Captive of Pleasure; the Space Pirate's Woman (The LodeStar Series)

by Cathryn Cade

  Her words hung in the darkness. She was shocked by the harshness of her own voice, but at the same time satisfaction glowed, hard and bright. She would speak her mind, even if he punished her for it.

  “Fuck me,” he muttered. “All right, then. You’re not a slave. Sleep wherever the hells you want. Sleep in another tont—or outside, for all I care. Out of here is the best place for you, anyway. Out of my tont, out of my way.”

  He turned over, pulling the covers with him. Zaë slipped from the bed and went back to her nest of pillows, even harder and lumpier than before.

  She lay awake while his breathing slowed and evened out in sleep. He wanted her out, but not nearly as much as she wanted out. Because now, she didn’t have to imagine what he did with other woman to put such lazy satisfaction in his voice—she knew. And the knowledge burned like acid. She hated him, and she hated that blonde, too.

  She’d never been with a man, certainly never done anything like what she’d seen. She wished she could wrench the image from her brain, along with the strange, restless feeling it gave her.

  But she couldn’t. And even though she was no longer in the bed with him, she remembered how it felt to wake in his arms, naked and warm, his hard body with all its obdurate masculine landscape against her softer curves.

  Her clothing abraded her nipples and between her legs. She squeezed her thighs together and rocked in the pillows. The motion only made the pulsing ache there worse, until she cupped her hand between her legs and rubbed.

  Her fingers touched a swollen, sensitive place. Her fingers remembered what to do, slipping inside her panties to stroke quickly, until the ache turned to a painful pleasure, and then broke in waves of sweetness so intense she had to turn her face into her pillow to muffle her moan.

  She just wished she hadn’t pictured him leaning over her, his hand replacing her own.

  And it wasn’t enough. Her body wanted that feeling again, and more, harder ... with him. That was wrong, because he was a thief and promiscuous. If she let him do to her what he’d done with that blonde, she’d be only one of many.

  And that made her heart feel as dark and empty as her memory. She might no longer be a slave, but at the moment she felt like one. To be a slave meant to perhaps have occasional physical comfort, but nothing emotional to hold onto. No way to say yes or no, because neither decision was up to her.

  But neither, it seemed, was her desire for him. Her longings pulled her toward him, even though she knew better, knew she must brace herself against the pull and hold him at arms length. She wasn’t like the woman that morning, able to accept him sexually and then watch him with another woman and smile.

  And anyway, he didn’t want her, not really. He’d told her to stay out of his way. So she would.

  Chapter 14

  Zaë woke the next morning with a stiff back from sleeping on the hard floor, a headache and a sour taste in her mouth she thought might be from too much wine, and the mawwr snuggled under her chin, purring. She reached up to pet it.

  “You are one good thing about this morning, anyway,” she whispered to it. “I don’t know how you got in, little friend, but I’m very glad you did.” And she wasn’t putting the mawwr out, either. Stark could just learn to ignore it, the way he did her when he chose.

  She turned onto her back and stared at the arched ceiling of the tont. A shaft of morning sunlight shone through a vent, cutting the room into chambers of dark and light.

  “Good, you’re awake.”

  At the sound of Stark’s voice, Zaë closed her eyes tight. Maybe if she pretended to be sleepy, he would go away.

  He walked to her and squatted beside her. A waft of herbal soap and clean man teased her.

  “Open your eyes,” he said. “I’ve got things to do, but something to say first.”

  Reluctantly, she opened her eyes, and stared at a spot on his chest. Which was bare, his skin gleaming, the dark curls on his broad chest highlighting the satin smoothness of the skin underneath, and over his biceps, which bulged in an enticing way. She blinked and moved her gaze to his knee, clad in the soft khaki tan pants he wore under his leathers. Not much better, as they clung to his powerful legs.

  “I was drunk last night,” he said. “Have a lot on my mind, and we’re mixed up in dangerous shit. I see dark times ahead before it gets light again. Then I’ve got you—can’t send you away, don’t trust you with anyone else. Still, reckon I should have had a care for your innocence.”

  She shrugged, as if his actions didn’t matter to her, when in fact memory flooded back as he spoke, in raw, graphic detail. That woman sprawled over the divan, and him thrusting into her as if she were a vessel for his pleasure. She could hear the sounds they’d made—the woman moaning her pleasure, and him grunting that deep sound in his chest.

  “This is your home,” she managed. “And of course with women tripping over each other to be with you, I’m sure it’s difficult to find time to keep them all happy.” There, that had sounded just right—her tone polite. Her words were a bit sarcastic, but saying them was so satisfying she didn’t care.

  He did. Grasping her arms, he lifted her up to face him, his face like thunder. “You don’t know a damn thing about a man like me, little bunny. Yeah, I have women, a lot of women and I like it that way. This isn’t your world, it’s mine. Not changin’ to suit some little immi doesn’t know anything about me.”

  “I most certainly didn’t ask you to,” she replied, her voice trembling now. “I’ll be happy to stay somewhere else. Anywhere else!”

  “You’re not leaving,” he said. “You’re not here when I get back this evening, there’ll be hells to pay. And don’t think I won’t warm your sweet ass with my palm.”

  He was clearly deranged, or still under the influence of alcohol, although he no longer smelled of it, and his eyes were bright and clear.

  She frowned at him incredulously. “But you said you don’t want me around, interrupting your lifestyle. And I certainly n-never again want to witness you in sexual congress.” Gah, both her words and her trembling voice revealed she’d been bothered by his actions. That was supposed to be her secret.

  He swore under his breath. “Hells, woman. That’s what I came in here to say—you shouldn’t have seen that. And you won’t again.”

  She didn’t know what to do with that, or with the hope that fluttered inside her. “Does that mean you’re not going to...?”

  “Means I’ll take it elsewhere, long as you’re here.”

  She absorbed this blow. “I see. Well, that will be…fine.”

  “Right. So quarking polite, aren’t you?” His taut face eased, the corners of his eyes crinkling in a smile. He let her go, then tugged at a stray curl. “You stay close today. Don’t wander out of camp. There are wild creatures as well as wild beings.”

  She wasn’t through. “I can move into another tont,” she suggested. “Perhaps an empty one.”

  His smile disappeared. “You’re not movin’ into another tont. Get that out of your head.”

  Zaë glared at him. How did he expect her to stay out of the way, if she had to remain in his tont? The mawwr gave a mew of protest, and she loosened her grip.

  The Storm walked to his closet, where she heard him dressing. She ignored him, concentrating on petting the mawwr, even though her hands shook as she did so.

  He paused at the door, and spoke again, his deep voice gentle now. “You can keep the mawwr, if you want.”

  Then he was gone.

  “I was going to keep it anyway!” she called after him.

  The words released anger too great to be held in. Zaë grabbed a fat cushion, dropped her head into it, and screamed as hard as she could, the sound muffled by the fiber. The mawwr leapt to the carpet, mewing in protest.

  ***

  One foot out of his tont, ready for the unpleasant and dangerous task that lay ahead, Joran paused as he heard her words, then her muffled cry of what sounded like fury. He shook his head. Hells, he didn’t
need this shit on top of everything else. The little immi had nothing to be upset about—he’d apologized, something he only did for his crew, and then only when he’d made a bad decision that got someone physically hurt.

  All soft and rumpled with sleep, her glorious hair tousled around her face, those blue eyes shadowed, her soft mouth set in a mutinous pout that made him want to kiss it off her face, she made him want to drag her back into his big bed and show her how good it could be between them.

  Then, instead of accepting his apology, she had to open that smart mouth and inform him in her snooty way that she wanted out of his tont. Quark, she made his palm itch and his cock sit up and beg—not a good combination.

  He had plenty of hot, eager pussy available. He did not need to be lusting after a wounded little immi, vulnerable as that bunny to which he’d compared her. No, she was merely a passing entertainment, and so he’d make certain she remained, until she was gone for good. He just had to keep her safe long enough to figure out where the hells to send her.

  A group of aircycles approached over the camp, from the south. Morning sun glinted off helmets and hardware.

  Wega pulled up, hovering a meter off the ground, Ilya, Mako, Pede and Ryder a lean man with long blond hair and hard eyes, whom Joran had accepted into the crew that spring, beside her in loose formation. All but Mako wore helmets and goggles. Half-Mau, he was impervious to heat and glare, or so he claimed. He still looked the worse for wear from his injury, but he could make his own decisions about how fit he was.

  “Anything?” Joran asked, squinting as the sun rose over the dome of his tont and hit his face, with a promise of the heat to come.

  “Nothing moving to the north,” Wega said, sounding disgruntled. “Unless you count the local herd of skrog.”

  “Nothing between us and the mountains,” Ryder added. He sounded almost disappointed, which made Joran grin. The younger man reminded him of himself when he’d first moved out here—ready for any kind of action.

  Joran looked at Mako, who shook his head once, his braids swinging. “Pede and I found plenty. You’re not gonna like it.”

  “Then best get it over with,” Joran said.

  “More epaulets,” Pede told him. “Moved in last night, camped east of here, near that lake the color of amber. Ten tonts, look to be at least twenty life forms.”

  Joran hooked his thumbs in his belt and bent his head to consider, staring at the tiny skirls of dust under the wash of the aircycles. It had only been a matter of time before Cerul tightened her grip, he’d known that. He’d hoped it would take a bit longer.

  “All right,” he said. “I want eyes on them, all the time. They’ll expect it, so don’t get too close. Let’s widen our perimeter surveillance on all sides. Any more of them show up, I want to know before they settle.”

  “You going to meet with the lead officer of this group?” Wega asked.

  Joran shook his head. “Whoever it is will be reporting to Cerul. We’ve got things to do, that don’t include any more chats with that bitch—not yet.”

  “We, however, need to meet,” he told them. “A confab. I want everyone there. Not partners, just crew.”

  A short time later, Joran leaned against the counter in his tont. The inner walls had been retracted, the bed folded back against the wall. Every square meter of space held one of his crew, all watching him, waiting.

  The girl was somewhere in camp, occupied and out of his way.

  He began with no preamble. “You all know Cerul, commander of IGSF on Frontiera, has her thumb right where she wants it,” he said. “Up my ass. We hit the slave auction at the Pinnacles, we alerted the epaulets to come in, sweep up as many of the buyers and slaver gang as they could catch. And you all know that in gratitude, our friends with the blue stripes offered to charge us with trafficking, even murder of the rescues that were killed.”

  Crew members shifted, some muttering angrily.

  Joran nodded. “Cerul thinks she’s got us right where she wants us—between an asteroid and a hard landing. She wants us to do her dirty work for her. Including infiltrating the slavers.”

  “The fuck?” Pede muttered, scowling incredulously at Joran. “I ain’t havin’ nothin’ to do with scum like that.”

  “Who here does she think is fool enough to try that?” Wega added, eye-stalks jerking with agitation. “They already know we stole from ‘em. How the hells would we infiltrate?”

  There were several nods and some murmurs of agreement.

  “You’re right,” Joran said. “So here’s the deal. We don’t try to sneak in. We make the bold move—we tell ‘em we’re taking over the trade on this side of the planet.”

  Qala stared at him, clearly aghast. “Let everyone think we’ve sunk to a level where we traffic in flesh?” She shook her head vehemently. “I can’t even believe you’re talking about this.”

  Joran set his jaw as others echoed her sentiment.

  Haro held up one hand for quiet. He faced Joran. “Boss, you haven’t steered us wrong yet. But how we gonna do this and not do this? How we gonna wade in shit and not stink of it?”

  “Who the hells cares how we smell?” called Tarn, a grizzled ex-soldier with one good eye and one mechanical. “I fought in the Solar Wars, gave an eye and these—” he held up his right hand, with mechanical fingers implanted, “—and what’d I get? A fucking medal. That’s all. Alliance doesn’t give a shit for me—I gotta do for myself. I say we do it, and keep the fucking profits, too.”

  “I like it,” added Ryder. “Why not let the IGSF think we’re helpin’ them while we help ourselves? Slave trade’s gonna happen, one way or the other. Might as well line our credit accounts as others.”

  Some nodded, while others scowled and shook their heads. Voices rose as they argued.

  “It’s only gonna happen here if we turn our heads the other way,” Qala snapped. “And this crew is above that. We always have been, and as long as I’m around, that’s not gonna change.”

  Ryder scowled, his face flushed under his tan. “I didn’t mean let ‘em go, exactly. But why can’t we do like you did at the auction? Take their credit and then turn ‘em over to the IGSF.”

  “It’s more than just smellin’ like shit,” Pede said, his square face grim. “Your rescue talked to my woman—told her some things she saw while she was in their cages. These slavers are fuckin’ insane—I mean viper-poison crazed. We mess with them, we may get bit.”

  Joran lifted his chin in acknowledgement of Pede’s words, but didn’t reply. It wasn’t as if they had a choice but to reach into the serpents’ den.

  Joran straightened. “All right. Some of you have been with me a few months, some of you a lot longer. I’m not gonna sweeten it. I don’t see a way out of this, other than turning tail and running, clear off this planet.

  He looked around, making eye contact with all of them. “No one is making me run. No one. So, I say we do this. Figure six weeks on the outside, maybe less. If you’re with me, if you can stomach the rest of the planet, maybe the galaxy, thinking you’re dirty for that long, stay. If not, go. I’ll make sure you leave with your share of the credit from the Pinnacles auction.”

  “Now, we’re done here. Those of you who decide to stay, we’ll meet again tonight after supper, I’ll let you in on the plan I’ve got so far, you can give me your ideas. The sooner we start, the sooner we get done, and get Cerul out of our asses.”

  “And one more thing,” he added. “If you leave, you do it as a group. You head straight to F City. Can’t have anyone wandering alone, getting taken for ransom.”

  Or spilling their guts about his plan, but plenty of time to let them know they’d be sequestered under guard until the deal was finished.

  Qala was the first one out the door. She gave Joran a look of searing disbelief and then stormed out.

  ***

  “Qala.” Haro caught her as she rounded the last of the tonts on the river bluff. She stopped in the shade of the trees, staring unseei
ngly at the golden water swirling past.

  “I can’t believe he’d do this,” she choked. “I thought I knew him better.”

  Haro grabbed her arm and pulled her around. His face was pale under his tan, his gaze turbulent.

  “Babe,” he said. “I know it’s harsh, but you’re not thinkin’ straight.”

  “I’m not—?” she gaped at him, her mouth open. “He’s the one who’s gone quarking crazy!”

  He shook his head impatiently and leaned down, his eyes boring into hers. “Think about it, Qala. What was the result in there?”

  “He pissed us all off?” she asked sarcastically.

  “Yeah, most of us. He also found out who thinks this shit is a great idea, and they’re happy to get down there and wallow in it, long as they make some credit.”

  “Oh,” she muttered. “He exposed the weak links.”

  He squeezed her arms and let go. “Right, babe. Think about it—who’s mad enough to laser him right now? You, Riley, Wega, Pede, Mako... Var’s holding back, but that’s just him, he trusts Stark absolutely.”

  She grimaced. “Shit, so do I. You’re right. The core. A few parts may be rotten, but the core is strong. Ryder, who knows? He’s young, he could go either way.”

  She gave him a shame-faced look. “Thanks. I was just so damn mad.”

  His gaze softened. “I’d think less of you if you weren’t, babe.”

  She flushed and looked away. “Well, you sure figured it out a lot faster than me.” She’d never given him credit for being so astute.

  “Because you’re a female,” he said. “You can’t help getting all emotional.” Then he laughed and danced away as she swung at him.

  “Asshole,” she said, but without heat.

  “Yours, anytime you want it.”

  She smacked his arm as she walked by. “Keep your pants on, fool, we’ve other things to do.”

  “Yeah, and it ain’t gonna be pleasant.” He fell into step with her, back toward camp.

  Qala cast him a sidelong look. “No, but it’ll be all right, if we stick together. Better than, y’know...”