He began to busy himself, she knew he was putting on a condom, and then he lifted her to her knees, bending her forward to where Darah's cock swayed temptingly. As he lubed her, she mouthed the very tip of the Thalian's penis, satisfaction building as his breathing grew rough.
It kept him distracted. He couldn't focus on the possessive jealousy of the Needing.
Feeling pressure against her anus, she let his cock slip loose from her mouth, focusing on the pleasure/pain that the invasion brought. Milo had introduced her to this all those years ago, and to this day, she'd never allowed another man to take her so intimately.
She turned her face sideways in Darah's lap, feeling his hands stroking her hair, her cheeks and neck, and then down her back.
Milo withdrew abruptly, waking all the nerves in her lower body.
Her mouth dropped open. She panted, precariously near orgasm as he returned, gliding slowly, inexorably into the depths of her body, until he could go no further, his balls snuggled up to her ass.
He reached around her body, lifting her upright, and from the front, Darah moved close, kneeling between her spread thighs. He dipped a bit, the tip of his cock sliding, bumping into Milo, and then coming back to her slippery wet cunt. He pressed for entrance, but now, it was tighter than before, crowded by Milo's cock in her ass.
An angry growl broke from his throat, which Darah quickly stifled. More burning pressure, more stinging pleasure as the Thalian worked his way into the depths of her channel.
"Oh ... God...” she groaned. “Oh. Fuck."
She was there. Without so much as a twitch, a thrust, she was tightening, climaxing on the overabundance of male flesh crowding her body. They held her tightly, arms coming around to embrace one another as she came. She couldn't move, couldn't thrust. Grace could only submit to the waves of climax that gripped and surged through her body.
As she recovered, Milo began to move slowly, carefully, his thrust stroking the length of Darah's cock. Now it was the Thalian's turn to moan helplessly.
He was compelled to move, and together, the men entered and retreated. They varied, one withdrawing as the other thrust, and then they coordinated their movement. They were good together, very good. She had only to look into their faces, hear their breathless words, and Grace knew this act was sublime pleasure for them both.
She held on, arms looped around Darah's neck, her hips held in place by Milo's strong hands. Faster they moved, faster still, intensity growing in their expressions.
They were all on a short fuse, and Grace was glad, as the pain battled the pleasure for dominance.
Pleasure won once again as her body tightened in climax, her ass and pussy clasping, clenching their cocks, and Grace screamed. It was a strangled little noise, her face buried in Darah's chest.
As one, the men arched and thrust into her wildly, Darah shouting, Milo gasping, his teeth closing gently on the skin of her shoulder. She didn't flinch, because she knew he wouldn't hurt her. He bit gently, sucked, and then licked the skin as the orgasm shuddered through his body.
Once again, Darah's seed flooded her, once more his great body went slack, pulling her down, tumbled on the bed in an exhausted, sweaty heap.
But this time she laughed, a delighted, giddy laugh, and in moments, they joined her.
"That hurt like hell, and I can't wait to try it again."
Darah grinned, and then buried his face in her breasts. He sighed delightedly and looked like a great, sleepy cat. Milo reached over her shoulder and caressed the Thalian's cheek.
"He's really something, isn't he?"
She smiled at Milo's words and rolled slightly, kissing him long and slow. “You are really something, Milo Greene."
One corner of his mouth pulled up into a crooked smile.
"And you were right. I love you both."
"I knew that.” Darah's mumbled comment tickled her belly, and again, she couldn't help but laugh.
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Chapter Twelve
Milo stood in the doorway, loosening his tie, grinning at the scene before him.
Grace was reclining on a sofa in the living room, Darah sprawled at her feet.
They looked ever so much like a queen and her pleasure slave. He wondered if Darah was together enough to talk business yet. Probably not. He was fanning Grace with his wings and an empty tray indicated that he'd been feeding her again. She was draped with a blanket that covered her from head to foot.
The first day she'd nearly gone mad. He'd followed her everywhere, tending her every need. She'd finally chased him out of the bathroom, declaring it off limits.
The next day, she'd felt bad. He was allowed into the shower where he lovingly tended her hair and skin, gently washing every inch of her body. Afterward, he'd dried and combed her hair, bringing the black of her hair to a lustrous glow.
He'd tried to cook for her, but proved alarmingly inept in the kitchen, so Milo had called out for prepared foods that Darah could carefully arrange on a plate for her. He fed her by hand, much to her amusement.
He wondered what would happen if Grace became pregnant. Would this be Darah's behavior for the duration? If so, she'd better get used to it.
"You're home!” He grinned at the slightly desperate tone in her voice.
Darah rose sleepily. Grace looked nearly as exhausted. His sexual needs were phenomenal; somehow, Milo hadn't expected that. When the Thalian wasn't fucking Grace, he was fucking Milo. Within minutes of a shattering climax, he'd be rising again. It really was a breeding cycle!
The Needing served multiple purposes. First, it was the male's way of wooing a female with his devotion and ability to see to her needs. Secondly, the imprint, that overwhelming infatuation, kept the male at the side of the female while she was pregnant and nursing.
Unfortunately, as far as Milo could see, it also reduced the male's IQ radically.
As the thought filtered into his mind, Darah growled.
"Are you about ready to come back to work, Darah? Your assistant claims that you've been gone nearly a week longer than your usual furloughs. He believes that you are malingering."
The Thalian bristled, and then rolled onto his back, looking ever so much like a gigantic feline. Well, except for the wings.
"Don't tease him, Milo. He's done really well today. In fact, he was just getting ready to go take a shower and get some control over that hair of his."
Milo stifled a smile; Darah's hair was rumpled, and undoubtedly snarled. It'd take the efforts of all three to take care of it once it was washed.
"We'll help you comb it out, Darah, and if you start the braid, I can finish it.” Milo found surprising pleasure in tending Darah's hair. It soothed him.
Reluctantly, the Thalian rose from the floor, his naked torso flexed, the muscles bunching.
"Wings too, Darah, we'll groom your wings."
If he allowed Grace to groom him, it might indicate that the Needing was nearly at an end. Silent as a ghost, he stalked from the room. In moments, they could hear the water running.
"I think it's nearly over, Milo."
Grace shifted on the chaise, making room for him to sit. She propped her long legs over his lap, smiling as he began to massage her muscles. She'd noticed that Milo tended to spoil her nearly as bad as Darah.
"One of these days, we're going to have to give him a baby."
"I know.” She gave a lopsided grin. This whole business of the Needing had them both thinking about children and the future. Milo had visions of a son with Grace's eyes. He also saw a half dozen little winged girls...
"He'll have to be first. I'm sorry."
He smiled. It didn't really matter. He'd surrendered the dream of children long ago. Having the dream return was another part of his surreal happiness.
"You've been careful to not tell me what's been happening at work. I know that Nakashima hasn't let go of the contract."
"I tried to talk to him. The man keeps himself behind walls and layers of secur
ity. I managed to deliver the message through his assistant.” He laid his head back on the couch heavily. “Those two from your old gang, they woke up dead today."
"Murdered?"
"I'm sure, though I don't know how an assassin managed to get through security. The Yakuza slipped away the night of the attack. The Thalians aren't saying anything, but if they don't already have him, they will soon."
"And you can't control them?"
The look he gave her was chilling. “Do I want to?"
She lifted a brow. Milo had always been a stickler for procedure.
"Darah's the only influence I have over the Thalians. At the moment, the upper brass is looking the other way, and this distraction of his is all too convenient."
"You think he's faking the Needing?"
"Not faking, just not fighting it. By letting his people move naturally...” He sighed. Did he blame them? One adult female dead, Oden's mother lay critically injured. Three children missing, presumably taken off planet by the Nephris. The more he knew of the Nephris and their black-hearted planet, the more he feared for those children.
"Do you think we should leave? Go to Hong Kong?"
"We could. But would you be happy with that?"
She shook her head.
"I propose an alternative then. We could join the Space Retrieval Program. Your brother and Annie will go out on their first mission in just a few weeks. The three of us would make a formidable team."
"We could search for those children.” From the set of her jaw, she would find them or die trying. “Have you talked with Darah about this?” She sat up, and the light blanket that covered her slipped, baring a shoulder. Underneath, he could see a streak of black leather, and Milo's attention was diverted. He didn't look away as he answered.
"We talked about this a while back. We knew at some point he'd be recalled to Regah. I'm not happy being a desk jockey. We were looking for a future together. And then we found you.” His eyes slid back to hers. “What exactly are you wearing under that blanket?"
She stretched and grinned, letting the blanket slide just a bit. She'd spent the afternoon teasing Darah, who seemed to have a leather fetish equal to Milo's.
A rigid black bustier pushed her luscious breasts high. Her dusky areolas peeked out a bit. As the blanket slipped lower, Milo could see that the waist of the corset cinched her until her waist was impossibly small. Lust hit him right between the eyes and he could feel his own IQ fading fast.
A hiss behind his shoulder told him Darah had returned.
"Creation's Feathers!"
Darah was naked, and as they watched, his cock began to thicken and fill. Without preamble, he snatched the blanket from her body. Underneath she wore her black leather chaps, a tiny g-string, and nothing else.
Well, nothing else but a pair of thigh-high boots with spiked heels.
Grace came to her feet, standing on the couch, and Milo didn't even complain about her heels digging into the furniture.
She stepped down, pushed between the two, and walked away, offering a magnificent view of her nearly naked ass and thighs, her swinging ponytail bobbing flirtatiously. From seemingly nowhere, she extended handcuffs in one hand, a leather flogger in the other. “Front gets the handcuffs, back gets the flogger."
"Front!"
"Back!"
Darah leapt for the handcuffs, slapping one around her wrist before Milo could react. Milo grinned evilly. That honey sweet bottom of hers was begging for the flogger. As they followed her to the bedroom, the tiger peeked out from beneath the corset, reminding him of something. “Grace!” She turned, looking over her shoulder. “Your brother called. He wants you to know that Guo Lee is on his way. He says it's time to finish it."
She went still for a moment, her eyes filling with tears, and then she smiled. She straightened, suddenly becoming taller, more commanding. “Are you guys coming, or am I playing alone today?” She turned away, her bare bottom twitching temptingly.
They were coming. They were most definitely coming.
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Epilogue
Wrecked and ravaged, shorn of her past glory, San Francisco lay before him in her ragged magnificence.
She was still a beautiful old whore, and there was no doubt she was his. Well, except for that blight on the waterfront. The thought of Wharf made him frown.
Shigeo Nakashima sat at the top of the skyscraper that housed his operations. He'd gutted it and formed this secure world in his image, controlled, safe and steeped in luxury.
He sat in the rooftop garden, surrounded by the fragrance of flowers. The rare sunny afternoon lifted his spirits.
He'd done well for the Nephris in spite of the fiasco in Oakland. He'd sent them away with nearly one hundred lovely females, plus the three alien children. If they didn't add the little chicks to the gene pool, they could certainly exploit their formidable talents.
But Grace Chen ... He burned for revenge against the Lees ... all of them. He could still see Carin's lovely face sitting across the table from him, the grace of her movement, hear the music of her laughter.
She'd been wild and dangerous, and when she'd first contracted Dragon's Blood, he'd vowed to move heaven and earth to save her.
He had saved her life, and the side effects of the nanites had sharpened the edge of her cruelty, twisted her perversity into something dark and forbidden, and more exciting than she'd been before. And Shigeo missed her sorely.
Down in the dark basement of the building, her last lover suffered endlessly. Luke, who'd allowed the aliens to “heal” him of the illness. Luke, who agonized over the acts he'd committed while under her influence. He didn't need to punish Luke. The man's conscience was torture enough.
Nakashima ensured that Luke paid for his betrayal on a daily basis. The fighter lived a life of ease, he ate fine food, enjoyed every luxury while surrounded by photographs of his victims. His video screens ran playbacks of every murder he'd participated in, over and over until Luke screamed for death.
But death didn't come so easy to a man who'd flooded his body with nanites.
A shadow drifted, and Nakashima looked up from his tea.
"I've long wondered what you looked like.” The voice was on the low end of tenor, husky and accented. “Shigeo Nakashima. Shigeo means ‘elegant man.’ Did you know that?"
Standing before him was a man who was neither young nor old, short nor tall. Nakashima's lip curled as he took in the longish black hair, the button down cotton shirt, and canvas tennis shoes. He was Chinese, which was enough to turn Nakashima's stomach.
"I have no clue who you are, nor do I care.” Shigeo toyed with the delicate bone china cup that held his English tea. Next to his hand was a tray of delicacies, tiny sandwiches, scones and pastries. High tea should never be taken alone, but since Carin's death, he was nothing but alone. Shigeo had no one.
"I'm no one important. I'm just a father and a grandfather, important only to my family."
The man didn't move, and Nakashima had the odd feeling that this one was looking deep; far too deep. He shifted, his hand edging close to the side of the table. His gun lay concealed under a napkin. “You are Guo Lee."
"That's one of the names I answer to.” Guo Lee smiled then. He very nearly beamed at Nakashima, which made him even angrier.
"If you are Guo Lee, the only thing you have accomplished today is your own death."
"You would think so.” He hadn't moved, only relaxed a bit. He reached into a tiny pocket in his shirt, fishing out a cigarette, lighting it with a paper match. A cloud of smoke hovered in the air, and before Nakashima's eyes, it took the shape of a dragon before breaking up and floating away.
"Annie Tanaka murdered my wife with your training. Every Lee will pay for that!” Heat rose to his face, and Nakashima stood, letting the gun slip to the ground. Fury engulfed his mind, his heart. Rage was clear on his face, and then he allowed the demon to slip loose.
Guo Lee smiled in the face of the whi
te-haired, snaggle-toothed phantom. He'd seen that emblem tattooed on the headless body of Carin Nakashima.
"Ahh ... I see now, my elegant man. We have met before, haven't we? It was long ago, another time in this world's history. You killed me."
"If I did, I didn't do a very good job then, did I?"
Guo Lee shrugged a shoulder carelessly. “I come today for one purpose and one purpose only. Remove your death orders from my family."
Nakashima snorted in disgust.
"Again, Mr. Nakashima. Remove your death orders."
"Or what?” Nakashima knelt, retrieved the gun and steadied it on Guo Lee's chest. He smiled, taking aim. “Again, old man ... or what?"
He squeezed the trigger, fired, and felt his heart freeze. Guo Lee still stood, lazily smoking his cigarette. He smiled, winked, and then looked up to the sky.
Guo Lee took a step back.
And then all hell broke loose. Something fell from the sky, landing on the elegant table in an explosion of glass and splinters. Nakashima was thrown back, rolling along the patio. When he came to a stop, his once immaculate suit was fouled with blood and glass and other, unmentionable filth.
His former lieutenant lay face down, blood and other fluids leaking from his body. The face was shattered, clothing tattered and shredded, but still, he knew Nando's body by the missing digits on his left hand, the smeared and damaged demon tattoo that marked him as Nakashima's.
He struggled against nausea, and then looked around for Guo Lee. The Chinese man still stood, casually smoking his cigarette. Defiantly, Nakashima rose, stifling his fear, his fury.
"Strange weather you're having here in the City. I'll have to remember my umbrella when I come."
Guo Lee looked up to the empty sky, searching the clouds. Unbidden, Nakashima's eyes followed his gaze, his heart twisted with superstitious fear. He'd heard things about the Thalians, whispers of their ferocity. Their cruelty to enemies.
He'd killed one of them, sold their children to the Nephris.
He looked at the sky so long that he grew dizzy, his eyes watering against the bright light of the clear, California afternoon.
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