by Annalise
She touched thumbnail after thumbnail. At about the eighteenth touch, she gasped. “Angel,” she whispered.
It was Angel Martinez. Her hair might be a dark smooth mane, instead of the riot of curls showing in the last photo taken before she’d disappeared, but there was no doubt. It was their quarry.
“A beautiful girl,” Link said.
“Choose her.”
Link went through the motions. When the room printer spit out his appointment, he fought the need to touch the hard copy with his fingertips, disgusted at what he’d agreed to.
Angel Martinez looked much younger than twenty.
* * * * *
“Here’s the best plan. I’ll wear something really concealing but sexy, so it isn’t suspicious, and when we have Angel with us, we’ll somehow convince her to leave in my place.”
Link took her hand. “I can’t agree to this. Even if I have Homeland Security standing by to take Angel and then enter with writs or whatever to bust the place wide open, it might be too late to save you from something that will make your sunburn seem tame.”
“I’m prepared to do this. It’s the only way. You saw how many doors we need to pass through. The cameras. The attendants. We’ll never get out if we don’t use subterfuge and as far as I’m concerned, KISS is still the smartest plan. Keep It Simple Sweetheart.”
Evans pulled her hand away and went to the desk. She read the details of the appointment over again and kept her back to him. It was necessary he not read the truth in her eyes.
There would be no cavalry arriving to bust her out. No one would be slapping any writs of search on that glossy marble reception desk.
She’d lied to Link. She’d lied because without his help, she knew she would not get back into The Palace. Without his help, she’d never redeem herself.
When she’d been assigned this mission, it had been made very clear to her that Angel Martinez’s presence in the brothel must never be revealed, nor any hint of it breathed anywhere, at any time, to anyone.
It would compromise the Secretary’s position. He’d be ineffective, subject to blackmail.
No, getting out was something she’d have to manage on her own, but not until Link had Angel safely away.
“Help me buy a suitable outfit,” she said with false brightness.
“Shop?”
“Yes, and don’t look at me as if I’ve asked you to donate your right ball to a sperm bank. Let’s go spend some of the government’s credits.”
* * * * *
Link stood like a statue as the women of Haute Boutique fluttered around Evans. Only those who could afford designs straight off the runway shopped here. The carpet was thick and the women who browsed at the racks expensively scented.
Evans pretended she was a regular. Link looked as if someone had nailed his feet to the floor. Each time a woman passed him, they gave him a once over. Each time, he pretended he was a synth mannequin.
For the first time, Evans realized how truly impressive a man Link had become. His years in SpaceFleet Command had matured him well. His height, fine shape, and military bearing turned every woman’s eye. Yet there was also something aloof about him that made the patrons give him a wide berth. She bet she was the only one who could detect that bit of panic beneath the reserve in his expression.
Evans realized Link probably only used a personal shopper. He had no idea of the joys of making one’s own choices. With a small smile, Evans thought she could predict the state of Link’s closet. All the same general colors. Everything would go together, so he wouldn’t have to make too many choices, just reach in and grab.
“I think I’m ready,” she said.
“Thank God. Let’s go.” Link pointed to the front door.
“No, this way.” She pointed to the rear of the shop. “I meant I’m ready to try things on. Follow me.”
Like a man on the way to meet his executioner, Link followed her with heavy steps to the plush chamber arrayed with her choices.
“You may leave us,” Evans said to the personal assistant. The young man mewed a disappointed sound before he left them alone.
With one eye on Link, Evans began to strip. She took everything off and pulled a red silk caftan over her head. Link sat rigidly upright on a small stool, his eyes fixed on a spot just above her navel. She dipped into a curtsey. “So, how’s this?”
His gaze flicked up and down. He shrugged. “It’s okay.”
“I don’t want okay. I want sexy but concealing. Help me.”
A shudder ran through his body. “I hate these places. They smell funny.”
“And a museum doesn’t? It’s just a mingling of expensive perfumes. Usually perfume is meant to entice.”
“I’m not enticed. I have a headache.”
What was the matter with him? She knelt on the carpet before him and planted her hands over his where they lay on his knees. “Look at me, Link.”
His pupils were dilated, the whites of his eyes threaded with red. Sweat beaded on his forehead and across his upper lip.
“Did you take anything?”
“Green drink.”
“That was back at The Palace.” She turned his hand over and skimmed her fingertips across his cold, clammy palm. “You must be having a delayed reaction to something they gave you.” He wasn’t sick with something conventional; all off-planet officers were inoculated with everything the pharmaceutical industry could produce. She snapped her fingers in front of his face. “Link, look at me.”
His hands quivered. He licked his lips. “I don’t think… I have to get out of here.”
She slipped her arm beneath his and helped him up. “Wait.” She propped him against the wall. His face looked stiff and his gaze turned inward.
She threw on her clothes. With a quick glance about, she chose a black dress with a matching cape. The hood would conceal her hair and maybe her face. It was also obvious. Too obvious, but she couldn’t worry about that now. Not with Link looking the way he did.
Link walked beside her with a slow, shambling gait. She steered him to the door with a shove of her hip and practically carried him to the PF.
The hotel staff carried him to their room.
“Drunk,” she said to the two men who usually hoisted nothing more weighty than a few designer bags.
“Looks sick to me,” the older of the porters said, stepping back from the bed and wiping his hands. “Sure it’s not sickness? Wasn’t he on Mars? Do they have weird diseases there or something?”
“Don’t worry,” Evans said, kissing Link’s forehead. “I would be the last person to touch him if he was sick. He just has no head for liquor.”
Once the porters were gone, she summoned the same physician who’d treated her. The civilian Angel’s father had sent, not the base physician. Link moaned and thrashed on the bed, lost in some nightmare.
The physician spent some time examining him before administering an injection. “This is remarkably similar to your problem. Diagnostics say he’s taken a drug to restore sexual vigor, but the results are off-kilter, just as yours were. And if he’s allergic to all the sperm suppressors, this will really fry his nuts.”
“Is that why he looks so uncomfortable?” Evans perched beside Link and held his hand while the doctor’s injection worked through his system.
“I’d say what he’s experiencing is akin to having fire ants gnawing on his testicles.”
Link moaned and thrashed, scraping his heels against the mattress. His eyes opened, the whites deeply veined in red.
“Can he hear me?”
“Oh, sure, he just won’t feel much like answering.”
The doctor slid his diagnostic unit into his pocket and headed for the door.
“Will he… like me… want to… when he’s better.”
“Oh, yes. Be ready. You might want to order in a lubricant or you’ll have trouble sitting for a few days. Whatever you do, keep away from that cream!”
Two hours later, Link reared off the mattress,
eyes wide, and snatched her into his arms.
“Whoa, lover,” she whispered. But just as he had described her actions, he either couldn’t or wouldn’t hear. So she gave in to it.
He rolled her beneath him and plunged into her. His cock was as hard as her favorite dildo. Just as it would be if drug-enhanced, but she knew more than a simple erectile stimulator had been in his drink.
An earthy scent rose from his skin. She restrained herself from lapping the moisture from his throat and chest. What if the drug could transfer to her that way? His nipples were sharp points against her breasts and each time she slid her fingertips across them, his whole body jerked.
She cupped his buttocks and locked her legs around his hips. The ride was frantic, his climax quick.
The amount of time between his erections was little more than twenty minutes. And between each erection he stroked her, kissed her, his hands wandering, arousing, keeping her on the verge of ecstasy, but never allowing her to fall over the precipice.
“Let me,” she said the third time he tried to enter her. This time, she knelt between his thighs and took him into her mouth, drugs be damned. She scraped her teeth up and down his cock, licked his testicles. They were like hot coals against her lips, so hot she wondered how he could tolerate the sensation. His body ran with sweat, every muscle flexed, every tendon straining while she nuzzled him.
His come tasted acrid as it erupted into her mouth. She climbed his body. He was fast asleep.
With a sigh, she ran to the bathroom, spit his come into a cup, then rinsed her mouth for several minutes. She set the cup aside for analysis and went back to bed. She curled beside him and scrutinized every breath she took and each beat of her heart for some sign of Link’s drug. After a quarter hour, she laughed at herself and put her arms around his waist.
That proved to be a mistake. He made a guttural sound in his throat, turned and faced her, eyes open, but unseeing. His fist wrapped around his cock. He worked it without any sign it gave him pleasure, so she covered his fingers and slowed his harried motions.
She laved the head of his penis with her tongue. There seemed little point in being fucked raw by him when in less than thirty-six hours they would both need to be fit—or at least appear fit—for a round with Angel Martinez.
His hand fell away, his throat worked. “When will this end?” he asked, his voice hoarse.
“A few hours.”
“I’ll be dead.” He clutched the sheets and spread his legs.
“No, you won’t.” She stroked the smooth skin of his inner thighs, reveling in the quiver of his muscles to her touch.
“Now.” It was all he said.
Whatever he wanted, he indicated it by the impatient push of his hand. She slid to the bottom of the bed and sucked his big toe, licked her way up his leg and feasted on him again. As he neared his climax, she moved up to kiss his mouth, swallowing his moans this time, her hand holding his stiff cock against her belly.
The small amount of semen that erupted was molten hot and sticky, gluing their bellies together. When dawn brightened the sky outside their hotel chamber, he finally fell into a sleep that appeared normal.
She hit the shower and took a basin and wash cloth to the bedside. She bathed him gently, knowing his skin must feel raw as hers had. His skin was still hot. He moaned once and shoved at her hand, but she continued to bathe him, replenishing the cool water as it warmed.
Then she curled at his side and watched his face. How she loved him. Thoughts that something might happen to him in The Palace made her stomach clench. She couldn’t make any mistakes.
None.
Chapter 20
A ray of sunlight fell across the bed. Link groaned and sat up. His head hadn’t ached so much since that first binge when he’d been a cadet, when he’d discovered he had no tolerance for sweet drinks. When he stood the room tipped, but Evans’s arm was there, sliding around his waist to steady him.
“Thanks,” he said. His mouth tasted like the dust on the soles of his Mars boots. He had to lean against the wall of the shower while she bathed him. It embarrassed him that at any other time, he’d be jumping her bones up against the shower wall, rather than panting from exhaustion while she had her way with him—with a washing cloth.
“Is there anything I can get you?” she asked.
He dropped into a chair after the shower and watched her deftly change the damp bed linens.
“Nothing. I just want to sleep for a year.”
“Well, you have about five hours and then you and your equipment have to look perky at The Palace.”
Angel. He’d forgotten for a moment. “Can’t you get the place shut down for these drug things?”
“On what evidence? We both had acute reactions to something? Pretty flimsy. Who’s to say we even got it there?” She shook her head. “Too much time between our visit and the reactions.”
“But we have Grace8’s hatred of us both. Isn’t that enough? You took her place and I ran out on her.”
“It’s not enough.”
She wore a defeated expression that touched him. His Evans wasn’t a quitter. He tried another approach.
“If I remember correctly, you said they might be testing drugs, or variations of drugs, on the guests. Why doesn’t Homeland Security use that as an excuse to raid the place?”
“I don’t know. I’ll see what I can do about it.”
He watched her spend the next two hours on the communications panel with little effect.
Rapidly she learned that angle wouldn’t work to shut the place down. Too many influential people frequented The Palace. She already knew exactly how influential some of The Palace’s clients were. No one in the government bureaucracy would take a chance on offending the wealthy and powerful with something as innocuous as illegal drugs, especially since she was talking about drugs most men would pay a hefty sum to get their hands on.
She finally had to explain to Link exactly what they were up against, using an abbreviated account of her encounter with Alexander Kennedy as an example.
There was no help for it. They had to go in again. At least this time they knew they would reach Angel.
* * * * *
Evans followed Link through the corridors of The Palace, her body concealed by her black gown and cape. She hoped she hid her anxiety as well. Today was the culmination of their mission. One way or another, it would be over.
Link still looked exhausted, his eyes bloodshot. But his bearing was erect and she feasted her eyes on him.
She might not ever see him again.
She saw the reluctance in his eyes when a pair of attendants entered the robing chamber to help them undress.
“We don’t need any help, thanks. Now or later. I hate all the fawning. Get it?” he said abruptly.
With bows and smiles, the two attendants left with alacrity. Evans realized he wanted to be sure there would be no one helping out when she switched clothing with Angel.
They both hurried, removing their clothing and tossing it onto the hangers without much care. Evans found it hard to swallow. What if something had gone wrong? What if Angel wasn’t on the other side of that door?
Together, they stepped into the chamber.
Angel looked so young. Evans felt her stomach lurch. How were they going to do this? How could they get to the end of this session without violating a few dozen of their own personal barriers or standards?
Link set his hand on Angel’s bowed head. “Look at me.”
The girl raised her face and he cupped her chin and examined her face. When he looked up, Evans met his gaze over Angel’s head. She was wearing lavender ribbons tied to her wrists and ankles… with lots of dangling ends… for tying to something, Evans supposed.
“Let’s get to it,” he said.
“Your attendant wishes to grant your every wish,” said a husky woman’s voice suddenly. “You’ll find everything you need to please the most discriminating tastes at your fingertips.”
As the voice spoke, a panel opened and a shelf slid forward. On it lay articles in leather and cloth, pretty standard props for bondage scenarios. She thanked the bondage gods that she could see nothing like the equipment and props from her disastrous session with Grace8 and the Phoenix Freak.
Evans selected a length of deep brown velvet with a gold clasp and put it around her neck. A gold ring lay centered on her throat. Link’s hand covered hers as she picked up another length of velvet. He threaded it through the ring and wrapped it around his fist.
As if it were a leash, he led her to the bed.
“Help me tie her down,” Link said to Angel.
Angel fumbled through the tray of articles and joined him at the bed. She handed him some velvet covered restraints, one at a time.
Evans felt her heart begin to pound. Yes, there was indeed a difference when someone she loved was involved in bondage with her. Link’s hands were cold on her ankles and wrists while he buckled on the velvet cuffs, then tied them to cleverly positioned rings on the metal bedposts.
“I really enjoy this best if someone is watching,” Link said with a grin that curved only his beautiful mouth.
Angel climbed on the bed and knelt opposite Link. She spread her knees. Every inch of her body was denuded of hair, enhancing the idea she was not much more than a child. This close, Evans could see the evidence of drugs in her eyes.
“Your attendant is happy to accommodate your every wish. Ask and you will receive.”
Link’s fingers tightened on Evans’s ankle. He leaned across her body and touched his lips to Angel’s cheek. “My wish… watch. That’s what gets me off. Someone watching every move.”
Evans closed her eyes while Link grazed his fingertips along her instep. He’d tightened the velvet bands so she was stretched open, totally open to his kisses and touches. Yet, she was not so tightly confined she could not arch and twist against her bonds. She didn’t need to exaggerate her responses to Link’s touches and kisses.
He was gentle but persistent in his endeavors. If Angel moved a fraction of an inch, he barked an order at her to remain still. The girl was as much in bondage as Evans was herself, bound by his orders just as she was bound by the velvet ropes.
