like a son-of-a-bitch.
Her startled gaze jolted him out of his abstraction and he proceeded with ‘the plan', focusing on soaping his upper torso. His aim was a little off. The bar of soap ‘accidentally’ shot from his hand, landing wide. He lunged for it, glancing up her length as he grabbed it, but she'd stepped away and the view wasn't nearly as interesting as he'd hoped. “Sorry."
She was studying him suspiciously when he'd retreated to his shower head once more. He ignored the look, dropping the soap in the dish on the wall and bracing his hands against the bulkhead as he leaned in to it, allowing the water to run over his head. When he sloughed the water from his eyes, she'd returned her attention to her own bath, turning slightly away from him. He eyed the curve of her buttocks as he lathered his hair. His aim was better the second time. The soap clipped her on the ass. He dragged the soap over his face and squinted at her when she turned to glare at him. “Shit! Dropped the soap again and I've got it in my eyes. Could you hand it to me?"
He caught her arm and then managed to grope a breast as she turned to hand it back to him. She stiffened, but she didn't move away as he ‘blindly’ felt her up and finally allowed her to place the slippery bar in his palm.
He felt her hand close around his cock as he was rinsing his face. He felt as if she'd slammed her fist into his solar plexus. Her grip forced the air out of his lungs.
“Are you playing games, soldier?"
He looked down at his cock in her hand and then back up at her tight face. “No ma'am. Are you?"
Her lips pursed.
“Because if you are, it feels better when you pump it."
Something flickered in her eyes. Her hand tightened almost painfully around his cock. Blood began to pulse in his brain.
“You do know that it's a court martial offense for an officer to engage in sexual congress with an enlisted man,” she said tightly.
“Fortunately for both of us, I'm not in the regulars."
She released him abruptly, but she was breathing unevenly.
He caught her around the waist when she would've whirled to leave. They tussled briefly before he managed to pin her against the shower wall. He leaned into her, plastering his water slickened body against hers. “I'm not an officer, but I am a gentleman if you're worried I might be tempted to talk."
She studied him for a long moment. “You're not an officer or a gentleman, Sylvaine, and I can guarantee you you won't be getting the chance to put me in your brag book."
* * * *
That snide remark rankled and not only because it was completely unjust. It was a drawing of firm battle lines if he'd ever heard them, a thrust to allow him to know that his subtle campaign wasn't nearly as skillful as he'd thought.
So much for sneaking up on her blind side.
He decided to retreat and give her time to stew for a while. They were nearing the Mayflower anyway and the mission had begun to distract her too much to suit him. They had two weeks coming back, though, and he fully intended to nail that piece of ass before it got beyond his reach.
Her remark totally pissed him off, though. He didn't have a damn brag book. He didn't need one. Those were for men who had to work to get laid and had to count their coups when they did manage it just to feel manly.
What really ticked him off, though, was the realization that he'd worked harder to get between the woman's thighs than any pair in his memory, and he still hadn't managed it.
* * * *
Caleb finished zipping up the thick vest which held the ammunition clips to the weapon propped beside him as he surreptitiously watched the others prepare to enter the Mayflower and break off into their fire teams. Angus, Luis, and Clayborne were usually the point men, with the rest of the groups following their lead ... but not this time—Captain Delaney had a better idea. Keith Hunter, a red head that managed to fit the stereotype to a T, and whom he didn't trust any further than he could spit, would be joining him and Breanna to form the first team to form the point team.
He didn't like it. Breanna was the commanding officer. She should be staying on the damn IO , commanding. She hadn't struck him as the gung ho type, forging blindly into danger. The ship had disappeared 25 years ago. It wasn't likely there would be any living threat on it, but no one knew what the circumstances were behind the disappearance.
Even if it had been long enough that there was little likelihood of them facing whatever it was that had gone wrong, the ship had been floating in space for years. There wasn't any telling what kind of shape the thing was in.
They'd scanned it, naturally, but there were only so many hazards they could scan for without hooking into the Mayflower's computer, and that, not surprisingly, seemed to be down.
The hiss of the doors opening brought him out of his reverie. Locking his helmet down, he hefted the massive weapon into his arms and pushed through the opening into the cold chamber beyond. A fine layer of dust covered the walls and floor, sifting into the air as he shuffled further into the air lock, approaching the door opposite the one he had entered. It was empty and black as pitch beyond the lighted entrance of their ship, there were no bodies—dead or alive. He switched his helmet light on, watching in satisfaction as the shadows disappeared under its merciless white beam. Breanna stepped cautiously inside, banishing more darkness with her lighted approach.
“It's freezing in here,” he muttered, his movements slowed by the chill in his bones as he signaled the others to follow his lead. His fingers awkward and fumbling from the thickness of his gauntlets, it took him several moments before he managed to snap the gauge onto the keypad beside the door. “I can gain access to mainframe from here since the air lock is controlled by the main computer system.” He punched in a series of codes he'd memorized from G-Tech databanks. “Got it. Looks like the air generators are working. I can't reach the lights from here though. We'll need to find an access panel."
Breanna's voice rasped from her mask, “Good work. We can save our respirators then.” She faced the others, “The air generators are working. You won't need your respirators for now. Caleb, lead out."
At her order, Caleb removed the gauge, strapping it back in place on his vest. He keyed the first door open with a simple code, satisfied when it slid open with a metallic scrape. The air suddenly changed, flowing like a sigh around him like a breath that had been held for too long and finally released.
Caleb released the breath he'd been unconsciously holding since keying in the code. He stepped cautiously through the opening. Breanna and Keith closed in behind him, holding their own weapons at the ready. He looked down either side of the darkened corridor. Elongated shadows sprung up as he scanned area for any sign of movement and he felt his heart rate step up a couple of beats. Finally, he turned to look at the other fire teams who had entered the room.
“It's clear,” Caleb's voice resonated hollowly through the respirator.
“Okay. Hold up a minute,” Breanna said to Caleb, but motioned for the other groups to huddle. “Maintain contact with the other teams through the headset and be aware of each other's movements at all times. Angus, Kingsley, take your teams to the right and split up at the next junction. Jackson, your team comes with us and does the same. Find the communications room and let us know when you do. And be careful, we don't know what the hell happened here,” she finished, moving back to Caleb and signaling for him to take the lead with a motion of her hand.
The eeriness of the ‘ghost’ ship weighed on them as they made their way cautiously down the cold, vacuous corridor to the first junction. The paused there, penetrating the darkness with their helmet lights as they studied the lay, and finally split up, taking two
different directions. Chalky light streamed through the tunnel-like connector, reflecting dully off its tarnished walls. Dust rose from their passing, sifting through the air like a thick clinging mist.
Breanna resisted the urge to shiver but not her impulse to look back Behind them loomed total darkness as the inky, black pools closed in with their passing. Beyond the reach of her beam lurked shadows within shadows seemingly alive in their intensity, and yet she knew nothing could possibly be following them.
“We need to find an access panel and get the lights on and adjust the temperature,” Breanna whispered to her group. Though she hadn't been able to study the schematics of the Mayflower itself, she'd studied what she could to give her the best idea of what to expect. It couldn't be much different than G-tech's big ships, and if their schematics where correct, there should be an access panel on this level.
The darkness surrounding the fringes of their lights seemed thick, almost tangible. The sense, almost of being watched, began to crawl over Breanna's skin. She tried to shake it off, knowing it was a childish flight of fancy. It had been 25 years since anyone alive had roamed these halls. Almost all the life support systems had shut down long ago. It was highly unlikely that they would encounter anything that would present a danger.
The ship itself was another matter. It looked sound enough. The IO had reported the hull unbreached, but it would be far wiser to err on the side of caution than risk any unfortunate accidents.
As reluctant as she was to encounter one, it began to weigh on her as they progressed when they saw no bodies. The cold vacuum of space should have preserved them, and there'd been hundreds of colonists, none of whom, as far as everyone knew, had managed to get off except the two occupying the one evacuation pod that had been picked up. They saw nothing in the corridor or the rooms they had passed they gave them a clue as to the whereabouts of the long lost settlers. It was almost as if they had never existed.
There'd been a panic. Perhaps the colonists had piled together in one room and died there? She shuddered as an image of a huge room filled to the brim with the emaciated corpses of the settlers flitted through her mind.
Endless Night Page 4
