by Cynthia Sax
But he won’t return to me. “Enough talking.” Enough thinking. Zeta clutched his nape, his long black hair soft against her knuckles, and she rose up to mesh his lips with hers, taking what she wanted, forcing his mouth open. Their tongues twisted and tangled as they fought for dominance, each of them trying to control the embrace, control fate.
Khan raked his claws over her, destroying her clothes, leaving her with only the garments in her pack. She tugged at his leather outfit, whimpering at the tight fit. His body left hers for three agonizing heartbeats, the cool air prickling her skin, and then he returned, his warm muscle covering her curves.
Big and strong and, for this moment, mine. She explored the dips of his chest, the bulging slopes of his biceps, the line of hair widening from his navel to his groin, savoring the contrasts of hard and soft, smooth and coarse.
“Yes,” Khan growled, his voice deeper than space. “Touch me, gerel.” He moved over her, gliding his shaft along her folds, rubbing his tip into her clit, fucking her without entry. “Take me.”
“I’ll take you.” Zeta pushed on his right shoulder and he rolled, their legs entwining. “I’ll take all of you.” She straddled his thighs, triumphant, her turn now to gaze down on him, to control their fucking.
“If you can,” he dared, his eyelids partially lowered, his arms spread at his sides, his massive body displayed to her, at her mercy. “I might be too large for your sweet mouth.” His cock stood proud and erect before her, his skin glistening with her juices.
“I’ve taken larger,” she lied, eyeing his length with trepidation and excitement.
His lips curled into a smug smile. “Not in your pussy.” He curved his fingers around his ridged base, presenting his cock to her.
Unable to refute his statement, she bent over and, with the flat of her tongue, licked him from his handgrip on his cock to his tip, tasting herself on him. Khan shuddered, his broad shoulders shaking, his response gratifyingly intense.
He needs me. Zeta swirled her tongue around his cock head and poked into his slit, searching for more pre-cum. As I need him…for sex. She mouthed his rim, nibbling at his flesh, and he buried his fingers into her hair, loosening the strands from their improvised restraints. Nothing more.
“Suck me, gerel,” he demanded, pushing her downward. “But don’t make me release. I want to fill your womb with my seed.”
Zeta wiggled, grinding her wetness into his thighs, wanting that also. “And I want to be able to talk tomorrow.” She pushed her lips over his cock head.
“I control bonding,” he rumbled.
Does he? She met his gaze, raised one of her eyebrows and sucked hard on his tip.
“Zeta!” His spine bowed, veins rose on his neck and his fingers twisted in her hair, pain shooting over her scalp. She freed his cock and he sagged.
“I control bonding, not release.” He shook his head, his long black hair brushing against the furs. “Regular release is gentler.”
“We’ll test your theory.” She took more of him into her mouth, tasting salt and minerals and hot male, his cock sliding along her tongue.
“Gerel.” Khan’s lips stretched into a grimace, his passion encouraging her, driving her farther. “Show mercy.”
His tip tapped the back of her throat and she tilted her head back, taking him deeper, deeper than she’d ever taken anyone else. Finally her lips touched the ridge of flesh around his base.
“Made for me,” he whispered as though in awe, and their gazes met, the intensity in his dark eyes breaching her remaining barriers, striking at her lonely soul.
I shouldn’t care about him, about his satisfaction, but I do. Zeta held him inside her, sucking hard, her throat burning, her eyes watering, her breathing blocked. I want to please him. Darkness descended and her grip on his shaft eased.
Khan pulled out of her mouth and Zeta gulped air, lightheaded and euphoric, her worlds spinning. “I took all of you,” she croaked, her voice hoarse.
Khan brushed the hair away from her face, the tender gesture more precious to Zeta than any other reward. “You took too much of me.” He drifted his fingers over her sore throat and her eyelashes fluttered, her heart stuttering. “Do you ever back down from a challenge?”
“Sometimes,” Zeta murmured, giving him the answer a reasonable being would give. Khan cocked his head to the side, silently demanding more honesty from her, more sharing. “Rarely,” she amended.
“Then I’ll be more careful with my challenges in the future.” He stroked her skin, his face clouded with a soft emotion Zeta didn’t recognize, none of her other lovers having ever looked at her in the same way Khan did, none of her other lovers having cared enough to probe for the truth. “You’re too precious to me.”
She stared at him, the lonely little girl in her yearning to believe his fantastical words, to melt into his arms, and allow someone else to take care of her.
You can’t count on anyone, Zeta. Her spine straightened. “I’m not precious. I don’t have a bounty on my head. You, on the other hand,—”
Khan pressed his index finger over her lips. “No talk of bounties, only of rutting.” He pushed his hips upward. She mashed her lips together, snipping off any temptation to touch him, her target, her payment.
“Time for me to take you.” He tossed her off him. Her shoulders smacked against the furs, the impact jarring.
“If you can.” Zeta glared up at him. He grinned, his scar stretching ominously across his cheek, and she scrambled to her hands and knees, determined to make him fight for his rutting, his dominance heating her blood.
“Oh, I can.” Khan grabbed her hips, holding her still, his knees wedged between her legs, spreading her open. “And I will.” With one long, hard thrust, he entered her, filling her wet pussy with rigid cock.
She screamed, arching her back, abandoning all caution, all resistance, throwing herself heart first into this last fuck. He pulled out, his grip on her hips stimulatingly harsh, and he rammed into her, shaking her body.
Stars. She dug her fingernails into the furs as Khan, her barbarian Warlord, rode her hard, without mercy, his hips smacking her ass, her skin burning at the points of contact. He settled into a punishing tempo and she pushed back, tilting her hips, taking him deeper, needing this fuck to last a lifetime, knowing she’d never meet another man with his strength, his skill, his dominance.
Khan wrapped her hair around his fist and yanked, raising her head, the pain exquisite. She panted, her passion escalating, heating the air around them, and he grunted, rutting into her as an animal would, their bodies slick, their need overwhelming both of them.
Zeta’s scalp, ass and pussy throbbed, abused, aroused and owned by Khan as he pounded his cock into her, his body straining with each thrust, the muscles in his powerful thighs flexing, tight and hard. She met each assault with one of her own, squeezing down on his shaft, stealing his breath and disrupting his rhythm.
“No mercy, gerel,” he huffed, his deep voice rumbling along her spine. She trembled, her legs shaking, her fingernails scraping the furs bare.
“No mercy.” He released her hair and lowered his physique over hers, his chest rubbing against her back, one of his palms sliding over her stomach.
Zeta whimpered as he covered her mons, finding her clit with his fingertips, her body teetering on the brink of combustion. He murmured words she didn’t know into her neck, his lips teasing her skin, his breath warm, and he rubbed, pushing her over.
She screamed, plummeting into the abyss, trusting him to catch her, needing him as she’d never needed another being. He drove into her, prolonging her orgasm, drawing out the tremors, and she clung to that connection, clenching down on him with her pussy.
“Zeta, can’t—” Khan thrust deep, his balls smacking against her thighs. The base of his cock expanded and a high-pitched whine escaped from her throat, Zeta now vividly aware of what would happen.
“No. No. No.” Unable to tolerate more bonding, more caring, she bucked, try
ing to dislodge him, caged by his unyielding body.
“Zeta!” He stiffened, his cum rushing into her, the hard jets of heat setting off another round of unbearably intense pleasure.
“Khan!” She let go of everything, her thoughts, her fears, and her consciousness, the ecstasy too much, too real, too powerful, and she collapsed, sinking into the blackness.
* * * * *
She won’t do it. She cares for me more than she wants the bounty.
Khan leaned back on the furs and he linked his fingers behind his head, irrationally pleased. Berke needs a new plan. She won’t betray me.
Zeta paced the perimeter of the cave, fully dressed, gripping her pack with a frightening intensity, her knuckles white. Emotions raced across her expressive face, her inner debate adorably obvious.
“The sun will be setting soon,” he reminded her.
“Oh.” Zeta stopped short, her mouth rounding with surprise, as though she’d forgotten he was there. “Do you have to communicate with your brothers? They’re your family. They must be worried about you.” Her voice strengthened. “Because I’m told that’s what families do. They worry.”
I’m told that’s what families do. Khan curled his fingers into fists, resisting the urge to pull Zeta into his arms, to banish her loneliness with his lips and hands and cock.
“Families will do anything for each other.” She resumed pacing. “Pay anything. Your family must be wealthy, if other species are willing to fight for one of your planets.” She moved faster and faster, her hair streaming out behind her, a brown tail on his burning bright comet of a female. “And I don’t need the same amount, only enough for one month.”
One month of what? Khan eyed Zeta with interest, his wild theory about her blown to pieces, her obsessive need for credits clearly not stemming from her impoverished upbringing but from some unknown expense.
She pressed her lips together, not elaborating. The silence stretched, broken only by her footsteps and the rush of the underground streams, the hidden source of fresh water on Chamele 4.
Zeta turned quickly and flicked her hair over her shoulders, huffing her irritation over the unrestrained curls, the cable she’d previously utilized lost.
Khan yanked off his hair fastener. “Come here,” he ordered, wrapping the strap around his wrist.
His gerel continued to pace, ignoring him, the only female in the Chamele system, other than his mother, daring to do so.
Khan watched bemused and enchanted by his little bounty hunter’s lack of fear. He patiently waited for her to pass by him, reached out and dragged her toward him.
“Let me go.” She struggled, thrashing her arms and legs, his female a fighter, a warrior. “I don’t have time for this.”
“Be still,” he commanded, subduing her easily, admiring the rise and fall of her chest. “I’ll fix your hair.” He positioned her between his legs, her straight spine facing him, and she stilled, her body stiff, unyielding.
Proud. Khan’s lips twitched. He brushed her hair back, the tendrils decadently soft and Zeta sighed, the small sound of surrender hardening his cock. He threaded his fingers through her curls, gently separating the strands.
“My mom would fix my hair.” Zeta tilted her head back. “She’d hum a bit off-tune while she worked.” Her lips lifted into a secretive smile. “And I’d feel…I’d feel…”
“Loved.” Khan supplied the word his tough woman couldn’t say. “She loved you.” He massaged Zeta’s scalp with his fingertips.
“She died.”
Khan weaved the thin strip of brown leather into Zeta’s hair, copying a style he’d often seen his mother wear, his unpracticed results clumsy and crude, and he waited for Zeta to expand on her comment. She stared straight ahead, her chin tilted upward.
“And her death hurt,” he prodded.
“Her death made me strong.” Zeta wiggled forward and Khan quickly tied the strap. “It showed me I didn’t need anyone.” She bounded away from him, tossing her head back defiantly. “I didn’t need for you to fix my hair.”
Khan gazed up at his gerel, feeling her pain, her loneliness. “I wanted to fix your hair.” A brown curl dangled by her right ear, a wayward tendril he’d missed.
“I don’t need you.” She crossed her arms in front of her body.
“We’re returning to the ship.” Khan lunged to his feet, fighting the urge to kiss the stubbornness off her face. “We’ll talk about what you need later.”
Zeta didn’t meet his gaze. “After you.” She waved her hands, hanging back, his rashly independent female’s decision to follow, not lead, telling.
I pushed her too hard, angered her too much, and now, she’ll collect that bounty on my arrogant head. Khan accepted his failure and strode forward, her betrayal serving as his punishment.
Zeta trailed behind him, her footsteps uncharacteristically quiet, and Khan’s disappointment flowed to excitement. She’s hunting me. His heart beat faster and his skin prickled with awareness.
He suppressed the wild impulse to run, to force her to chase him, and he walked toward the cave’s entrance, his gait loose and leisurely. Behind him, the fabric of Zeta’s pack rustled. She’s reaching for her restraints. His cock pushed against the leather of his leg coverings, his need for her not diminished by their four rounds of rutting.
When will she take me? He rounded a bend, his brother’s form, visible only to another Chamele, hidden in an alcove.
“It’s done,” Murad whispered, the volume of his voice below human levels of hearing.
Khan nodded, speaking too risky, and he stalked past his brother, Zeta tracking him closely, remaining unaware that they were no longer alone. I’m betraying her as she betrays me. He pressed his lips together. Can we survive this?
Doubts churned within him, intrigue and secrets not in his warrior nature. The path narrowed and he angled his shoulders to navigate the passage, the stone closing around them. I am aware of her betrayal. I manufactured it while she—
She slammed her slight weight into his back, pressing his face against the stone. He allowed her to control him, her strength surprising yet not enough to subdue a Chamele warrior in his prime.
“Zeta.” His cock bobbed, his need for her escalating.
“Don’t resist this.” She pulled his arms behind him and locked his wrists in place, the energy of the restraints buzzing over his skin. “I don’t want to have to stun you.” The cold muzzle of her gun prodded his back.
“I’m not resisting this,” Khan calmly pointed out, being stunned an unpleasant experience he’d rather not have again.
“You’re…” Zeta paused. “You’re not resisting this.” She circled him, her forehead wrinkled, her confusion clear. “Why aren’t you fighting for your freedom?” She frowned. “Do you want to be captured?”
Khan met her gaze and held it, unwilling to blatantly lie to his gerel. “Yes.”
Her mouth dropped open. “You want to be captured?”
The next question is why. “The sun is setting, Zeta.” Khan brushed past her, not yet ready to answer that question. His arm grazed hers and a ripple of pleasure rolled over him. “We should leave the planet before dark.”
“We?” she repeated, stomping her boots on the cave floor, her rising anger audible. “There is no we. I’m trading you for credits. Whatever plan you’re hatching had better take that into account.”
She’s fiercely honest. He grinned, the sting of her betrayal easing. “It does.”
“Because I have to do this, Khan,” she informed him yet again.
“I know you do.” He blinked as he stepped into the open, his vision quickly adjusting to the increased light. The lowering sun’s rays reached across the stark landscape of their hunting planet, painting the barren surface with brilliant streaks of red, yellow and orange. “But I don’t know why.”
“Tell me what your plan is and I’ll tell you why.”
Khan said nothing, the plan belonging to his brother, his role being to do hi
s part and keep his mouth shut. They trudged in silence toward her ship, Murad’s warriors lining the path, invisible to Zeta. They openly gawked at Khan, a Chamele Warlord in restraints, and Khan grimaced, anticipating the lifetime of jibes stretching before him.
Soft fingers caressed his bound wrists. “Are the restraints hurting you?” Zeta’s voice rose with concern. “I could loosen them a bit.”
“They’re fine,” he grunted. Sartaq sniggered quietly, standing by a long-dead tree, a wide grin on his foolish face. “I’m Chamele’s best warrior.” Khan glowered at him and the cocky male tipped his scarred head, Murad’s warriors as flippant as his brother was. “My pain tolerance is high.”
“You are in pain.” Zeta fiddled with the restraints and they loosened. “That should be better.”
“I’m the fugitive you’re trading for credits,” he reminded her, the caring she’d never admit to endangering Berke’s plan.
“I’ve never abused a fugitive.” Zeta poked him with her gun. “Unnecessarily,” she added and Khan chuckled, his gerel not having a light hand. “I might have smacked a few, kneed some groins, stunned eleven of them, and then there was that one…”
“That one?” he prompted, entertained by her confession.
“He eventually learned to walk again.” Zeta pushed him again. “That wasn’t entirely my fault. The cruiser—”
“Get back!” She rushed in front of him, spreading her arms, aiming her gun at her ship. “It isn’t safe.” She waved her free hand, her fingertips tapping his chest. “Someone’s been here.”
She’s protecting me again. “I’m a Warlord,” he remarked dryly, torn between amusement and irritation, Zeta’s belief that he couldn’t defend himself extremely frustrating.
“And I’m your bounty hunter,” she snapped, backing her firm ass into his hard cock. “It’s my duty to transfer you safely to the client so get back and put that thing away.” Her face flamed bright red.
“That thing is attached to me.” Khan didn’t move, holding his ground, unapologetic for his arousal, Zeta being the source of his excitement. “And I had the door repaired while we were rutting.”
