Morgan's Choice

by Greta van Der Rol

  Tullamarran appeared, soft-footed and silent, to clear the plates.

  “You may retire, Tullamarran,” Ravindra said.

  When the manservant was gone Ravindra took her hand and led her to the sofa. His pupils were wide and black, the amber just a glowing outline. “Will you do something for me?”

  “Probably.” She squirmed while her nipples hardened and her groin tingled. Anything you want.

  “Show me the red dress you intended to wear to the mess.”

  She grinned. “You didn’t like it.”

  He moistened his lips. “Oh, I liked it. Very much. It just… wasn’t appropriate for the mess. Here it’s different.”

  Oh, now this was going to be fun. A bit of sexual foreplay before the inevitable result. She stood and concentrated, finding the dress’s tiny processor with her mind. First the color. Blue tinged to purple and then the red began to dominate. As the color changed, she altered the neckline.

  His lips quirked into a smile.

  “Now this, you see, was about how I had it set up that evening.” A scooped neckline with a hint of cleavage, not much more. “In my society this is quite demure, very acceptable in an Officers Mess. If I wanted to be a bit provocative, maybe I’d do this.”

  She changed the neckline to a halter, replacing the curve with a dramatic plunge. He swallowed, following the changing material with his eyes. She stopped just below her breasts.

  “You would go to a Mess? Like that?”

  “Only if I was being a little bit naughty.” She chuckled. The look on his face was worth every moment. “In private I might be a little naughtier yet.”

  She resumed the plunge, exposed a little more of her breasts, lowered the backline. She turned in a circle so he could see her back, bare to just above her buttocks. “Now this really is the sort of dress a vesya would wear.”

  “Yes, indeed. And then what?”

  He hadn’t moved, simply sat on the sofa. There was no doubting what he wanted. He was leaving it to her; her choice. If she wanted him, she was going to have to prove it. No, not prove, show. Her choice. I love you.

  “Well, if he was someone I really fancied, I might do something like this.”

  She slid onto his lap and nibbled at his lips. His hand cupped her breast through the material, his fingers squeezed her nipple. His tongue flicked into her mouth but she edged away, resisting his attempts to deepen the kiss despite the growl of impatience.

  “Patience, Admiral,” she whispered, “you’ll get what you want.”

  His hand brushed aside the impeding material and fondled her breast. She squirmed, positively squelching, aware of his erection. Not yet.

  “Well? You have my attention. In every way possible.”

  She extracted herself from his embrace and stood. A swift alteration and the dress slithered down her body to form a soft red carpet at her feet. His gaze roamed over her, eyes blazing with lust. Well, she hadn’t bothered with underwear. What was the point? Kneeling in front of him, she unfastened his trousers and drew out his rigid cock. She took him in her mouth, sliding his foreskin down with her tongue while he hissed his pleasure. His fingers were in her hair as she sucked and licked, taking him deep into her throat.

  “No.” He reached out, hands on her shoulders. “I want to be inside you.”

  She could do that. She rose and straddled him, face to face as she guided his cock into hot, slick wetness. His eyes narrowed as she sank down onto him, his hands grasping her hips.

  He groaned.

  His mouth fastened onto her breast, sucking hard while she rode him. The material of his uniform scraped against her skin, his fingers dug into her back. He grunted as he came, all too quickly, muttering words she didn’t understand. He wrapped his arms around her, his head bent over her shoulder, his fingers gentle, kneading, stroking.

  “See what you’ve done to me woman?” He brushed the side of her neck with his lips. “You’ve reduced me to a Balahn.”

  Balahn. That was a new one. She stood in response to his gentle pressure.

  “A boy with his first woman,” he said, re-arranging his clothing

  “Oh. Should I apologize?”

  “No.” He lifted her in his arms and carried her to the bedroom. “I shall apologize. At length, as soon as I can.”

  A brief kiss and he deposited her on the bed. She lay on her elbows and watched him strip off his uniform. Jacket first, hung neatly in the closet, undershirt. Her gaze lingered on powerful arms, rippling abs. He had the body of an athlete, long, sculpted muscles. He sat down on the edge of the bed to take off boots and socks and then he stood again to slip off his trousers, which he tossed over a chair. The soft light gleamed on his skin as he moved, picked off the lines of the tattoo on his shoulder. Wow, what a body. Undershorts gone. He’d need to rearm but that shouldn’t take long. She licked her lips.

  “In future if I want to prevent you from staring me in the eye, I’ll take off my uniform, shall I?” His eyes gleamed with humor as he joined her on the bed.

  “Mmm. I think I’d like that. Or you could ask me to help you take it off.”

  “And now, my darling, we make love. Slowly.”

  He pulled her close and kissed her. She closed her eyes and lost herself in warm sensuality, aware of his body, his smooth skin, the tang of spice with a hint of musk, the taste of his lips, his tongue in her mouth. His hands slid over her body. Soon he nuzzled her breasts, biting hard enough to make her yelp. He stopped and raised his head. “I’m sorry. I need to remember how fragile you are.”

  “Fragile?” Not a word she would have used for herself.

  He stroked her breast and down her belly. “Like silk. Fine and beautiful. He fondled her nipple and it tightened even more at his touch. “You see? A manesan woman would hardly feel that.”

  Good grief. It was almost enough to bring her to orgasm.

  He smiled at her briefly and continued his exploration, sliding his tongue down the length of her body from her breasts to her mound. She shivered, sure she’d melt, already aching for him and ran her hands over his shoulders. He slid lower, out of her reach, rested his face between her thighs. When he probed her folds with his tongue she was certain she would explode. He found her clit and flicked, tickled. She wriggled. God, this was so good.

  At last he shifted his body over her and pushed into her, right up to the hilt in one easy shove. She moaned and raised her knees around his waist so he could get in further, deeper, harder. He moved slowly, in and out in long, rhythmic strokes. She clung to his shoulders, feeling the muscles flex under his skin. Oh God, this was unutterably delicious. Her body tightened, her breath shortened as the tension rose, a dam set to burst. “Oh yes. Oh yes yes yes. Fuck me. Oh yes.” She arched beneath him, eyes closed as the orgasm engulfed her.

  He strained into her, grunting. After a few moments, slumped over her to regain his breath, he took his weight on his elbows so he could see her face. His chest heaved as he breathed. “I love you.”

  She stroked his cheek. Why had she ever doubted it?

  Chapter Fifty

  Dawn. Creatures stirred in the treetops, yelling insults at each other to announce a new day. Not that you could see the sunlight down here. Asbarthi opened encrusted eyes and wished for a bed under a roof, hot food and a shower. Three days he’d been out here in the jungle with Prakesh and his squad.

  The big man leaned into the shelter and shook his shoulder again. “Come on, Sur. Time to go.”

  Asbarthi crawled out of the shelter onto moldering leaf litter and scratched at his belly. Something had bitten him, he was certain. His lace cuffs hung around his wrists like wet string. And if he took his pants off, they’d walk off without him. Dark, damp and oppressive. A man couldn’t see more than a few meters into the forest. Once he got back to civilization he was never, ever going to do anything like this again. “Where are we going?”

  Prakesh gazed up into the treetops, hands on his hips. “It’s gone pretty quiet with these li
ttle alien fellas. Reckon it’s time we checked in with management.”

  Asbarthi’s head jerked up. Management? “What do you mean?”

  “We’re heading back for Zaffra Bay, see what’s doing. Best get yourself a ration bar, we’ll ship out shortly.”

  Zaffra Bay, eh? Well and good. Surely he’d find an opportunity to slip away, head off for Devagnam’s house. Had Akbar survived? Maybe. He’d been at Krystor Central making speeches to the people. Had Lakshmi made it through? Somehow, he rather doubted it.

  One of their females handed him a ration bar. He pulled off the cover and leaned against a tree to eat as the troopers busied themselves around him, dismantling the camp, packing up equipment. Amazing how quiet and efficient they were, these great hulking brutes. Any one of them could have picked him up one-handed. He waved a four-winged flying thing away from his face.

  He’d barely finished swallowing what passed for breakfast when Prakesh clapped his hands. “Let’s go. Mount up.”

  They piled into the troop carrier, Asbarthi seated as usual next to Prakesh. There were two spare seats now. Two troopers lost in Prakesh’s guerrilla campaign against the alien invaders.

  “Take us above the canopy,” Prakesh said to the driver.

  The Halycon rose, crashing through the branches into an overcast, smoky sky. Red-green jungle stretched between the mountains and the sea. A distant plume of black smoke in the low hills marked a fire.

  “No aliens, Chief. A bit of traffic here and there but all ours,” the driver said.

  “Zaffra Bay, then. Carefully.”

  Asbarthi stared out the window at the mountains, blanketed in cloud. If these aliens hadn’t turned up, he would have been ruler of Krystor. His fingers clenched into a fist at the thought of Ravindra and her. That woman. The Orionar Queen. Lakshmi had been right about her. They were dead, both of them. They’d flown straight into the alien ships. Somehow the fact afforded little comfort. He’d so looked forward to causing Ravindra misery.

  The pilot’s voice brought him back to the Halycon. They were dropping toward the gate.

  “There’ll be a slight delay,” Prakesh said. “Seems they’re having a parade. Beam it up on the screen, Jag, so we can all see.”

  Two people in white and gold stood on a podium in front of a parade of troops, with a row of dignitaries sitting behind them. Asbarthi’s heart lurched. Selwood. That was Selwood dressed in a flowing white and gold gown. And Ravindra. Admiral damn-his-hide Ravindra in full ceremonial dress uniform. How had they survived?

  Ravindra was speaking. Jag turned the sound up as the driver let the Halycon settle to the ground. “Together, Suri Selwood and the fleet have defeated the alien invaders. Krystor has suffered. Many have died and even more have sustained injury and loss. It will be many years before this lovely planet is restored to its previous wealth and beauty. But without this lady, many, many more would have died, your planet would have been laid waste as were Andreena and Dilmar. All of us of the fleet would have died. We are indebted to Suri Selwood. She was never a Queen, never wanted to be a Queen. Vesha princes eager for power for themselves used her, deceived her as they used and deceived many of you. But she is a hero and I salute her.” Ravindra bowed to her, the sort of bow he would have offered an equal.

  She smiled at him and responded with a bow of her own. And then he leaned over and kissed both her cheeks. Unheard of.

  The troopers in the Halycon applauded.

  “Cleans up nice, doesn’t she, Chief?” Jag said, a leer in his voice. “Even with that funny pale skin.”

  “That she does. I reckon she and the admiral might be quite close friends,” one of the women said. Her remark drew some lewd chuckles.

  “He sure was protective of her,” another person remarked.

  Protective of her? They spoke about the admiral and the freak as if they knew them. Fear traced a finger down his backbone. He had to get away from here.

  “What’s the matter, Asbarthi? You look a bit ill,” said Prakesh. His eyes held a malicious glint.

  “Yes. Yes, I do feel a bit ill.” Asbarthi clutched at his stomach. He did feel ill. “Best let me out for a moment. I need some fresh air.”

  “I’ll bet you do.” Prakesh’s lip curled. “Look after him, lads. I’ll see if I can get to the admiral.”

  ****

  The parade marched off, back to the makeshift barracks. Ravindra exchanged a few more remarks with the new commander of Zaffra Bay and the new planetary governor. Morgan smiled and did the little neck bow and then it was time to go.

  Ravindra’s guard cleared a path for them through the press of journalists and well-wishers, his hand reassuringly on her waist. She hated these functions, being the center of attention. Ravindra stopped here and there, responding to congratulations, best wishes and thank yous. Signs of devastation littered the base. Not far away a pile of rubble marked where the administration block used to be, the control tower had been decapitated and rows of barracks still smoldered. The scent of smoke lingered in the air. Away on the other side of the parade ground a city of demountables stretched over the grass to house the troops. They’d be working long and hard to repair all the damage. Not a building was unscathed.

  Someone pushing through the crowd caught her eye, a trooper in combat camouflage. A guard stopped him. The fellow was in animated conversation, persuading, pleading, glancing up at them. Morgan listened in.

  “Please, he’ll want to know. Tell him I’ve got Asbarthi,” Prakesh said.

  She caught the NCO’s eye, grinned and winked at him. Then she leaned against Ravindra’s arm. “That’s Chief Prakesh.” She jerked her head at where the NCO stood. “He says he has Asbarthi.”

  Ravindra stared at her, the smile wiped from his face. “What? Where?”

  “Let’s go and ask him.”

  The crowd parted before Ravindra. Morgan followed in his wake, straight to where Prakesh waited. Arrogant, despotic autocrat. Every inch a leader, bent on revenge or justice or maybe a bit of both. Could she find it in her heart to feel sorry for Asbarthi? She didn’t think so.

  Prakesh bowed. “Srimana. I have Asbarthi.”

  “Chief. Fetch him here.”

  Ravindra’s nostrils were flared, eyes narrowed, mouth stretched in a semblance of a smile. Not triumph, more anticipation. Somebody tried to ask a question. A jerk of his hand and they shut up.

  Prakesh, head held high, turned and gestured. His squad marched forward, two of the troopers almost carrying Asbarthi between them. They halted in front of Ravindra.

  For a moment no one spoke. Such a fascinating tableau. An admiral in white, full-dress uniform, a jubilant NCO in combat dress and a grubby man in soiled clothes and scuffed high boots, bedraggled lace at his throat and cuffs. Asbarthi straightened himself and tried to stare Ravindra out but Morgan tuned into the frantic drumbeat of his heart.

  “How nice to see you again, Sur Asbarthi.” Ravindra used that cocktail party voice.

  His lip curled in a sneer, Asbarthi glowered at her. “She brought them, didn’t she? Brought her alien friends? And you… you have been ensnared in her—”

  Ravindra laughed, arms folded over his chest. “You weren’t listening, were you? Believe me, without her you would be dead.” His grin was decidedly unpleasant. “And so would I, of course.” He traced the scar on his cheek with his finger. “I think I’ll let the good people of Krystor make up their own minds about you. Have you met the new planetary governor? Please meet Sur Ghoran.” He directed a neck bow at the official wearing the yellow sash. “And this is Admiral Uttar, the new commander of Zaffra Bay.

  “In fact, Admiral, you might be interested in Chief Prakesh’s experience with Sur Asbarthi.” Ravindra gave a sharp nod, giving the NCO permission to speak.

  “You mean when we saw him murder Admiral Gamesh and the other senior officers? And their wives and children? Or at least, he was there when Commander Iniman had them shot. They’re just out there, beyond the perimeter fence, thrown i
nto a pit like carrion.” Prakesh waved a hand.

  Eyes narrowed, Admiral Uttar directed a poisonous glance at Asbarthi.

  “Or when we met you and Suri Selwood in the jungle and got you into the base here?”

  “Yes, all of those things. I will leave that,” he lifted a lip at Asbarthi, “in Governor Ghoran’s hands.”

  “Take my adjutant to the site of these murders, Chief. We can at least ensure the people are laid to rest properly,” Uttar said.

  Ghoran’s own staff hustled Asbarthi away. Ravindra bowed to the governor and the base commander and escorted Morgan to the shuttle waiting to take them back to Vidhvansaka. The shuttle took off into still-smoky air and headed for orbit.

  “I thought you’d take Asbarthi for yourself.” Morgan inspected her fingernails.

  “I considered it. For a moment. But my personal vendetta is less important than bringing peace to Krystor. The people here deserve to know how Asbarthi and his cronies have manipulated events. And you.” He was silent for a moment. Then he chuckled. “Besides, I doubt if Ghoran’s people will be nice to him.”

  Chapter Fifty-One

  Moonlight on water. A rippling pathway of brightness to the horizon where the disc of the full moon rose into the sky. Morgan rested her elbows on the balcony and gazed over the sea, the gentle susurrus of the waves below her an accompaniment. The warm air barely moved. In the tree above her a few small creatures rustled and chirped, settling for the night.

  Ravindra came up behind her, put his arms around her waist and nuzzled her neck. He was bare to the waist and his hair was still damp from the shower.

  “What are you thinking?” he said.

  She leaned back against him, his smell in her nostrils. “Oh, you, me, Artemis, the Cyber Wars, the Krystor temple. Some people still say I brought the aliens, you know.”

  “Yes. That was why it was important for us to appear together. But most have understood the truth.”