Had he been in the apartment with them the whole time? And if so, why hadn’t Fenton mentioned him? When she’d asked who was in the room with them, he’d said “no one.” If he had a live-in male lover, why deny it?
Even though her body was sated, her mind reeled. If there was another constant lover in Fenton’s life, the chances of her persuading him to keep her around were nil. Kinky fuckery aside, two was company but three was a crowd. There would be a constant struggle for power, feelings would be hurt, and eventually someone would be left out in the cold. Damn it, she needed to know who that guy was and how he impacted her plans.
Though her health guard had taken care of any aftereffects from the men, her own desire left her feeling less than fresh. Climbing from the bed, she returned to the hot spring and stared at the pulsing blue and green light from the bioluminescent creatures on the ceiling. She needed an angle, any angle to play, but bluffing without all the information would cost her the game.
Her options were limited. Going back to the brothel now and begging for her job back was not only unappealing, it was risky as hell. That little shark-toothed troll would be hunting for her, and with no idea how close the assassin might be, staying in one place could get her killed. She needed to come clean with Fenton, tell him she was running and ask for his protection, or at least enough money to get her off world.
And he owed her, damn it all, for springing the ménage on her unsuspecting. Though Alison had no moral objections to pleasuring two men at once, she liked to at least have an idea who she was pleasuring. Sex with Fenton was meant to be a thank-you for rescuing her, but his pal’s BJ put him in her debt.
Decided, she climbed from the water and snagged another of Fenton’s clean shirts from the line. A little mouth action might not be enough; they could request another round with both of them inside her to really feel they’d received their money’s worth. Her body shivered at the prospect of Fenton working the thick stalk of his erection into her ass while his buddy took his turn with her pussy. Whatever it takes.
Padding across the stone floor, she went in search of him. Neither man was in the kitchen, nor did she hear the sound of voices from any of the closed-off rooms. Had he left her alone here?
Weariness overtook her. She was sick of guessing, sick of just scraping by. She eased back into an unusually soft chair that seemed to mold itself to the contours of her body. Curling her legs beneath her, she snagged a worn blanket from the arm of the chair and closed her eyes, letting herself drift.
The screams awoke her, awful, inhuman sounds that ripped through the stillness in the apartment and made her shoot upright in the chair.
The sound came again and she rose to her feet, staggering to the source before she fully thought it through. It sounded almost as though something was being slaughtered, and if she’d been clearheaded she would have run the opposite direction.
Heart pounding in her throat, she moved deeper into the dimness. Several archways led to rooms much like the one she’d already seen, sparsely furnished with a platform bed and hanging rack for clothes. The screams died down and were replaced by a whimpering sound, like that of a small animal with its leg caught in a trap.
A chill gripped her, like icy fingers wrapping around her throat. God, she should run. It could very well be the assassin in there taking out his only real rival. Now was not the time for her feet to turn into roots and sink through the stone floor.
“Alison.” It was her name that spurred her on, because that was clearly Fenton’s voice and he no longer sounded as though he were being tortured. No, now the groan became one she knew well, stemming from a place of desperate need.
Hurrying forward, she stopped when she saw two forms in the bed, both naked with startling erections. Each bucked as his fist clamped down on the massive cock, fucking his own hand in unison.
Her mouth went dry as she watched the spectacle for a moment, but the really startling thing was that both men were obviously asleep.
And identical.
Fenton had a twin? One he shared women with and slept next to naked.
“Oh, Alison,” they both said again, hands moving in tandem.
The bizarreness of the scene did nothing to diminish her arousal at the sight of two gorgeous men pleasuring themselves to thoughts of her. Before she realized it, she moved closer for a better look.
Wait, that was odd, they both had the same scar. She was no geneticist but even if they were identical twins, or had been conjoined twins at some point, the exact same scar at the exact same place didn’t seem possible.
Reaching toward the nearest man, she touched his shoulder, torn between wanting to witness the culmination of their hard work and the need for answers. But her touch spurred on an unintended reaction. They arched up, both of them bowing off the bed as pearly white jets shot—coated fists, abdomens, and chests. She held her breath, waiting for one or both of them to wake up.
It didn’t happen. Instead the man under her hand surged back toward the other one in an unnatural movement. He didn’t roll or shift his muscles in any way. It was more like a powerful magnet drawing metal filings to it.
Into it, until only one Fenton remained.
Air turned to wet concrete in her lungs. What the hell had just happened? She’d seen so many weird things since she left Earth, but this one, this one she couldn’t accept.
“Alison?”
She started as she realized Fenton’s eyes were open and he was looking at her. His face groggy from sleep, he appeared completely unaware his chest was coated in spooge.
“What are you?” She used all her remaining oxygen to force the question out, needing answers.
He frowned and looked down, touched fingertips to his chest, and rubbed them together. The sharp scent of cum hung heavy in the space between them. Understanding swept across his face, and he leaned his head back against the wall with a dull thump. “Fuck. I split again?”
Her mouth dropped open. He asked it so simply like, I left the seat up again? What was next, a token my bad?
“Alison.” Wiping himself clean with the sheet in a smooth swipe, Fenton moved toward her. “Alison, take a breath.”
She tried, but she couldn’t get her respiratory system working. It was as though a vise compressed her body together until there was no space left for even a shallow breath. Flapping her hands uselessly in the air, she stared at him, thoroughly panicked.
Her vision tunneled and she fell forward, just as Fenton lunged for her.
Fenton cursed under his breath as he stared out the view port in his suite. Taking Alison with him had been his only option. She’d seen him phase split, and anyone who came looking for him might interrogate her until she told them all she knew about him. Torture her. The people on Hosta might not know his name, but finding him squatting in the former overlord’s apartment and discovering that he could split was enough to get him killed.
He couldn’t let that happen, not until his mission was fulfilled.
She was still fast asleep. When she’d passed out in his chamber earlier, he’d checked her vitals and, assured that it was only exhaustion and shock that had such an impact on her, he’d dressed and summoned his contact at the docks.
Piggens had raised both his bushy eyebrows when he asked for a travel visa for Alison.
“Is she dead?” the gutter rat had asked.
“Would I need a travel visa for her if she were?”
“She’s a right nice piece, but there’ll be plenty aboard for you to diddle.”
Fenton had just stared the other man down until Piggens withdrew a molecular scanner.
“Payment up-front.”
Fenton shook his head. “Payment on receipt of the visa. We’ll meet you at the docks.” He didn’t want to give the man time to run to the patrollers and tell them Fenton was making a run for it.
With Alison’s system-approved visa ensured, Fenton had deposited her sleeping body in his bed before opening the door. Most of his pocket money went to ensuring his
cargo was secured in a private suite abutting his, and keeping word of it on a need-to-know basis. Scum like Piggens would squeal like the small mammal he was named after if he knew of its existence.
He checked the readouts and then locked it up for the night, returning to where Alison still slept.
The enormity of what he’d done crashed down on him. She lay there in nothing but one of his sister’s dresses, owning no clothing, having no credits. He’d taken her off Pental without her permission, and he was completely responsible for her.
Another whore bent on self-destruction. Could he endure this again?
She stirred and looked up into his face. She didn’t scream or faint again, thank the stars for small favors. Her hand touched her stomach and she glanced down sharply. “What am I wearing?”
“It belonged to my sister. I needed to dress you in something for traveling.”
“Traveling?” Her eyebrows drew together, forming a small crinkle between them. He stared at it, almost mesmerized by the small gesture.
Perhaps because he didn’t want to confess. To have her turn on him, scream at him, maybe even throw things. His sister could be a real brat when he made major decisions without her input.
Shifting his weight onto the bed, he moved closer, ready to pin her if she became violent. “I apologize, but you left me no choice after you discovered my identity.”
She looked around and her gaze locked on the star port. Kicking her legs over the side, she rushed forward to get a better view. “You took me off Pental. How?”
How, not why. Her reaction made him frown. “I already had passage reserved and I secured you an exit visa. It was a simple matter of credits finding the right recipient.”
She turned back to face him, her eyes wide. “A simple matter of credits? Do you know how long I’ve been trying to scrape together enough to get off world?”
Before he knew it, she was wrapped around him in a strangling embrace. “Thank you, thank you so much. You have no idea what this means to me.”
He held her to him, and some tight knot loosened in his chest. She’d been whoring to get off Pental. She wouldn’t throw a tantrum because he’d unwittingly given her exactly what she wanted. “You worked as a whore to earn money, to get off world? Why didn’t you tell me that?”
“Why didn’t you tell me you were leaving Pental?” she asked him back.
He frowned. “I did.” But even as he spoke, he recalled that all he’d told her was that he was leaving, not his destination.
She pulled away, though she remained seated in his lap. Her eyes glistened with unshed tears, and if she hadn’t been smiling so beautifully, he would have worried she’d cry. Crying women made him twitchy. “I guess this is what we get for not asking more questions of each other, huh?”
She didn’t seem displeased about it, or about the erection pressed against her. In fact, she rubbed against him suggestively, almost grinding in his lap. “So tell me more about this phase split.”
“Nothing to tell,” he muttered, staring at her tits through the thin material of her dress. “It’s just something I can do.”
“Don’t be so modest.” She ran her fingers through his hair and pulled lightly, tilting his head back until he met her gaze. “Can you do it whenever you want?”
“No.”
She sighed prettily. “You know, on my planet we have this saying: It’s like squeezing water from a stone. That’s what it’s like getting information from you, Del.”
Del. No one called him by his given name, not since his sister’s death. He liked to hear Alison say it now. “I’m not very interesting.”
A smile played across her lush lips as she stroked one finger along his scar. “Oh, on the contrary. I find you extremely . . . fascinating.”
He wanted to fuck her, desperately. To rip the dress from her body and bury himself balls deep inside her again. But there were a few things they needed to settle first. “You’re not here as my whore. I’m not going to trade you sex for money. When we’re in public, you are my intended mate, clear?”
Sinking her even white teeth into that lush lower lip, she nodded once.
“That means you will not trade your body for currency to anyone else for the duration of this trip. Whatever you need, I will find a way to provide it. Agreed?”
“Agreed.”
This was too simple; she complied too readily. “I don’t expect sex in return for the pleasure of your company. If you want, I can secure separate quarters—”
She silenced him by placing her index finger over his lips. “How would it look for your fiancée to be staying in a separate room?”
“Some people wait until they are unified.”
She threw her head back and laughed merrily at that. Struck dumb by the sight of her joy and the feel of her quaking on top of him, Fenton waited for her mirth to subside.
She wiped her eyes. “Fenton, take a good look at me. Do you think anyone would really believe I’m the sort of woman who would wait for commitment?”
Though she no longer dressed like a whore, she moved like a seductress, each swish of her hips and tilt of her head a practiced seduction. “I don’t want you to feel obligated to share your body with me.”
A small, unevolved part of himself wanted her body, regardless of the circumstances. The male part that could only think of the slickness between her thighs and how many ways he could take her until they were both spent. But the thinking portion, who’d watched his sister be used time and time again, had to make himself clear. “You can say no to me without fear of reprisal.”
Alison studied his face for a moment, and he forced himself to hold still while she deliberated. “That’s very sweet of you to say.”
She thought he was sweet. He barely suppressed a grimace.
“But you see, I do require sex, and since you’re supposed to be my fiancé, I should probably have it with you.”
“Thank the stars,” he murmured before lifting her dress over her head to bare her smooth skin to his hungry gaze.
5
Mig Larshe was in a foul mood.
What was the universe coming to when a respectably wealthy Hibariate couldn’t buy a whore to nosh on for a night? As he paced around his suite—randy as hell—he debated whether he ought to jerk off or go vent his spleen on Madam Brizella for taunting him with that delectable alien girl with her unbitten skin, only to let her escape into the night with that lousy grunt Fenton.
His teeth ached for flesh, his soul for the cries accompanying a good fuck and feast session.
A knock on his suite door made him jump. “Who’s there?”
No reply.
Scowling at the interruption, Mig stomped to the door and threw it open. “What do you want?”
The bipedal male looming in the doorway lacked the iridescent eyes belonging to natives of the Hosta System. His gaze was pitch black, devoid of any feeling. “Mig Larshe, I presume?”
The Hibariate shifted his weight. “Who’s asking?”
The stranger pushed past him into the suite. “Close the door.”
Mig wanted to sputter at the stranger’s audacity, but he found himself compelled to shut the door.
“Come here.” The man set a flat plastic card down on the nearest table and depressed a button. A three-dimensional image of a blond woman with hazel eyes and a voluptuous form sprang to life. “Do you recognize her?”
The stranger’s voice was low and ragged, as though speaking was an effort.
Mig moved closer to the hologram, tilted his head. “She seems familiar. Wait! That’s the whore from earlier, though she’s meatier now and not so polished.”
“Where is she?”
“She went off with one of the military drones from this system.”
“His name.” It was a demand, not a request.
“Fenton.” Mig narrowed his eyes at the stranger, uneasy that he’d complied so readily. Usually he bartered with his information, did his best to turn a tidy profit before s
pilling his secrets. Something about the stranger compelled him to speak the truth.
“How do I find him?”
“The barracks on the other side of the bridge, most likely.” Mig took a deep breath as his curiosity asserted itself. “Who are you?”
The man deactivated the photo and slipped the plastic card into his pocket before turning his attention to Mig. His irises spilled over into the whites of his eyes as he rasped, “Death.”
Those lifeless pits sucked him down into a swirling vortex of agony. Mig gasped as the sensation of thousands of teeth sinking into his flesh, ripping chunks off of him until he was nothing but a bleeding carcass, swept through him. Every female he’d ever bitten now exacted her revenge as he was attacked by hundreds of unseen foes at once. Collapsing onto the hard floor, he groaned, writhing to get away. But the sensation was internal, planted in his mind by the man who made no noise as he left the apartment, with the soon-to-be-mad Hibariate locked inside.
My luck’s finally changing.
Alison kissed her savior again, truly enjoying his unique flavor and the way his hands skimmed her body in a worshipful caress. The stars were finally aligning in her favor. On the move again, away from Pental and that awful brothel, and this sexy beast of a man insisted on taking care of her every need.
She shivered as he traced her ribs, his kisses growing bolder by the second. Though she still hadn’t come to terms with his replication—or split, as he called it—but really, if that was his worst flaw, she’d learn to live with it.
With that thought in mind, Alison tore her mouth from his, intending to work her way down his body. Activating her health guard, she sent him a wicked smile full of dark promise while unbuttoning his shirt.
Fenton’s hands gripped her hips, aligning her bared sex with the bulge in his pants. “Your body delights me.”
Her breath hitched a little, though she wasn’t sure if it was from the emotion his words evoked or the throbbing of her greedy clit. How she wished he could have seen her at her prime! But the heady knowledge that he took pleasure in her form made her forget all the critical changes and delight in being a woman again.
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