Okay, so she wouldn’t worry about pirates anymore, she’d go back to her own mission here, and her very private worries. This man was more than capable of crashing her little world off its foundations, the way those pirates had tried to do earlier. She didn’t think he would ever hurt her physically, but with that intensity of his trained on her, he might very well get past her emotional barriers, the ones that shielded her heart to all but Daanel and Kiri.
And far from running to safety, she had to stay and engage. In the most intimate of ways. She had to invite him in.
He watched her, as if waiting for something. Right—she was supposed to be a woman so experienced that she could take the lead with confidence and élan. Lead him.
Oh, goddess, she hoped she knew what she was doing. Because she was about to leap off that mountaintop. Straight into the predator’s arms.
She tipped her head to one side, letting her hair fall over her cheek and curved her lips up in a little smile. Daanel usually rolled his eyes when she did this, but other males certainly seemed to like it.
“Maybe you should search me,” she offered, reaching for one of his hands. “Just to be sure I don’t have any tech on me.”
Chapter Eight
When Creed’s hand touched hers, Taara caught her breath. She hadn’t remembered wrong, hadn’t imagined the electric heat in these big hands. So much larger than hers and full of latent power, with calluses on the pads of his fingers, and parts of his palm.
He tensed when she touched him and then stilled, not closing his hand, but not opening it either. But she could feel the fine trembling in it. Two things caused that—fear, or the effort to hold oneself under control from some powerful urge. There was no reason a man like him should feel fear. A heady sense of power filled her.
He said nothing, but watched her face as she curled her hand around his and tugged, lifting it. Slowly, her heart pounding so hard she was sure he must hear it over her quick breaths, Taara pulled his hand to her waist, and moved into it, flattening his palm against her.
He took over the motion, his thumb and fingers flexing very slowly, then squeezing, testing the way she felt in his hand.
Taara stood very still as he lifted his other hand to repeat the motion.
“Nothing there,” she whispered.
He shook his head once. “Plenty here to keep a man busy.” He moved his hands up over her ribs, his thumbs nearly meeting in the front, just below her breasts. They swelled, her nipples contracting with the need to be touched. The only sound was their breathing. Oh, she may have begun this, but this force between them, this desire had taken on a life of its own. Her knees felt weak, ready to melt and drop her at his feet.
She braced her palms on his hard, ridged abdomen, her gaze on his chest. His snug shirt, charcoal knit that she was sure was lii silk, hugged every bulge and dip with faithful precision. His chest was ... amazing. Awe-inspiring, with pectorals that made her want to stroke them, find out if they were really as hard as they looked. Then she wanted to search with her tongue for the tiny male nipples that would be right there on the outer curve and suckle it.
“Maybe you’d better scan me,” he said, his voice rough. Throwing her offer back at her.
She gazed up into his blue eyes, still watchful. Waiting for her to take the lead. She’d had other males offer to let her have her way with them, but it had either been said in a joking way, or so arrogantly it turned her off, as if they were some sexual treat no female could resist. This man was both delicious and very serious.
And she was pretty sure that he was not only inexperienced, but that he had never been with a woman before. He was a virgin.
Her elation was tempered with a curious tenderness. She was going to show this beautiful male the pleasures of which his gorgeous body was capable. And he was going to help her forget other, darker times when she’d been helpless. Now she was in control.
“You’re right,” she agreed. Slowly she hooked her fingers under the hem of his shirt and tugged it upward. As she did so, his lean torso was revealed, first his abdomen, ridged with muscle, with two deep grooves slanting down his narrow hips to disappear in his pants.
Above, the widening brace of his ribcage, and the swell of his chest.
He moved then, reaching back over his head with one arm to grasp the shirt and yank it over his head. He tossed it away and lowered his arms again, waiting. Oh, goddess. She’d searched and found a great deal, all of it male.
His tiny nipples were a muted peachy brown, his torso a warm tan, fading into paler cream under his arms, and darkening at the vee of his throat and down his arms. Without cloth between them, his scent was stronger. She inhaled delicately and moved closer, lifting her hands to flatten them carefully on his belly.
They both sucked in a breath as she touched him. He was so warm, satin skin and hard, quivering muscle, resilient and responsive. If she were going to create a sculpture of a man’s torso, she thought dreamily, she’d use him for the model.
She stroked up over his ribs to the hard swell of his chest, spreading her fingers wide as if she were sculpting him. When her fingers brushed his nipples he drew in a sharp breath.
Taara looked up into his eyes to find him still watching her with fascination. “I can use any method to search you?” she whispered teasingly.
“Uh ... no teeth,” he muttered.
She shook her head in agreement, and put out her tongue to touch the corner of her mouth. He made a low, growling sound in his chest. His hands clamped on her waist, his fingers digging in hard. If she hadn’t been so aroused, it would have hurt. Instead, his grip felt like a claiming.
Time to stop teasing the predator. Leaning forward the last few inches, she pressed her lips to his chest, inhaling his scent and tasting him. Smooth, hot, delicious. Her tongue flicked over the curve of his pectoral, and found the pebbled nub of his nipple. Luxuriously she swirled her tongue around it, and then closed her lips on him and suckled gently.
He shuddered. One big hand came up to cup the back of her head, his fingers spearing in her hair as he held her to him. His other hand slid down to find her ass and squeeze. Pulling her into him so their bodies collided, pressing together.
His cock jutted against her abdomen, hard and rigid inside his pants. She shivered with delight, her pussy clenching in anticipation even as she tipped her head to kiss her way across his chest to the other side. But with only a few flicks of her tongue there, he clenched his hand in her hair, and pulled her head away from him.
“No more,” he said hoarsely. “Keep that up, I’ll come in my pants again.”
She shook her head, in complete agreement with that. She couldn’t bear it if this time was like the last. She had to have him inside her. The seven hells with being emotionally safe, for the first time in memory, she craved this male so badly she’d throw caution to the winds to have him.
Creed looked down at her as he reached for the waistband of his pants. “I’ll take off my own clothes,” he said. “You do the same.”
Taara reached to pull her own top up, her hands shaking.
He watched raptly as she drew the tunic over her head and dropped it on the end of the bed. Pleasure thrilled over her skin at the heat in his gaze as they fastened on her bare breasts. Then his gaze dropped. “Take those off.” He jerked his chin toward her tights.
She pushed them down, shimmying them over her hips. Watching her, he shoved his own pants down. His cock sprang free and she caught her breath, momentarily lost in admiration. He was huge—the thick column of engorged muscle rising from sparse dark gold curls to prod the air before him, the broad head already glistening with drops of arousal. Below, his heavy sac was drawn up tight against his body.
His cock jerked as he dropped his pants and kicked free of them. He stood, long muscular legs apart, hands at his sides, watching as her tights slid down her hips. Without bending, she kicked out of them, and stood there, bared to him.
Creed stared at her mons. Taara
swore she could feel the heat of his gaze on her, zapping straight into her pussy. She shivered and reached to put one hand on the bed for balance as her knees trembled, suddenly weak. Ready to dump her at his feet, she thought dizzily.
She took a step closer to him and reached out to take his hand, tugging at him.
His face was flushed, perspiration springing out on his forehead and upper lip. He jerked his gaze up from her crotch, his eyes dazed.
“Lie down with me,” she invited. Though she did not try, her voice was sultry, inviting.
He blinked, then moved to the bed and lay back, head on the pillows, one leg crooked. “What about you?” he asked hoarsely. “Do I need to—?”
She shook her head, a curl of warmth at his care for her. “I’m ready.” So ready.
She put her knee on the bed, and crawled to him. Her pussy was swollen, wet with eagerness. She wasn’t as promiscuous as many Serpentians, but she’d had enough lovers to know what she liked, what she wanted. And she wanted this man.
But this was about him. She was here for seduction, not her own pleasure. And if she was successful now, he’d let her stay here. Daanel’s survival and her own were more important than sexual satisfaction no matter how her Serpentian side was hissing in disagreement.
She straddled him, kneeling over him. He put his hands on her bare thighs, holding her and watching as she reached down to encircle him with her hand. He groaned, his eyes closing to mere slits as she stroked his length. He was hot and silken over twitching muscle, male rampant in her grasp.
She would have liked to go on stroking him, just to watch him quiver and strain under her touch. But she sensed it wouldn’t take much more for him to spill in her hand.
For one sec tears pricked at the back of her eyes as she wished that they were here because they’d met somewhere and liked each other. That he would call her by her name and ask what he could do for her, what she liked.
Then she drew a deep breath and cast that aside. The galaxy was cruel, and rewarded only those who did what they must.
So she touched herself with her other hand, parting the wet petals of her labia and guiding the bulbous head of his penis between them. His head came up, his gaze arrowing to where their bodies met. His hands tightened on her thighs, his fingers digging into her flesh.
She sank down on him, rocking her hips to ease the way, slicking him with her moisture.
With a low growl that started in his chest and rolled up through him, Creed Forth took over, his powerful body flexing under her, his hands holding her down as he drove his cock up into her with short, hard movements.
Planting her hands on his abs, Taara gritted her teeth, wincing at the stretch of flesh unused to such girth and then the solid jab of his cock against her as he drove home, as deep as he could go. Goddess, he was big. Later, that would bring her ecstasy, but for now she hovered on the knife edge between mere discomfort and pain.
“So tight,” he muttered, his eyes nearly closed, face a mask of tortured rapture. “So soft and warm and slick.”
Searching for ease, Taara flexed her strong thighs, rising up a little. With the motion, he groaned and went rigid in her grasp. She felt heat and wetness flood her pussy as he came.
And that, she supposed, was that. She waited, scarcely breathing, until he had relaxed beneath her, only his chest moving with his deep breaths.
Then she eased off of him, with a small shudder of her own as aroused, sensitized flesh released his. Her pussy felt empty, needy. She wanted to hiss her frustration, wanted to grab him and demand he pleasure her with hands or mouth to make up for the loss of his cock.
He opened his eyes and she caught her breath at the look there. Wonder. This sent a warm squeeze of pleasure through her. The corner of his mouth tipped up, and he huffed a laugh that was half groan.
“That was … good,” he said, his voice husky.
Then his face tightened, and he eyed her warily, as if he’d given away too much. Time to back off. He seemed as wild as that mawwr creature in his way.
Taara managed a smile, touching his chest before slipping away. “Rest,” she said. “Relax.”
Then she grabbed her clothes from the bed and hurried away into the lav. But when the door closed behind her, she did not give in to the tumult of emotion roiling inside her. Instead, she went to the shower dry, cleaned herself up and then slipped back into her tunic. It hit her at mid thigh, although the high slits left her hips bare. But at least she wasn’t naked.
She scowled at herself in the mirror. She was flushed, her mouth tight. She hadn’t had sex in months. An orgasm would be a welcome release of the tension she’d been living with, but no—she had to be tortured with a beautiful man whose needs were met so rapidly she hadn’t even had time to get close to climax.
“Not here for your own pleasure, Taara,” she whispered to her reflection.
She finger-combed her hair and went back to wait on the pleasure of the man who now owned her body, at least for the next lunar month, or until he tired of her, whichever came first. That had been the deal she made with Logan Stark.
* * *
Creed lay on the bed, his body lax with satisfaction, his mind as clear as the vast blue sky over his valley. Clinging heat and incredible softness. She was ... perfect.
He stroked a hand down over his chest, his abs and groin and let his eyelids drift shut, enjoying the loose, pliant feeling of his body, inside and out. He was wet, not just from his own seed, but from her. He lifted his hand, and inhaled the musky scent of their joining. His seed and her pussy tinged with that perfume he’d smelled on her.
His cock twitched as he imagined dropping to one knee before her and putting his face there, between her strong, rounded thighs. Sniffing her, even using his tongue to taste her there. Men did that. Women did that for men, too.
The bed dipped and he knifed up, eyes open, ripped from his sensual reverie. Quark, she’d caught him mooning over her, smelling his fingers like a boy with his hand in a jar of treats.
She faced him, one knee on the edge of the bed. She wore her top again, her shoulder bared, the top dipping down between her breasts as she bent forward, her leg bared to the hip.
She smiled hesitantly, hunching her shoulder so her top slid further down, baring one pert breast nearly to her nipple. He hadn’t gotten his hands on those yet. He wanted to fondle them, taste them.
“I thought you might—”
Her words, her voice galvanized him. What the hell was he thinking, lolling around in bed?
“Thanks, but no time,” he cut in, already swinging his legs over the other side of the bed. “Got things to do. I’d better get back to the mine, now that the danger’s past.”
That was the truth. He had to get moving, before he let her draw him back down on the bed for more. He wanted to smell her, taste her, wallow in her scented softness. Lose himself in her.
He could do this, but in measured doses.
He bent to grab his pants from the floor and step into them, yanking them up without bothering to fasten them. Boots and shirt in hand, he turned back to her. She swiveled to watch him go, those green eyes big. Worried, as if she thought she’d done something wrong. He didn’t want her worrying.
“Thanks,” he repeated. “You’re welcome to swim or whatever you like. I’ll be back by dinner time.”
He strode from the room, closing her out of his sight.
But although he sluiced off under the hot spray of his showerdry, the memory of his first taste of a woman’s body was indelible. That, he’d carry with him the rest of the day. For a long, long time.
As he dried off, his face heated with embarrassment. He shook his head at himself. Hells, he’d cut and run like a guilty kid. Why had he been so worried about letting her take care of his lust? He had never shied away from any kind of physical danger, why was he so afraid of one little female? It wasn’t as if she wanted anything from him, besides credit. It was transaction, open and honest.
She
was a professional; she offered this to other men too. She made them feel good, they paid her. Clearly didn’t let her own emotions get involved as she moved from man to man—and maybe women, for all he knew. Others who managed to enjoy her physical attentions while keeping their emotions out of it.
He could do the same.
* * *
“You’re welcome, your highness,” Taara muttered as he stalked away. “If you’re finished with me, I’ll just go. No need to stick around, or ... anything.” Anything such as talk for a moment.
She slapped her hands on her thighs. She’d just relieved the man of his virginity, for goddess’ sake, and all he did was thank her and tell her he had to get back to work?
Taara blew out a hard breath, trying to push out her tension and nerves with it. So, had he enjoyed what they’d done? He’d certainly climaxed in a hurry. Did that mean she’d done a good job, or just that he was unfortunately one of those men who ejaculated prematurely?
Well, he’d told her to go, so fine. She would not sit and moon over him. The big sand lizard—a quick fuck and then he was gone, back to chasing insects. No thought in his petrified reptile brain for the female he’d left wanting.
“Man fuck woman, then go hunt,” she muttered to herself. “No talk.”
She slipped off the bed, and stalked into the big closet, her anger and sexual frustration rising to a boil. She hated Logan Stark and at the moment she wasn’t so sure about his brother.
No matter how handsome he was, Creed increasingly seemed to be cut from just the same cloth, not fine lii silk but tough ceramesh body armor—impenetrable by most cutters and small lasers and abrasive to anyone who rubbed up against it, like lizard scales.
There was a pool here somewhere. She was going to go and use it. She was going to enjoy the beauty and simple luxury while she was here—swim in his fancy pool, eat his fabulous food and explore outdoors in the fresh air and wild landscape. If he wanted her again, he could quarking well come and find her.
Creed of Pleasure; the Space Miner's Concubine (The LodeStar Series) Page 9
