No Rules

by McCormick, Jenna

  She hungered for him; her body was eager for his, and her soul yearned for the sweetness shown to her by the rough soldier with a gentle heart. The way he’d insisted that she didn’t owe him sex made her want to share it with him even more.

  Never had she met a man like him. Or craved a lover so desperately.

  “Easy,” he said when she ripped the shirt apart, buttons pinging on the floor. “I don’t have many clothes with me.”

  “I’ll fix it later.” She’d turn into Betsy fracking Ross if it meant Fenton was naked and inside her sooner. Scrambling off of him, she did a one-eighty before mounting back up so she could rub her throbbing pussy against his washboard abs while she attacked the fly of his pants.

  Fenton bucked up beneath her when she cupped his cock through the rough material of his trousers. The friction of his stomach against her folds only heightened her need, whittling it to a deadly sharp point. Stroking the hard length of him, she clenched, remembering how he felt buried deep inside her. Eager to repeat the experience, she worked the fastening, set on freeing his stiff prick.

  His hand traveled along the length of her spine, a delicate stroke of his fingertips from her neck to the small of her back at odds with her frantic struggle to bare his cock. He adored her body while she mauled his.

  Finally, the fabric gave way and she wasted no time in scooting forward, lifting her hips and plunging down until she took him all the way to the root.

  His hoarse shout was music to her ears, and she remained still, trembling as she clenched and released with her inner muscles, clutching his body with hers. The penetration should have hurt without artificial lube, but she was so drenched with excitement, it eased the friction of their joining. Knowing he would be coated with her cream turned her on all the more. “God, you feel so good.”

  Fenton sat up, shifting his angle inside her, driving himself impossibly deeper. His rough palms pulled her back against his chest, his callouses scraped over her stiff nipples. Puffs of air stirred her hair as he whispered in her ear, “You’re so hot, so wet. I’ve never felt anything that compares to being inside of you.”

  Though she usually preferred raw dirty talk, Alison had fallen completely under Fenton’s sensual spell. What woman could resist the things he said to her?

  Raising her hips, she began to ride him in slow, gliding strokes. His grip on her torso held her close while allowing her the freedom to gyrate in his lap.

  “Yes,” she gasped when he slammed up into her.

  “I need, I’m going to—” His words broke off and she thought for sure he meant come until another Fenton appeared in the space between his spread legs.

  “Let me lick you while I fuck you,” they both said.

  Words died in her throat as the Fenton before her used his thumbs to separate her labia and put his hot, suckling mouth directly over her pulsing sex.

  Sensations overloaded her. His hands were everywhere, tweaking her breasts, holding her thighs wide. One mouth pressed to the hollow just behind her ear, the other licking from where they were joined to the hard button of her clit.

  Her hands tunneled through his hair when his lips tugged on her throbbing bud. His hands pinched her nipples in time to the action below, and his cock stirred inside her, hitting every hot spot.

  Release swamped her senses. She was no longer in command of her body; he was pulling her strings, making her writhe and twist and clench. Her head fell back against his shoulder, and she gave herself over to him completely.

  The one tonguing her cunt held her gaze while he licked a trail of her cream down his own shaft. She shuddered again, doubting she’d ever seen anything so erotic in her life.

  “My turn,” the one fucking her whispered a second before he lifted her up into the arms of the other one, keeping their bodies joined.

  Feeling unbalanced, she reached for the Fenton before her, gripping his shoulders while the other held tightly to her hips and rocked into her hard and fast. She met his gaze a second before he claimed her mouth. She tasted them together, their hot merging even while it was happening a second before her shield obliterated him from her body.

  The one not buried inside her gripped his own cock and stroked hard and fast, in time to the pounding inside her. They both came with a triumphant roar, one buried deep in her body, the other marking her breasts for a moment before her shield eradicated his seed into oblivion.

  Fenton pulled his cock from her body and set her on the bed. Her eyelids felt heavy, as though they’d been weighted down, but she watched as the two men who’d just rocked her world melded back into one.

  His eyes closed. “Are you all right?”

  “Never better,” she replied honestly. His shoulders sagged in obvious relief. “Come here.”

  He crawled to her and she deactivated her heath guard so he could lay his head on her breast without the annoyance of her shield zapping every molecule of sweat. “You’re not going to hurt me with a little rough sex.”

  Though he didn’t answer, she felt him stiffen, as though he didn’t believe her. Quickly she added, “I thoroughly enjoyed that, and I plan to continue enjoying that all the way to . . . ?”

  Fenton picked up her cue easily, pulling her over until she sprawled atop him. “The Omicron Theta System. I’m headed to the empath homeworld.”

  Alison’s blood turned to ice in her veins.

  Fenton didn’t know what happened. One second Alison had been snuggled against him, seemingly content after his total loss of control, and then she’d leapt from the bed while babbling incoherently.

  He sat up, his body protesting the quick movement so soon after another round of aerobic fucking. The words spewing from her mouth as she yanked her dress back on made no sense. Something about a frying pan and a fire. Since neither of them was preparing food, he didn’t have a clue what she was talking about.

  “Alison, slow down, you’re not making any sense.” He reached for her, but she threw her arms up defensively.

  Stung, Fenton sat back. Was this some kind of delayed reaction to his rough claiming? The last thing he ever wanted to do was hurt her beautiful body, she gave him so much pleasure. But once the split took over, he had two minds and he was unable to think beyond the need to fuck her hard and fast, to come on her, in her, fill her up, make her his.

  Her eyes were wild as she bolted for the door. “I have to get out of here.”

  “You can’t.” Not in this state. He couldn’t let her out in public when she was ranting. Though it hurt him to deny her, he wouldn’t risk his mission to set her free. “I told you I’d secure you separate quarters.”

  She pounded on the door, which had been sealed with his genetic code. Frustration radiated from her. Screaming wildly, she struck the metal door. Only once before had he seen a person look so much like a trapped animal. Shoving the memory aside, he reached for his pants. “It’s soundproofed. No one will hear you. I promise not to touch you again if you settle down. You have nothing to fear.”

  She didn’t seem to hear him. How could she, over the thudding of her relentless siege on the door?

  When he saw the smears of blood she left on the pristine metal, he forgot about dressing and scooped her off her feet. “Stop it, you’re hurting yourself.”

  She screeched again and flailed wildly, but he was through with her tantrum. Dropping her back onto the bed where they’d been blissfully content only a few moments earlier, he pinned her arms on either side of her head. His legs trapped hers between them, ceasing most of her movement. To his shame, his cock stiffened from the struggle, but he made sure to keep it from pressing against her. No need to incite her further. “Alison, you must compose yourself. I won’t let you go until you do.”

  Tears filled her hazel eyes and spilled down her pale cheeks. “Please, let me go.”

  His gut twisted. “I can’t. Believe me, if there was another way . . . I’m sorry.”

  Sobs broke from her, a horrific, defeated sound, and all the fight seemed to
drain from her. Releasing her hands, he moved away, and pain ripped through him when she huddled in the fetal position, making herself as small as possible to minimize damage from an attack.

  Oh, how well he knew that mind-set.

  Fenton wanted to wrap his body around hers, to physically shield her from any external hurt. But he’d caused this response in her; he had no business touching her.

  “I vow on the memory of my family, I will let you go as soon as I possibly can. We’ll be in the space lanes for a few weeks, but I won’t come near you again. You have my word as a warrior on that.”

  Turning away, he picked up his ruined shirt and slid his arms through before exiting into the adjacent chamber.

  Though the suite was soundproofed from the rest of the ship, her sobs chased him. The door barely hissed closed behind him before he moved into his fighting stance, reaching for his calm center.

  You’re a fuckup, Fenton. From a line of fuckups. It would be a mercy to put you down now.

  Sweat beaded his forehead as he concentrated on the movements of his muscles. But his focus was stuck in the past, haunted by ghosts that lingered in the shadows of his mind. How many times had the overlord threatened his life, or that of his sister? Xander was reputed to be cruel, but Fenton knew from firsthand experience it was the truth brandished like a weapon that cut deeper than any blade.

  Doubt had been his constant companion from the day he’d watched the overlord annihilate his father, Raz Fenton. His mother had begged him the night before not to compete. “Think of us. Me and the children and what he’ll do to us if you lose.”

  His father had been arrogant, confident that he could outmatch Xander and end his reign of terror for good. “I must do this, for you and for them. Their futures depend on it.”

  How right he’d been. After his father’s defeat, Xander had taken his mother to his bed, a death sentence in itself. Fenton had huddled with Nella and Gili in their dank cell in the bowels of the palace. His sisters had only been five and seven revolutions old, and they’d cried for their mother the entire night.

  His concentration splintered, and he sagged against the door. Pressing the heels of his hands against his stinging eyes, Fenton tried to block out the inhuman sounds of Nella’s screams when the guards came for her the next morning. He’d fought, but at only nine revolutions, he hadn’t the strength to do more than irritate them. “Your sister’s been sold, boy. Settle down or the other one will go on the block next.”

  “No,” Xander had called from the shadows, as Nella’s cries grew faint. “For three generations, I’ve had to defeat the males of your family. You, boy, will be mine from the onset, my tool, my weapon.”

  “Never!” Del had been coated with blood from his broken nose and split lip, chilled from the hours spent in the damp room. This bastard had killed his father, and his mother too. He would never do anything to help him.

  “Oh, I think you will.” Xander had leaned in close and whispered, “If you value your other sister’s life, you will do exactly as I say.”

  For a third of a generation, Del had been Xander’s puppet, until news of the overlord’s defeat at the hands of his son spread through the Hosta System like wildfire. Anyone who was perceived to be loyal to the old regime had been tried, most of them executed. By then both the girls were dead and Fenton had his new mission.

  Rising to his feet, he moved closer to his precious cargo, felt the steady reassuring thrum of its energy signature pulsing under his hand. Gili had died for this and he would too, if necessary. He would do everything in his power to ensure Alison wouldn’t have to pay the same price all of his loved ones did. She would have been better off with Mig, scarred for life, yes, but physical wounds were simpler to heal than the ones on the inside.

  He didn’t know how to be gentle with her, no matter how much he wished it were so. He’d been born on a violent world, and given into the custody of a madman. Forged in fire and coated in blood, he’d hidden his tender heart away, until even he couldn’t find it anymore. Every person he’d ever cared for had met a horrible and untimely end.

  With odds like that, Alison didn’t stand a chance.

  6

  In the wake of her panic, Alison admitted she’d handled the news of returning to the Omicron Theta System badly. So badly that she hadn’t seen Fenton in almost an entire day, though she knew he had been back while she slept because he’d left a meal comprised of some kind of roasted meat that tasted like chicken and the purple fruit the Hosta natives served with every dish.

  He must think I’m crazy. Was it any wonder? She’d witnessed drug addicts on the subway behaving with more decorum. Beating her hands bloody on the door, for God’s sake. What was she thinking?

  In short, she hadn’t been. She’d reacted to a spike of adrenaline at hearing she was returning to the scene of her crime. Because the one thing she feared more than the assassin tracking her was facing the people she’d helped to enslave.

  After she’d eaten, Alison milled about while she waited for Fenton to return. She’d lingered in the tub, but couldn’t truly enjoy the indulgence provided by the luxury suite. How could she possibly change his mind? She didn’t even know why he wanted to go to the empaths’ homeworld. What business could he have there?

  From what she’d observed, Fenton clearly battled his own internal demons. Perhaps that had something to do with the trip. She needed more information about him if she had any hope at all of changing his mind.

  She combed her hair and stared at her reflection in the mirror. Her hands shook as she worked the wet strands into another braid. With no makeup and wearing a plain dress, she looked so innocent, but appearances could be deceiving. He had no idea of her crimes, and she hoped he never learned. Fenton held all the cards, he was the one with currency, with connections. He was her life pod in the cold depths of space. She couldn’t afford to alienate him.

  Unable to hold her own gaze, Alison admitted the truth to herself. She didn’t want to see the look on his face when he discovered what she’d done. How she’d tricked an entire race of people, covered up the actions of her company, all for profit. Fenton was what her aunt Lola called a “stand-up guy.” He would never look at her the same way again once he knew what she’d done.

  A tapping on the outer door alerted her a moment before it slid open. Fenton no longer wore his uniform. Instead he’d pulled on black slacks and a blue, skintight pullover shirt that complemented his intense eye color. Muscles bulged in his arms and chest, gloriously defined beneath his clothing. His hair appeared freshly trimmed, and his jaw was cleanly shaven. His hands were clasped behind his back in what seemed to be universal military parade rest. He was imposing, commanding, and she felt slightly pathetic standing before him in her ill-fitting borrowed garb. If she only had one day back on Earth with access to her closet and the neighborhood rejuvi-spa, she wouldn’t feel so inferior.

  “I’m so sorry.” Alison rushed forward, but he held up a hand and she froze under his glacial stare.

  “It won’t happen again.” His tone was definitive.

  What it was he referring to? Her tantrum? Whatever, she needed to play by his rules for a while, gain his trust back. “Of course.”

  “I thought you might like to explore the ship, maybe enjoy a meal in the public dining room.” He was oddly formal, and she desperately missed the heat his every look had branded on her.

  “Sounds lovely. Am I dressed appropriately?” She lifted her chin, allowing his cool inspection. Hard to believe this was the same man who’d made such passionate love to her.

  His assessment was brief, and he met and held her gaze without a flicker of emotion. “We’ll visit the trade shop first, get you whatever you need to be comfortable.”

  “Okay.” Really, what else could she say?

  Fenton moved to the door and pressed his thumb to the pad. The doors swished open. Alison had tried that numerous times, but nothing happened. Fenton waited calmly by the door and she fought the urge t
o fidget as she approached.

  He didn’t touch her, but he didn’t need to. His energy was all-encompassing. She felt protected, safe, as they moved out into the dimly lit corridor. The floor was soft under her bare feet, made from some kind of synthetic spongy material. The curved walls were smooth and glowed softly, exuding a feel of expensive quality. “What kind of ship is this?”

  “A luxury liner. We were lucky one happened to be docked at Pental when I wanted to leave.”

  Though she doubted Fenton left anything to luck, she nodded. He wasn’t much of a tour guide, but then again, she didn’t require one. Alison hadn’t been born to privilege, but she took to it like a duck to water whenever the opportunity arose. She might be barefoot and wearing borrowed clothes, but confidence could pull off any ensemble. Passengers nodded politely as they passed by and she offered the same in return.

  Fenton guided her down a long ramp to the level below. The palatial shop that greeted them must have been the trade shop. Colors and fabrics she had no words for bombarded her every which way she turned.

  Fenton would have gone in, but Alison gripped his elbow and pulled him to the side. “Do I have a spending limit?”

  Something that looked a lot like guilt flashed in his eyes, but he buried it quickly in an icy avalanche. “Get whatever you need.”

  “You might regret that.” She warned him once, but the idea of shopping, truly shopping for the first time in over two years, had her bouncing on her toes.

  He didn’t repeat himself, just stared her down. He insisted and she wasn’t about to refuse. Money clearly wasn’t a concern for him. He could probably gamble back whatever she spent in under an hour anyway.

  “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

  How much could one woman possibly need?

  Fenton’s lips parted as he watched Alison swoop through the shops like a cosmic storm. He’d thought her warning over her potential purchases had been unnecessary but as he watched her pick out another pair of ill-advised footwear, he realized he’d underestimated her. She was incredibly fussy, but when she found something she liked, she paid no heed to the price tag. Fenton doubted the overlord himself could have picked out finer items.