by Sabrina York
Dan pulled away. God, was that hard.
So was something else.
There’d always been an elusive and alluring air about her. But now a cloud of sensuality surrounded her.
Just breathing her scent made him a little woozy. “I’m worried about you.”
“Worried?”
Hell. She was touching him again. Her hand, a silky serpent, slid up his thigh. He grabbed her wrist before she found evidence of his arousal. He was her boss, for God’s sake.
“Damn it, Green. This isn’t professional.”
“Professionals fuck.”
A shiver skittered down his spine. That word. Her lips. Bloody hell. “They don’t fuck everyone on the team.”
Her grin was mischievous, nearly taunting. “I haven’t fucked everyone on the team.”
“Not yet.” He meant it to be sarcasm but somehow it sounded like a complaint.
Sage moved closer. She rubbed her chest against his and his heart surged. A red tide crept up his neck.
She was so soft, so warm against him. “Give me some time, commander.”
He sucked in a breath and forced himself to step away, though she followed him, cornered him. She had no idea how many nights he’d spent thinking about her, fisting his cock in frustrated rage. She had no idea how weak his defenses were.
“Sage…I’m warning you.”
She backed him up against the wall and ran a nail across his nipple. His knees went weak as the blood rushed to his groin.
“What are you going to do? Punish me?”
Hot, searing heat slashed through him, and all his defenses—along with his sanity—crumbled.
“Yes. Goddamn it,” he snarled. “I am.”
He spun her around and dragged her to the desk, bending her over the wooden edge, her ass in the air. Before she had time to respond, his hand landed, hard, on her bottom. She cried out but it wasn’t in pain or fright. She cried out in pure passion and wriggled her ass.
So he smacked her again. And again. And again.
He infused each stroke with years of frustration and jealousy and wanting. The flat slap of each spank echoed off the walls of his small office, mingling with her cries and his guttural grunts of exertion.
And when he paused—frankly, his palm was getting sore—she stood and stared at him like a wild thing, a burning hunger in her eyes. A hunger for him.
She dropped to the floor and, before he could stop her, she had his pants undone and around his knees, and his cock in her mouth and oh. Oh. Fuck. It was incredible.
Her mouth was tight and hot. Her tongue swirled like a slithering snake, licking at him, lapping at him, nudging the little hole at the tip of his engorged shaft.
When she took him in her mouth, all the way in so he could feel the muscles of her throat working at his length, he nearly blacked out.
Years of passion, years of wanting, years of fantasizing about just this, seared him. Welled up in him. His cum boiled up from his balls, forcing its way along the shaft of his cock, creating a blinding, pressing need to ejaculate.
But she didn’t let him.
Close to whimpering, he watched as she backed away. She tipped up her chin and gazed into his eyes—the look he’d always wanted to see.
“I want you in me, Dan,” she said. “I want your cock in me.”
How could he deny her?
Frantically, he looked around his office for a condom but of course there were none. And in the end, she wouldn’t have it anyway.
She stripped off her jeans and pulled her tee shirt over her head and walked toward him, a lioness on the hunt, wearing nothing but her underwear.
“I’m so wet.” She guided his hand beneath the band of her panties.
God. White cotton. Just like he’d imagined. She pressed him against her slit and he felt it, felt her. Slick. Thick. Hot as hell.
He could wait no longer.
With a crazed arm, he swiped the papers and files from his desk and settled her on it. Ripping those panties from her cunt, he bent and lapped at a nectar he had only dreamed of before now. Her clit was rigid, throbbing, nearly squirming with delight beneath his tongue. He sucked it into his mouth and drew on her. Hard.
A great glob of cream oozed from her pussy. He dabbed at it, spread it around then slipped his fingers—three of them—inside her velvet haven. Jesus. So sweet. So tight. So wet. Her heat scorched him.
Enough of this shit. She was ready, and he was aching and full.
He lifted her knees, opened her wide. And then, using nothing but instinct, homed in on heaven. And holy crap. It was heaven. She wrapped her silky cunt lips around him and tightened, groaning and thrashing as he delved deeper and deeper still.
He couldn’t still his hips. Of their own accord, they began to thrust. Magnificent. She held nothing back and neither did he. Harder and harder, he plunged, deeper and deeper.
His cock began to weep. His balls tightened and his muscles tensed, certain of the fulfillment to come. And then…
And then something wrapped around his shaft. Something slender and slick. It held him in an agonizingly pleasurable vise. That something tongued him, licked at the head of his cock. And pressed in.
He cried out in agony, exquisite agony, as whatever it was entered him. He felt it, that tendril skirling into his penis and twining down his shaft to coil, to nest in his balls. He came at the sensation, exploded with a wash of ecstasy so overpowering he thought he’d lost his mind.
The feeling, whatever it had been, the fullness inside him, waned, leaving him in the grip of an unbelievable pleasure.
And then she came and it washed over him again. That, and the deep satisfaction of knowing he’d finally—finally—had her.
Epilogue
Lieutenant Amy Kittredge fisted her hands on her hips and stared out at the yard. With the exception of the rust-red stains on the rocks, the puddles of blood still soaking into the sand, all evidence of the massacre had been tagged and bagged and stored in the evidence locker aboard the Wastrel.
Private Dawson stepped out of the barracks with a clipboard under his arm.
“Find anything interesting?” she asked him.
He shook his head. “Nothing to indicate what happened here. For all intents and purposes, this was a pretty standard scientific expedition.”
“That went to shit.” Kittredge snorted and flicked a glance to the rocky horizon. With the exception of a patch of weeds near the barracks door, it was a barren wasteland. What Cosmicorp had found worth studying here was a mystery to her. Then again, who gave a shit? She was just here to do her job. “Find any more survivors?”
Dawson grimaced. “Just the two. Poor bastards.”
Kittredge shrugged. “They’re feeling no pain.”
“Yeah. But you gotta wonder. What puts a guy into a coma and gives him a priapism?”
“Not our problem.” The victims, or in this case, the survivors—Daniel Sampson and Riley Spencer—were tucked away in cotton wool on the Wastrel’s sick bay, raging hard-ons and all. What had happened to them, well, that wasn’t her concern.
The company didn’t want to know what caused one—or more—member of this team to go ape-shit crazy and slaughter most of the camp. The company wanted the site scrubbed. And that was what she’d do.
“Let’s finish up here and get back to the ship.” But as she turned, a sudden flash of light caught her attention.
She made her way over the rocky yard to the pile of weeds beside the barracks. Whatever it was glinted in the weak sunlight once more. Kittredge knelt next to the stalky flower and probed the twining vines. And felt something hard. Metallic.
She dug at it but the weeds held it tight, as though they didn’t want to let it go.
“What’d you find?” Dawson moved closer.
“I dunno.” Kittredge pulled out her Swiss Army knife and opened the blade. Sawing at the vines, she released the object. “Huh.”
“What is it?”
“A watch.”
She turned it over in her palm. Read the inscription. “Who’s Sage?”
Dawson consulted the list on his clipboard. “Sage Green? Looks like she was the team’s botanist.”
“Botanist. Huh.”
“The only female on the expedition.”
“Really. Did we find her body?”
“Not a trace.”
“That’s odd.”
Dawson snorted. “Everything about this is odd.”
True. Her team had scrubbed some of the most fucked-up incidents on the planet but this one was the strangest by far. It was like all the men—except the two in comas, of course—had gone crazy and ripped each other to pieces. And the one female in the middle of this chaos…nowhere to be found.
Well, fuck. Not her problem.
Kittredge glanced at the flower, the one at the end of the long stalk sprouting from the nest of weeds in which she knelt. It was at eye level. It had the strangest scent, something alluring and primal. Something familiar that made her mouth water. It kind of reminded her of…sperm. She leaned closer.
The flower was a deep red, with bright-yellow streaks. It curled into a tight waxy ball but when she touched it, stroked its soft petals, the flower began to open.
Kittredge sat back on her knees and stared, fascinated. She was hardly a flower person but this was amazing. She’d never seen anything like it.
Tipping her head, she leaned closer.
And the bud exploded.
About the Author
Her Royal Hotness, Sabrina York, writes naked erotic fiction for fans who like it hot, hard and balls-to-the-wall, and erotic romance and fantasy for readers who prefer a slow burn to passion. An award-winning author in multiple genres, Sabrina loves writing hot, humorous stories in all kinds of settings.
Sabrina York welcomes comments from readers. You can find her website and email addresses on her author bio page at www.ellorascave.com.
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Also by Sabrina York
Adam’s Obsession
Tristan’s Temptation
Ellora’s Cave Publishing
www.ellorascave.com
Rising Green
ISBN 9781419939815
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Rising Green Copyright © 2012 Sabrina York
Edited by Carrie Jackson
Cover design by Syneca
Photo: Gabi Mosa/Shutterstock.com
Electronic book publication July 2012
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