Becca

by Mima

  His voice was low and tight. “You’re so beautiful. Lord, I wanted you the first moment I saw you.”

  Trailing her nails down his abs, she wrapped her hands around his dick. Leo was very average. The captain was shorter, but thick. He was so round she couldn’t close her fingers around him. Sweeping over his soft, private skin, she leaned in to work on his chest with her mouth. Leo did indeed exercise, but the captain had a deeper chest and a more muscular build. The few scars sprinkled over his pale torso were mostly lost in a light coating of hair.

  “I’ve never been with a man who hasn’t lasered his body bare.” Her lips burned over the soft fluff, and even though the friction began a strange tingle, she didn’t mind.

  His hands engulfed both breasts, lifting the weight that overflowed his palms. His fingertips dug into her in a strong massage. “You only have a few more seconds.”

  She paused, surprised by his low, tense words. With a smile, she kissed and licked across his ribs and breastbone, squeezing him firmly with her hands, especially at the base. A bit of pre-moisture cascaded from his tip and she hummed at his scent filling the air.

  “Do you want the bed?”

  And just because Leo was always hurrying her into hyper-speed, she nodded to slow this encounter down. It didn’t work. One hand clamped onto her upper arm. She stumbled once trying to knee-walk, but he didn’t pause. He lifted her up and she had to hurry as he strode to a door in the back wall. Her glimpse of his thick erection bobbing as he strode, ass flexing, made her nipples swell and heat.

  The captain’s bed was already expanded. Falling with her onto the firm surface clad in black sheets, he wedged her thighs open, notched his penis in her folds, and shoved hard.

  His thick presence took Becca’s winding tension from the lounge and yanked it into rigid need. He was heavier than Leo, and his hairy chest against her sensitized breasts was a riot of silky-rough-hot. Tucking his hips, he drove into her, smashing her clit. Legs around his thighs, fingers gripping his flexing back, she clenched, straining with her whole body toward the height he was already hitting. The sounds of his grunts and moans and sawing breaths excited her too, and with a few more pounding, straining lunges, she glowed.

  A long, exhaling groan eased from her. Warmth trickled down her arms and legs, stealing her strength. He collapsed on her, but before she wheezed a second time, he rolled. He slid out, and her still-tingling wet parts made her shiver, but he wrapped his arms around her. Tucking her nose into the throbbing pulse in his neck, she inhaled deeply, bringing his smell into sharp focus. It too was so different from Leo’s. Becca decided she should always have two lovers. It made both men seem much more interesting.

  The captain fucked her twice more before they fell asleep, and once in the morning. As promised, he did indeed improve with each session. When she left his cabin after a breakfast of bread and stale cheese, she was still calling him “Captain.” He liked it a lot when she called him that while he did her from behind.

  That night, Leo, with his gentle touches and passionate mouth, had never seemed so exciting. She began to wonder when she could have the captain again. Yet one of the last things he’d said to her was, I’m sorry, Becca, but I have a really hard rule against sex with my crew.

  Two days later, the whole crew was buzzing about their next port. They were just coming into dock when the captain came for her. She was in the viewing room with Bixy and was glad of the dark, which hid the heat lighting up her face. It was the first time she’d seen him since that night.

  “Hey, Becca, can you come check something out for me?”

  She nodded, smiled good-bye at a pop-eyed Bixy, and followed him. One sniff of his scent and a memorable moment popped into her memory, of staring at his balls while she sucked him off and he licked her clit like lightning.

  When he led her past the line already forming to disembark, she grew very curious indeed. Perhaps he wanted to show her around the port? When he handed her into the ship’s shuttle, once again piloted by Deke, she got a little excited. Wow, they were going on a private outing. When the captain kissed her for the first time, deep and dominating, rocking her head back beneath his biting lips, she was shocked. But not as shocked as when she saw her baggage inside.

  He buckled her into the passenger seat, then kissed the back of her hand. “Thanks for a fantastic night. At the start of it, we talked about leaving opportunity to the future. I want you to know I believe in the opportunities we make for ourselves, not the ones society says we should sit back and wait for. Enjoy your trip.”

  Before she could process what was happening, the doors were closed and Deke was in pre-flight mode, but as soon as the bay opened and they left the ship, she was on him. “What is this? Why are my things here? What did he tell you?”

  Deke looked at her like she was nuts. “We’re boarding the Fire Lily. She’s a platinum-class diplomatic courier. He didn’t tell you?”

  “No,” she whispered. “I’m being put off ship?” Astonishment took her breath away.

  “You could say that, Senior Chief Sharpin.” Deke slid her a sly look.

  Reaching up to her throat, she had to loosen her flight suit, even though it wasn’t close around her neck. Her breath was coming in unattractive, rasping pulls. “What?”

  Deke laughed. “You’ve got a new placement. That wily bastard surprised you, huh? I wonder if Whiskey Walters knows. . . . Ah. Here we are.”

  The shuttle coasted around a curving arm of the docks, threading through small shuttles and large, buoyed ships. Becca stared in awe at the sleek golden hull that gleamed at the end of one terminal. Pawing at her plax-page, she opened it up. The congratulations letter came first, announcing completion of her internship with honors upon review of her recommendation from Captain Jake Fesner. The next document was her mastery degree, awarded through project-based learning on the Cider Pot, then came the certificate to independently contract and, finally, the specs of the Fire Lily along with a list of priority repairs.

  Becca cycled through the images again as Deke babbled to the other crew about boarding technicalities. Bending at the waist, she put her head between her knees and focused on breathing. Five minutes later, Deke opened the hatch with a wink. Becca, with newly brushed hair and a bright, fake smile, disembarked without knowing in the slightest what to do.

  She was met by the captain, Umberto Fossi. He was serious, respectful, and seemed very grateful to have found someone “of her caliber.” Then the security master, Ms. Eastbrook, took her specs and gave her the codes for the ship. After being escorted by both of them to a three-room suite done in shades of coffee and maroon, Becca was left alone. The first thing she did was message Leo. Bye, she wrote. Anything longer seemed mushy.

  Her fingers paused, as she thought about thanking the captain, but she didn’t. She also hesitated to write her parents. There were too many unknowns in the air. Sitting down at the gorgeous scrollwork table, Becca set aside all the shock and focused on the ship on which she’d been dumped.

  She pored over the specs with a critical eye, comparing this elite diplomatic courier to the trader she’d just been getting to know. After two hours, she snagged a sandwich from the chiller and stared at the priorities waiting for a senior chief’s diligent attention. Her notes led to another hour of research. One field trip to a nearby junction box later, Becca sat in the cozy snuggle chair in her lounge. She bit her lip, chewed her tongue, ground her teeth, and stretched her neck but did not cry. For now it had all become clear.

  The captain had called in some sort of favor for her. He’d gotten this placement for her as a sort of gift, but it was nonetheless real. He’d whisked her here on a whim, thinking to please her, thinking she’d settle in with a skip and a sigh. Yes, Becca was clear on how deep the shit she now sat in was. Really good sex had landed her in some sort of systems nightmare. A twenty-two-year-old almost-trained junior engineer had been ha
nded the job of a twenty-year veteran. She didn’t entirely know how to solve any of the Fire Lily’s priority issues, one of which involved life support.

  Standing, Becca paced across the piled softness of the brown rug. In just a short while she’d be called to dinner with the ambassador this ship served. She had friends, she had teachers, she had a good head on her shoulders. With some bluffing, some networking, and a ton of hard work, she could do this. Maybe.

  She looked blindly around the room’s delicate gold-patterned walls. She wanted this. It was perfect, more of a dream than she’d ever acknowledged. Becca Sharpin, Senior Chief of the Fire Lily, Politico Class Beta. She wrapped her ponytail around its base to create a plain updo. Heart pounding, palms sweating, she once again put on her good green dress. How surreal that the last two times she’d worn it she’d ended up having sex.

  She had to refer to her plax-page twice before she found the ambassador’s private suite. The door chimed and then opened. She gasped. Before her stood the most beautiful man she’d ever seen. In the short one-page summary of Ambassador Etienne D’Noir, no mention had been made that he was a tweety. Or, as they were more formally called, a winged human.

  Becca opened her mouth and squeaked.

  He smiled and inclined his head. “Greetings, Ms. Sharpin. I’m delighted to meet our new senior chief engineer.” With a sweep of a heavily muscled arm, he gestured her in. “I am Ambassador D’Noir, but I prefer Etienne.” His bare, deeply muscled torso rippled like the sea.

  Becca stepped inside and jumped when the door closed behind her. The room was a blur of tasteful creams and greens. The only notable thing was the height of the ceiling, which was considerably greater than most ship designs allowed.

  “Please come in.” He moved toward the center of the room, which had the newest style of waist-high lounge chairs around a tall table. He pulled one of the raised chairs free and held out his hand. “How delightful that your coloring tonight matches the room. How deep did your research go, Ms. Sharpin?”

  Becca stared at his hand for a full three seconds before she realized he was offering assistance. She put her fingers against his and almost moaned at the light shocks zinging up her arm. Keeping her gaze off his bared torso and perfect face, she focused on breathing. Once she perched in place and he sat next to her, not across from her, in a soft rustle of feathers, he asked, “Is your suite adequate? Please, you must tell me if there is anything you require.”

  Becca licked her lips. Mistake. She could almost feel her lips swell with the desire to taste him. What was it about her lately that made her think of every man as a potential plaything? His face was chiseled, and the huge muscles that filled his smooth chest flexed. He had acres of golden-tan skin much darker than Becca’s own cream, and hair that was more white-blond than hers. His eyes were slanted, large, and a soft purple. His wings were two delicate arches of cascading sandy feathers. Tweeties couldn’t fly, a human’s mass being too great for the wing structure, but their wings did regulate their body heat. She wanted to touch them so badly her fingers twitched.

  He folded his perfectly toned arms on the table and considered her in an open, patient way. About two minutes later, her blush well lit, she realized she hadn’t yet said one word.

  “I have a confession to make, Ms. Sharpin.”

  Her lashes actually fluttered. His voice was low, with an accent that settled right into her hips.

  “I’m staring because I’m fascinated. You see, I am aware of what a reference from Captain Fesner entails, and I’m also aware of how a recommendation from Senior Chief Walters is earned. However, you are so clearly intelligent, yet naïve. You’re nothing like the hard, manipulative, arrogant women I’ve seen emerge from that pair before.”

  If her blush of attraction had heated her before, she now must be white as a ghost, because the rush of blood draining from her head made her dizzy. Her fingers stiffened with cold. She opened her mouth, then shut it, stricken.

  “So I’m wondering if perhaps you’ve had a chance to look over the Fire Lily’s technical needs, and what you thought of them?”

  She blinked. Just like that, he declared he knew she was a fraud and in the next breath continued like he believed her capable. She swallowed, and unfortunately, the sound was audible.

  Showtime. Right here and now, she could speak informatively about the tasks before her, and bluff until she found a way to finish the projects. Or she could look this beautiful tweety in his lilac eyes and tell him he needed a real senior chief. With a little time and luck, she thought she could do it, and then she’d have the position of her dreams. But did she really want to gamble with the fourteen lives on this ship? Truth, or dare?

  “Run,” Becca gasped. Three ugly souls against Gage, with her pitiful help?

  Gage spit at them, then whirled and grabbed her hand.

  Wrapping her fingers tight in his, she pounded down the metal planking of the hallway, her legs spreading wide in a full kick. They turned the nearby corner, but a long hall lay ahead.

  One of the men behind them shouted and another laughed.

  Indignant fury pumped into her brain. She was going straight to the security master. These men wouldn’t get—Gage jerked on her arm and broke stride a few paces down the hall. Her grip was so tight she fell to her knees beside him rather than let go when he crumpled.

  For a moment, she thought he’d spilled the syrup they’d played with earlier down the back of his flight suit. But then she saw the flesh in the burned-away hole.

  Jaw hanging loose, she whipped her gaze to the men now howling with laughter.

  The short, muscular one waved an illegal heat pistol in the air. “I’m gonna hang his tail on my bunk!”

  “I get the cunt,” said the treetop.

  “You had a heat pistol?” The brown-skinned man put his hands on his hips. “What are you, retarded? Yes, you are! You’re a fucking idiot. You could blow a hole in the ship if you missed!”

  Looking back down, Becca rolled Gage’s lovely length over and stared disbelievingly at his empty eyes.

  “Rumpy’s down, and now the fur-whore will be, too,” the short man yelled triumphantly. “You see that, woman? That’s what you get for parading around with him like you’re too good for your own kind. You’re a whore, and now he’s dead, ’cause we don’t need no rumpy-loving kink on this ship.”

  Becca put a shaking hand over Gage’s face and screamed with every cell in her body.

  “Shit! Shit!” the big man yelled. “Shut her up. Gimme that.” He pulled the gun out of the other man’s hand while the dark-skinned man waved his hands around and shouted. The giant aimed the gun at her.

  Kneeling next to Gage, Becca drew breath to scream again, but a fireball landed in her torso, and everything went black.

  OUCH. You have found the ending called Hate Wins. Click on this link to return to the Choice Index. Dare to decide again!

  Turning from the brewing fight, Becca reached across the bar much as Juan had and triggered the button she’d installed behind the draft tap. François was just staggering over to the group, who had not yet settled at the corner table, when the gas hissed free.

  And at the exact same minute as she did, the heat kicked in. The Happy Moon’s furnace was old, very old. It was slow and worked on air intake. Becca’s gaze went to the filthy grill covered in cobwebs in the ceiling over the bar. Her gas was not oozing down in a misty wave, it was racing to the furnace, where it would be heated and sent out the floor ducts.

  Juan looked at her suspiciously. “What did you just do?”

  Her gas was not part of the team’s fight plan. She just shook her head. Hurrying down the bar toward the swinging gate, she tapped her plax-page and summoned the backup team. Abadom was a black shadow shouting in one of the guards’ faces as she made it to the ice chest. Li babbled at her, angry she was behind the bar. He waved his hands i
n her face but she shoved past him and grabbed her hidden gas mask from deep within the ice well. She was shaking with anger. She pulled it on, unsure how soon it would fill the air. The expert who’d supplied it had told her within five minutes. But that was with a “waterfall application.”

  “Gas mask!” came the clear, deep warning from one of Mindy’s guards. The men immediately pulled her forward, rushing toward the doors again.

  Becca’s men milled, confused, but Zeke and Abadom had enough presence of mind to pull their knives and try to stop them. Just then the doors burst open and her other team swarmed in. Sam and Li were both crouched at the far end of the bar, putting on a pair of old gas masks. Juan surprised her by reaching under her barstool and pulling out her supposedly secret, extra gas mask. Just as she was staring at the emerging fight, as her men seemed to realize they weren’t being poisoned after all, Chak pulled out an old exploding pistol and shot Juan.

  Becca staggered back, stunned to watch Juan’s brown eyes go blank with death, his head falling to hit the bar, then his body dropping out of sight. Chak hurried forward, bent, and reappeared, fumbling with the mask. He glared at her, his cinnamon-colored skin flushed.

  The fight in front of the door grew more vicious. At one point, Becca saw a wing flare high before snapping tight again to the girl’s back. The men were moving as a unit, fading from the door toward the side of the tavern where the hall led to a rear exit, with doors to the storeroom, office, and bathroom.

  Becca gripped the edge of the bar, watching Chak as he watched the fight. Sensing a presence at her side, she turned to see Li lunge at her with a short kitchen knife. She gasped, falling back, and grappled with his arm. One quick look confirmed Sam would neither help nor join Li. Becca grabbed the man’s skinny wrists. She twisted, hurling him against the back counter, but was afraid to let go until he dropped the knife. Struggling to turn the blade away from her, she bent his wrist, leaning with all her weight.